Gracious Attractions and Heavenly Banquetings 2
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II. But it is time to pass on to our next point—Ephraim's divine LIBERATION. "I was to them as those who take off the yoke on their jaws."
A. Ephraim had a YOKE upon his jaws. What was this yoke and the necessary effects of this muzzle? These two—he could neither speak nor eat. The idea seems taken from the muzzling of the ox at the time of thrashing corn, when they trode the sheaves on the floor, which prevented the animal both from lowing and eating, a practice, by the way, which the Lord especially prohibited—"You shall not muzzle the mouth of the ox that treads out the corn." This precept was sometimes neglected, and thus the figure is used as describing Ephraim's case; for there was that yoke upon his jaws which disabled him both from speech and food. But what yoke was this?
1. We may view it, first, as representing the yoke of the LAW—that iron yoke and heavy bondage which is put upon the jaws when the spirituality of God's law is opened in a man's conscience, and he sinks under its condemnation and curse. Whenever this yoke is laid upon a man's jaws, its certain effect will be to close his mouth; to shut it up, so that he has not a word to say why God should not send him to the lowest hell. For if the spirituality of God's law, the inflexible justice of Jehovah, and a sight and sense of our sins in the light of his countenance are once opened up in a sinner's conscience, it will most certainly stop his mouth, so that he will not have a word to say why the law should not take its full execution, and send him to that awful spot where hope never comes. The apostle therefore says, "Now we know that what things soever the law says, it says to those who are under the law—that every mouth may be stopped, and all the world may become guilty before God." (Rom. 3:19.) How true this is, so that a poor law-condemned sinner has not a word to say, unless it be to cry night and day—guilty, guilty, guilty—before God and man.
But you will perhaps say, "Can a man get a second time under the law?" Surely he can; or why would the apostle thus exhort the Galatians before whose eyes Jesus Christ had evidently been set forth, and who "had received the Spirit" (Gal. 3:1, 2)? "Stand fast therefore in the liberty with which Christ has made us free, and be not entangled again in the yoke of bondage." (Gal. 5:1.) Backsliding from God, when the guilt of it is charged upon our consciences, will bring us under the old yoke, and shut us up in legal bondage.
2. But the expression yoke will also bear another meaning—the yoke of UNBELIEF. And O how many of God's dear family who have not perhaps gone very deep under the law, so as to feel its iron pressure upon their neck as sensibly as many do, have had the yoke of unbelief laid upon their jaws. The work of the Spirit is to convince us of unbelief, that is, convict us of its sin, and make us feel not only its guilt, but its power. Has not this been the case with some of you here present? You have felt so powerfully convinced of your unbelief; it has been made so manifest in you and unto you as a living reality, as a working principle, that you are fully persuaded you could not, do what you would, raise up a single grain of faith in your own soul. You saw and felt your lost, ruined, and undone state. This was the sentence of the law in your conscience. But how were you to be delivered from it? Perhaps you could not tell; such a veil of ignorance and blindness was upon your heart. But you might have had a little light so as to see that there was salvation for a poor, lost sinner—and that this salvation was all in and through the Son of God and by faith in him.
But now came the great difficulty—how you were to believe; for you were well convinced that a mere natural faith was useless here; that there was no power in it—promise for it—or deliverance by it. Now what was the effect of this wretched state of unbelief as thus sensibly felt and realized in your heart? You could not SPEAK. What could you tell about the dealings of God with your soul? What could you say about the mercy of God, his goodness, and your experience of it—the loving-kindness of the Lord, the blood of Christ, and what he is to those who believe on his name, when you felt yourself so destitute of that grand essential—to a knowledge of salvation by the remission of sins—the grace of faith? You were therefore speechless; and when you got among the family of God, and one began to speak of some precious promise applied to his soul, another of a striking deliverance into the liberty of the gospel, a third of some very marked and signal answer to prayer, a fourth of his enjoyment of the love of God shed abroad in his heart, you had not a word to say, could not look up, and knew not where to hide your head. You felt cut off; unbelief seemed so tied round your mouth and so to muzzle your jaw, that you could not speak a word of anything in a way of mercy which you had received from God, though there had been times and seasons when you had been a little favored and blessed.
