Living Complaints 2
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Now David, from soul experience, knew that these groanings were not hidden from God. He knew that the Searcher of hearts, when he looked down from his sanctuary, into his bosom, saw there were groans there. Do you know it? You must know if you have these groans. No man can deceive you on this point.
Some of you, who are the Lord's people, may not have a clear testimony of it; you may not see your names clearly written in the book of life, and not be able to rejoice in the full assurance of faith. But no man can deceive you on this point, neither can you deceive yourself, whether there are not from time to time desires working in your bosom after God; whether there are not from time to time groanings in your soul under a sense of grief and shame; longings in your heart for the appearance of the Son of God. All the people in the world can never beat you out of this.
And if you have experienced something of this feeling you can say with David, "My groaning is not hidden from you." "You know how I groan by day, and how I groan by night! How when I get into bed I have groaned to you! and how when I wake in the morning I have still to groan to you! You know (I can appeal to you, for you are acquainted with all the feelings of my soul), my groanings are not hidden from you." If you can say that, in simplicity and godly sincerity, there is a mark of divine life in your soul. It was in David's heart, and it is in your heart also. And God has recorded it for the encouragement and consolation of those who know something of these things by divine teaching.
III. "My heart pants." There is something here which seems to require a little explanation. The Psalmist, or rather, the Holy Spirit by the Psalmist, brings forward a striking figure. "As the deer" (or stag) "pants after the water-brooks, so pants my soul after you, O God." (Psalm 42:1.) Now, we may fancy for a moment what is intended by that figure. Here is a poor hunted stag flying from the dogs who are fast pursuing him to tear him to pieces; he, overcome by fatigue, all gasping and panting, sees before him a river. How he longs to reach it! and how he pants with agonizing desire to bathe his limbs in that cool stream, and satiate his thirst by drinking its waters!
So spiritually. The Lord's people are often hunted up and down, as David was by Saul, "like a partridge upon the mountains." How often they are hunted by Satan, hunted by theirsins! how often pursued by guilt, and how often haunted by shame! How these hell-hounds are perpetually dogging their heels! And those things make them pant after the refreshing streams of the "water of life." These exercises make them desire to drink of the brook of Siloam, and have some draught out of Bethlehem's well. Thus, the very word "pant" implies that the soul is pursued by the enemies of its peace. Being all weary, all thirsty, it longs after the water of life. Is it not so with your soul sometimes?
It is not when you are at ease, when you are settled upon your lees, when you can indulge in carnality and worldly pleasure—you are not then panting after God. But when something takes place that alarms and affrights your soul, something that pursues you as it were on the wings of the wind; and you are exercised, troubled, and distressed in your mind—then it is that you begin to pant after God.
Say we are (where we are frequently) in carnal ease, and temptation attacks us, it seems then as though we had no more power to cope with it, than the very pavement on which we tread; so dark, so dead, so stupid, so lifeless, so weak are we then.
But it is not always so with us. So far as we have the fear of God in our bosoms, there are times and seasons when there is some revival; and these revivals, for the most part, spring from the Lord bringing some affliction, trial, or temptation upon us. These things pursue us, as it were, and hunt us out of every false refuge, until, like the wounded deer, we are made to cry out and pant after those draughts of living water which alone can satiate our thirst. The effect of the painful sensations that the soul labors under is, as David says, "My heart pants."
You see a person sometimes, who has been laboring hard, how he pants, as though he could not get his breath! Is not this so in the experience of the Lord's people? When laboring under hard and heavy burdens, how their breath seems to fail them! When temptations attack them, does it not seem as though they must altogether faint and drop down? They are so overcome with labor that they pant and gasp for breath.
But what do they pant after? They pant after the Lord's manifested presence; they pant after a sense of his loving-kindness shed abroad in their soul; they pant after some sweet testimony that the Lord is their God; they pant after some views of Christ as their Savior; they pant after the application of his atoning blood, and some discovery of his preciousness and beauty to their hearts. Thus they "pant" after HIM.