So when you came before the throne of grace and sought the Lord's face as a poor, vile sinner, you were almost, if not wholly speechless. Guilt had shut you up in its iron cell, and unbelief pressing you down, you had no power to pour out your heart before God. O, how sad is this, that at the very place, the only place where mercy is to be found and relief to be obtained, unbelief is often most pressing and most powerful; stopping prayer in its flow, or defiling it as it seeks to find its course. What inward condemnation this brought when you got off your knees and slunk into bed with a dismal sigh.
Yet this worked for good. It cut up your 'lip religion'. You could not talk any longer, as many do, whose religion, it is to be feared, begins and ends with talk—evaporates in words—for it lies not in their heart but upon their tongue. While they talked, you were silent—yet your very silence was more expressive than their fluent talk; for it showed that the hand of God was upon you which had never rested upon them. Silence has an eloquence of its own. David said, "I was speechless with silence; I held my peace even from good;" and again, "I was speechless, I opened not my mouth; because you did it." (Psalm 39:2, 9.) "So Job's friends spoke not a word unto him for seven days and seven nights, for they saw that his grief was very great." (Job 2:13.)
And as you could not speak, so you could not FEED. You heard the gospel preached; the blood of Christ set forth; the sweet promises which are made to the people of God. Minister after minister described your case; sermon after sermon was sounded in your ears; book after book was read and re-read; hymn after hymn pondered over. And yet with all this excellent provision, the finest of the wheat, fat things full of marrow, and wine on the lees well refined, you could neither eat nor drink. And why? Because you had no faith. If your case was described, you had no faith to believe it belonged to you—if the minister described your experience a thousand times better than you could have done it yourself, you had no faith to believe that what you felt was wrought by God in your heart. You could not indeed deny that you had experienced such and such things, but you could not believe that it was a word of grace, or anything beyond what was merely notional and natural. Thus nothing that you heard seemed to do you any good; for the power of unbelief was so pressing, that whatever was brought for your encouragement was all rejected. You had no faith to receive anything for your comfort and satisfaction, however suitable it was—the unbelief of your mind rejected all.
Now was not that your case, and had you not brought yourself very much into that condition? There might have been a time with you when, as Bunyan speaks, you were "a flourishing professor;" you could talk most volubly, and talk well, it might be, of what you had tasted, felt, and handled for yourself in early days. But you fell into idolatry; your heart was joined to idols; and God said of you, "let him alone." You left your first love; you got entangled in some snare of Satan; sin became your master; guilt filled your conscience; God hid his face; and the devil muttered, "Where is your God, and where is all your religion?" And you had not a word to say before God or man. You could not speak, nor could you feed, for there was a yoke upon your jaws, and this completely muzzled both tongue and teeth.
Now if God does not interfere for the poor soul in this case, he must live and die with the yoke upon his jaws. No man can take it off for him, and as regards himself he is as unable to unmuzzle his mouth as a muzzled ox to work off the close-fitting gag. But God will not leave his Ephraims to live and die with the yoke upon their jaws. They shall speak, and that believingly too; and they shall feed, and that sweetly too. When then some liberating word comes attended with power from on high; when, according to the promise, the truth makes them free; when the Holy Spirit is pleased to apply some precious promise, and drop in some kind and suitable testimony; when, according to his covenant office, he takes of the things of Christ, reveals and makes him known, holds up Jesus before the eyes, and persuades them to believe in his name, raising up and drawing forth a faith in him, then there is a taking off the yoke from their jaw.
This corresponds with that gracious promise in Isaiah—"And it shall come to pass in that day, that his burden shall be taken away from off your shoulder, and his yoke from off your neck, and the yoke shall be destroyed because of the anointing." (Isaiah 10:27.) How is the yoke destroyed? Because or by means of the anointing. And what is this anointing but that sacred unction of which John speaks as "an unction from the Holy One whereby we know all things?" Under this unction, or anointing, for the word is exactly the same, the yoke is, as it were, melted and dissolved from off the jaws, dropping away under the power and influence of the sacred touch from above. Now no sooner is the yoke taken off the jaws than there is power to speak. It is with the soul almost as with Zacharias of old. For months he was speechless, as an infliction upon him for his unbelief; but when the time came for taking the yoke from off his jaws, "immediately his mouth was opened, and his tongue loosed, and he spoke, and praised God." (Luke 1:20, 64.) This is putting a new song into the mouth. Now there is something to praise and bless God's holy name for.