The word "pant" is expressive of the most earnest and intense desire—a desire that nothing can satisfy but the Lord himself. And thus the Lord's people are distinguished from all other people that dwell upon the face of the earth—that they want the Lord himself, and none but he can satisfy their longing souls. Unless the Lord himself hears their prayer, to them it is of no value; unless the Lord himself is the author of their religion, it gives them no satisfaction; unless the Lord speaks to their souls, it removes no burden; unless the Lord smiles upon them, their trouble and sorrow are undiminished; unless the Lord whispers, they still have to struggle with doubts and fears, and all the turmoil of their troubled bosom.
So that the Lord's people are distinguished by this mark from all others—that they desire the Lord himself to be all to them, and all in them; that he may have all the glory—and they all the sweet and blessed consolations. Others can be satisfied with opinions, notions, speculations, and what they are doing for the Lord. But the people of God, seeing and feeling what they are, and being deeply convinced of their lost and ruined state by nature, must have the Lord himself to be the light of their countenance, their heavenly teacher, their blessed guide, their only Savior, their all in all here, and their all in all hereafter. After these things their hearts pant.
But is it ALWAYS so? Are there no long seasons of carnality and barrenness? when there is no desire, no longing, no hungering, no thirsting, no panting?—but only a long tract of barrenness between these fruitful fields? There are long wastes of dreary wilderness between these 'sips and tastes'—long seasons of spiritual hunger and thirst between these refreshments—long intervals in which the Lord does not appear as the light of their countenance. But, even then, the Lord's people are distinctly marked by this feature—that none but the Lord can satisfy their souls, none but the Lord can speak peace to their hearts, none but the Lord is still their salvation, none but the Lord is still their desire. And when they have him not, they seem to themselves to have no religion worth the name; and feel as destitute, needy, naked, and barren, as if they never had one testimony from the Lord, never known his presence, never basked in the beams of his love.
IV. "My strength fails." And a good thing it did. What made David's strength fail him? It was because he could not in his own strength bear up under the heavy burdens that lay upon his heart. Depend upon it, a man will bear his burdens as long as he can—he will not give up until he is forced. Man will do all that he can to merit heaven—he will never receive superabounding grace into his heart and conscience until he has known something of the aboundings of sin. No man will ever prize salvation by the merit of Christ, until all his own merits have been scattered like chaff before the wind. No man will ever prize the manifestations of Jesus' dying love to his soul, until he is completely out of love with himself. No man will ever look up to heaven to be saved by a word from heaven, until he has first seen the depths of hell.
So it is a good thing, however painful, for a man's strength to fail him. And it is the Lord's purpose that our strength should fail us, that his strength may be made perfect in our weakness. It is a very painful point to come to in our soul's experience—to have no strength at all—to be where the Lord brings his people, as set forth Psalm 107:12; "He brought down their heart with labor—they fell down, and there was none to help." To be in that place where we must have some deliverance from God, and yet to feel unable to work it in our own souls, must needs be a painful, trying spot. To feel ourselves on the brink of hell, and to know that none but an almighty hand can pluck us thence—to sink in our minds, and know that none but God himself can raise us up and bring us safe to glory—is a very trying place.
But the Lord brings all his people there—sooner or later. He thus weans them from self-strength, self-wisdom, and self-righteousness. He breaks the arm of creature strength, that he may have the honor of laying the everlasting arms underneath the soul—he strips them of everything, that he may have the glory, and we the comfort of being clothed by him from head to foot. So that, however painful it may be to say, "My strength fails me;" it is a spot into which all the Lord's people must come—and come the more certainly and thoroughly as the corruptions of their heart are laid bare.
I doubt not there was a time with the Lord's people here, when all their strength was not completely gone—when they could make some little headway against temptation—could stand against sin—could do something to put away God's displeasure and gain his approval. But what painful lessons have they learned since then! Now they know that nothing but the power of God can keep them every moment from falling—nothing but the hand of God can hold them from running headlong into temptation—nothing but the work of God can bring forth in heart, lip, and life any one fruit or grace of the Spirit! All their strength has so completely failed them, that they have to lie as clay in the hands of the Potter—that he may make them what he would have them to be. And their desire is, to feel the heavenly fingers molding them into vessels fit for the Master's use.