This is "turning to the people a pure language" (Zeph. 3:9), not the mixed speech of Ashdod (Nehem. 13:24), but the pure language of Canaan. You could not speak this pure language before; but having been emptied, sifted and winnowed from all your 'Babel speech' and 'Ashdod jargon', and being instructed into the holy tongue, you can now speak a pure language—the language of free grace, the utterance of a believing heart. You can bless the Lord for having borne with all your crooked ways; you can see how patient and kind he has been to you—such a rebel, such an ingrate, such a backslider, such an idolater. You now wonder why he did not stretch forth his hand and cut you off as you richly deserved; for you now see, as you never saw before, into what depths of carnality you were sunk, and that nothing but his grace could have delivered you out of them.
As a sense, then, of his goodness and mercy begins to drop into your heart and dissolve your soul, there is a sensible loosening of the yoke from the jaws. Unbelief gives way, and infidelity is silenced with its horrid suggestions and cruel, killing objections; despondency, gloom, and despair loose their power and relax their chilling grasp. As, then, the yoke is thus destroyed from off the neck by reason of the anointing, and a 'dissolving power' is put forth by the word of God's grace, loosening the bands of unbelief, there is a corresponding removal of the yoke from off the jaws. Now you find unexpected liberty in prayer. There is an open throne. The way long barred by guilt and fear, seems now clear; for there is an opening made through the veil, the rent flesh of Jesus. Now you find that your prayers are not shut out; that God is not angry with you, but that he is merciful, kind and compassionate, full of tender pity, love, and sympathy. By these things you are encouraged to pray and call upon his holy name more and more earnestly and perseveringly, and find sweet liberty in so doing. By these gracious dealings coming into the heart with some liberating power, you are enabled to speak to his people, to tell them how good the Lord had been to your soul, how he has borne with you with such infinite patience and mercy, and once more enabled you to bless and praise his holy name.
III. Now comes our third point, and we shall find some connection in it with the preceding, which I may term heavenly PROVISION—"And I provided food for them."
You will remember that I said when the yoke is upon the jaw, there is no speaking and no feeding. Now just look—I want you to look into your inmost heart. I want, if I can, to put my hand into your very soul and lay my finger upon some tender spots there. I want to deal with your soul as the physician does with the body when he examines a patient. As he puts his hand on this or that spot of the chest or back, he says, "Is there any pain there?" How he searches for tender spots before and behind, that he may detect just the very place where the disease lies; and how the poor patient shrinks and winces, and sometimes almost cries out as the sore spot is at last found and touched. So I want to put my hand into your soul to search it all over and find out if I can the tender spots. And have we not all of us tender spots? I know I have a good many; some so tender that I can scarcely bear the least touch upon them. Brother sinner, brother sufferer, are you thoroughly sound? Have you no inward complaint, no tender spot, no little, or it may be large place where disease seems to have fixed itself? Let me then put my hand upon some tender spot.
You have been an idolater; you have set up some idols, and perhaps many, in the secret chambers of imagery; you have been caught in some hidden snare set by Satan; you have gotten into the spirit of the world; your wife, children, business, occupation have been entanglements; these and other household idols have drawn aside your heart from God, and you have fallen into a very cold, barren state. Now be honest with your own conscience and say whether it be so or not. The patient, at least if he has any sense about him, tells the doctor where he feels pain. Why does he call him in or consult him except with the hope of getting good from his advice or prescriptions? To deceive him, therefore, is to injure himself; it is of no use deceiving him. Don't you then deceive yourself, for you cannot deceive the heart-searching God. And if you can but do so, look up; do not despair.
There is a remedy for you—don't think your case incurable; don't view it as hopeless. The very sense and feeling of pain that you have in your heart and conscience shows there is some life there; and does not the Lord say, "Is there no balm in Gilead; is there no physician there? Why then is not the health of the daughter of my people recovered?" (Jer. 8:22.) Yes, there is balm in Gilead—the balm of a Savior's precious blood which cleanses from all sin. Yes, there is a physician there—He of whom David speaks, "who heals all your diseases." The most skillful earthly physician may fail, the case being incurable—but not so with the great Physician of souls.