"My strength fails!" I am unable to raise up one divine thought or feeling! "My strength fails me" so completely, that I can never fight against Satan, never overcome the world, never crucify the flesh, never subdue sin, never keep my heart out of temptation, nor temptation out of my heart. "My strength altogether fails me!"
But what is the EFFECT? It glorifies the Lord thereby; it makes this text sweet and precious to our heart; "Help is laid on One that is mighty." And when we can firmly believe thatJesus is our strength, then are we beginning to look up to the Lord to feel his strength made perfect in our weakness. And then we see the object and the blessedness of our own strength failing us, that we may know the power of his resurrection, and give him all the glory of our complete and everlasting salvation!
"My strength fails me." HOW does a man learn this? By having burdens put upon his back, which he cannot carry in his own power—having temptations to grapple with, which he cannot overcome—feeling corruptions working in his heart, which he cannot subdue—finding the cravings of lusts, which he cannot deny—discovering the whole body of sinand death to be perpetually running after evil, and he unable to control it one moment! He learns it also by his thorough inability to bring into his soul any testimony from God—any one whisper from the Lord's lips—any one smile from his countenance—or any one clear and certain mark that he is savingly interested in the love and blood of the Lamb.
Thus, when he says, "My strength fails me," his strength fails him to do anything that he desires to have done in him and for him—and thus he sinks down before the footstool of mercy a ruined and helpless sinner. But is not this the very time for the Lord to appear? The Lord never appears until our strength fails! When our strength fails, he makes his strength known; when we droop, he raises; when we die, he revives; when we are cast down, he lifts up; and when all things are against us, he shows us that all are for us. Thus, it is absolutely indispensable that the Lord's people should walk in this path—that their strength should entirely fail them—that they may enter into the riches of a Savior's love and blood, and find him suitable and precious to their soul!
V. "As for the light of my eyes, it also is gone from me." There was a time when there was light with you, and others of the Lord's family. There was a time with you when you could see the truths in God's word, and even see they were all yours, and your name in the book of life. But have you not found the light of your eyes gone from you? You see the 'doctrines' as plainly as ever; but cannot feel the 'power of those doctrines'.
There was a time when you could go to God's footstool, see Jesus by the eye of faith, and have the affections of your heart flowing out unto him; could take hold of his strength, believe his word, enjoy his promises, and receive him as made unto you all that your soul desires. But have you not found since with David, "as for the light of my eyes, it is also gone from me?" It is withdrawn. You now "would see Jesus." There was a time when you saw him in every chapter; you could see him in creation, see him in providence, and see him in grace; see him in hearing; see him in prayer; see him as the Son of God standing at the right hand of the Father, interceding for your soul. But light is now gone. Have we not had often since to walk in darkness, when there was no light, unable to see our signs, or read our evidences and testimonies?
There was a time too when you had light to see the path in which you were walking, and had no doubt you were one of the living family—you could see the track in which the Lord was leading you, and believed it would land you safe in glory. Looking also on the path of providence, you saw how the Lord had appeared in this way and that way, and believed all would end well at last. But, alas, alas! a change has come over your soul. Now you have to say, "the light of my eyes is also gone from me!" You cannot see the things you once saw, believe the things you once believed, feel the things you once felt, nor enjoy the things you once enjoyed. The days of darkness are now many. "O that I were as in months past, as in the days when God preserved me; when his candle shined upon my head; and when by his light I walked through darkness." (Job 29:2, 3.)
Is this the case with you? But is your case singular? Is it not to be found in God's word? Is it not to be felt in the experience of God's saints? Are you the only child of God thus? Are you the only believer who cannot see his signs, or read his testimonies? the only living soul who is walking in darkness, and without light? the only one who has lost sweet testimonies and consolations, and mourned after those things he once enjoyed, but fears he shall never enjoy again? Was not Job? was not David? was not Jeremiah? was not Hezekiah here? Here these saints of God were, looking back upon the days that were passed, and wishing those days might once more return. Yes, the Lord himself told his disciples, that they would long to see one day of the Son of Man. When they were near Jesus, they could look upon him by the eye of sense, as well as by the eye of faith; they could listen to the gracious words that fell from his lips, sit with him at the same table, and look upon his Person. But he was taken from them up to heaven—and then this was the feeling of their hearts, "O that we could see the Lord as once we saw him!" And this is the spot in which many of the Lord's people are. The dearest and most highly favored of the family of God are often brought to this spot, where they can only say, "the light of my eyes, it also is gone from me!"
Is their case, then, so BAD as they think? Have they not fellow travelers who are walking in the same chequered path? fellow mourners who are shedding the same solitary tear? fellow pilgrims tracking the same thorny road, sinking in the same miry clay? If they doubt it, let them read what the Holy Spirit has here recorded, and see whether the feelings of their heart and their experience are not written here as with a ray of light—"Lord, all my desire is before you." Are not these the very feelings of your heart, those of you who know what it is to sigh, cry, and mourn with David under a sense of the hiding of God's face, and the workings of your own wretched heart, full of guilt, sin, and shame? But with it all, there are blessed marks of the life of God at work in your soul. It is better for you to have some of these painful exercises, these perplexing things in your minds, than be at ease in Zion. The Lord might have left you, as he has left thousands of dead professors—at the same level, never sinking, never rising—never ebbing, never flowing—never waxing, never waning. Where they were in January, there they are in December; where they were in 1836, there they are in 1846, and there they will be, if they live, in 1856. They resemble those stone statues we see in the New Road. These have all the features of a man; the lips, the ears, the nose, and the eyes. Come by twenty years hence, you will see the old statue standing where it did—in all the rigidity of marble—a little more dirty and soiled; but still standing there just as it was twenty years ago.
Is not this the picture of a man with a name to live while dead, with the 'doctrines of grace in his head', and none of the 'power of it in his heart'? What was he twenty years ago? Just the same as he is now. Like the statue I have been describing, a little more soiled perhaps and dirty with the corruptions of the world; but just in 1846 what he was in 1826—dead then, and dead now. Is it not better to be a living man molded by the divine fingers, though perhaps rather more dwarfish than these gigantic statues, which look down so frowningly upon us from the stone-cutter's yard? Is it not better to be little and low, but alive to God, than to be one of these tall statues that have merely the outward appearance of a man?
If there is grace in our hearts, there will be more or less of these fluctuations—these movings to and fro of the divine and hidden life. But it is far better, however painful it may be, to have these perplexities and exercises, than to be settled upon our lees, and be at ease in Zion. It is these exercises that keep the soul alive. Remove them, and the man sinks into death. The water of the sea, by ebbing to and fro, is kept fresh and sweet. But shut these waters up in a dock—how stagnant they become! they lose all their freshness, and become little else than a mass of filth and corruption.
So, if you who fear God's name are left without these exercises, without the workings of the Spirit upon your heart, without these movings to and fro, without these ebbings and flowings of divine life in your soul, you would soon be like the stagnant water in the dock—without any pleadings with God in prayer, any breathings of life after him, anything that manifests you as a living monument of God's mercy!
Therefore, however painful, trying, and perplexing—however contradictory to flesh and blood and reason the path may be—yet it is far better to be a living soul, with sharp exercises, cutting temptations, severe afflictions and sorrows, than to be let alone by God—to have no painful exercises, nor pleasurable emotions—no frowns from God's face, nor smiles from his loving countenance—no tears of sorrow, nor tears of joy—to have nothing from the Lord, but everything from self! To be left—to be left to ourselves—to our pride—to our carnality, to our wickedness!
It is far better to be one of the Lord's poor, tried, tempted family, whom he thus takes in his hand, whom he thus mysteriously and mercifully exercises—than to live as many do, without care or any fear, and never know their state before God until they drop into the burning lake!
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