Then lay bare your inmost spirit before God. Have you not got into a cold, backsliding state? Has not pride, or covetousness, or worldly-mindedness laid sad hold of you? Have not these kept back your soul from profitable access to the throne of grace? Have they not hindered you in hearing the preached word from laying hold of what might have been for your comfort? Have they not darkened your mind in reading the word, brought bondage upon your spirit before the throne of grace, shut up your mouth in conversation with God's people, and troubled your soul when sickness or death seemed to draw near? Now here is a case for the Lord, just the very case of Ephraim. And surely he will, if sought unto by prayer and supplication, take this yoke from off your jaws, will make his grace to superabound over the abounding of sin, and give food unto you.
But this is the point which we have now specially to consider; for the yoke being taken off the jaws, Ephraim can now feed as well as speak. There was no use laying food before him when he could not feed upon it; but now the Lord brings the food near. And what food does he bring?
1. The flesh and blood of his dear Son. Did not the gracious Lord say, "My flesh is food indeed, and my blood is drink indeed." (John 6:55.) But what an appetite there is for this precious food and drink, when the yoke is taken off the jaws. How suitable is the blood of Christ to a guilty conscience. How adapted the sacrifice of God-Man Mediator to a poor sinner justly condemned by law and conscience. And how he feeds upon the flesh of Christ thus offered as a propitiation for sin.
2. But the invitations, the promises, the calls of mercy, the precious truths of the everlasting gospel—what in a word we may call the provisions of God's house, form also a large share in this heavenly banquet, which is freely spread for every hungry soul. The rich mercy is that God himself spreads the table, invites the guests, and provides the food for them. What free hospitality; what a cheerful welcome; for Jesus himself sits at the head of the table, saying to the guests, "Eat, O friends; drink, yes drink abundantly, O beloved." (Song Sol. 5:1.) And lest any should think themselves unworthy, and stand trembling without, he says, "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock—if any man hears my voice, and opens the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." (Rev. 3:20.) When then as drawn by these gracious attractions, and loosened from our guilt, sin, and shame by the removal of the yoke, we begin to feed without fear or alarm upon the flesh and blood of the Lamb, and the glorious truths of the gospel—what sweet food, what suitable provision.
And yet, though strange it may seem to be, the very people for whom it is adapted are often the very people who are most afraid of taking it. "O, it is too good! O, it is too blessed! I believe it is for others. But for me, such a vile, guilty wretch, to believe the blood of Christ has cleansed me from all my sins, and his righteousness has perfectly justified me, and that this blessed Redeemer bore my sins in his own body on the tree, so that I stand before God without spot or wrinkle—O, this seems too good news to be true." Thus like a humble, timorous guest at a rich man's table, who is afraid to presume, though he is told again and again that he is freely welcome, we timidly sometimes and shyly partake of, and almost push away the very food that God lays before us. This is our infirmity; and yet bashfulness seems better than boldness, and timidity more becoming than presumption.
But it is time to draw to a close. Bear then in mind, that you will always find these three things go together, gracious attractions, divine anointings, and heavenly banquetings. When the Lord draws with the cords of a man and the bands of love, when he takes off the yoke from the jaws, and lays the food at the feet of his repenting Ephraim, it is the same power which draws, liberates, and feeds—"Draw me, we will run after you." But how can Ephraim run with the yoke upon his jaws? "I will run," says the Psalmist, "the way of your commandments, when you shall enlarge my heart." There is the yoke taken off. David could also say, "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies—you anoint my head with oil—my cup runs over." (Psalm 23:5.) Yes, he could look forward and add, "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life—and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever." (Psalm 23:6.) May this be our happy experience!
I have this morning endeavored to open up both malady and remedy—Ephraim's case and Ephraim's cure. Now we may not all have exactly sunk into Ephraim's state, but we must all know something of both sides of the question, both of sin and salvation. We must know something of our own inability to run, that we may know what it is for the Lord to draw. We must know something of our incapability to break off the yoke, that the Lord may have the honor and the privilege of breaking it off for us. And we must know our own inability to feed upon the provisions of God's house, before we can taste the sweetness of them, and sit as acceptable guests at the heavenly banquet.
Now who of you in this large congregation this morning can set your seal that these things are true? But I am well convinced if there be here those who can testify that these things are true, they must be those who have known both sides of the question, the important question of life and death. They must have known 'creature helplessness' and 'almighty power'—bondage under the law and liberty under the gospel—the helplessness of man to draw, liberate, or feed himself, and the sovereign grace of God in putting round his heart the cords of a man and the bands of love, in liberating him from a galling yoke, and feeding him with the bread of life.
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