Nearer and Dearer

The most healthy state for a Christian is that of unbroken and intimate fellowship with the Lord Jesus Christ. From such a state of heart he should never decline. "Abide in me, and I in you," is the loving precept of our ever loving Lord. But, alas! my brethren, as in this world our bodies are subject to many sicknesses, so our souls also, by reason of the body of this death with which we are encompassed, are often sorely afflicted with sin, sickness, and an evil heart of unbelief in departing from the Lord.

We are not what we might be, we are not what we should be, we are not what we shall be, we are not what we wish to be. I fear that many of us are not walking in the light of God's countenance, are not resting with our heads upon the Savior's bosom, nor sitting with Mary at the Master's feet; we dwell in Kedar rather than Zion, and sojourn in Mesech rather than Jerusalem. Spiritual sickness is very common in the church of God, and the root of the mischief lies in distance from Jesus, following Christ afar off, and yielding to a drowsy temperament. Away from Jesus, away front joy. Without the sun the flowers pine; without Jesus our hearts faint.

My object, this morning, is to put myself into the hands of the Holy Spirit, that he may now come, and, like a physician, prescribe for you, that if any of you in your hearts have become like the spouse in this part of the Song, you may as fully imitate her in that which is good as in that which is blameworthy. If you do not soon find your Beloved to your soul's joy, may you at least, like the spouse, declare that you are "sick with love," and continue to follow his track until you overtake him.

I. Commencing where the text begins, we observe that the spouse confesses A VERY COMMON SIN: she cries, "I sleep."

She had no right to be asleep, for her Beloved knew no rest. He was standing outside in the cold street, with his head wet with dew, and his locks with the drops of the night, why should she be at ease? He was anxiously seeking her, how was it that she could be so cruel as to yield to slumber! It is a most unseasonable thing, my brethren and sisters, for any of us to be indolent and indifferent, for we profess to have gone forth to meet the Bridegroom, and it is SHAMEFUL for us to sleep because for a little while he tarries.

The world is perishing. We are sent into the world instrumentally to be its saviors- how dishonorable, that with such necessities for activity, and with such noble ends to be served by industry, we should fold our arms and delight ourselves in indolence! Nothing can be more inexcusable than for us to sleep, seeing that we are not of the night nor of darkness. If we had been the children of the night, it might seem according to our nature for us to be sluggards; but we have avowed that the light of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ has shone into our eyes. Let us not therefore sleep as do others, but let us watch and be sober, for those who sleep, sleep in the night; and since the night is past to us, it is highly indecent and improper that we should still continue to toss upon the bed of sloth.

No time for slumber, it seems to me, can be more unseasonable to the Christian than the present one, for the world is reeking with wickedness, and superstitions like the frogs of Egypt are covering the land. Everyone who is but so much as half awake can see the enemy industriously sowing tares among the wheat. Shall the watchmen of Zion continue to slumber on their watchtowers when the foe is undermining the bulwarks? Shall the shepherds sleep when the wolf has broken into the fold? Shall the seamen sleep when the gale is furiously driving the vessel upon the rocks?

So far as our own hearts are concerned, we have no private reasons for slumbering, for our daily cares require watchfulness, the temptations which assail us every hour demand of us that we should stand with our loins girt, and our abounding enemies all warn us that our danger is extreme unless we are always fully equipped in our celestial armor. If we must sleep, let it be in a less dangerous position than these hostile lands, through which we march today. There will be rest enough on the other side of Jordan, where the drawn sword is exchanged for the well-tuned harp; but to be careless now, is to sleep in the midst of a bloody conflict, to dream upon the verge of a precipice, and to sport in the jaws of death. From our beds let the Master's voice arouse us, for he cries aloud, "What I say unto you I say unto all, Watch."

Do you not find, my brethren, that almost unconsciously to yourselves, a spirit of indifference steals over you? You do not give up private prayer, but alas! it becomes a mere mechanical operation. You do not forsake the assembling of yourselves together, but still your bodily presence is all that is given, and you derive no refreshment from 'the unspiritual exercise'. Have you not sat at the Lord's table spiritually asleep? Has not the heavenly watcher detected your soul nodding when the sacred emblems have been spread before you, or even in your mouth?! Have you not been content with the bare symbols, which are barrenness, while the spiritual essence, which is the marrow and fatness, you have not tasted?

I find from the very fact that I am always engaged in the Master's service from the early morning until far into the night, that I become dull and carnal, being cumbered with much serving, so that I have to question the vitality of my religion because its freshness and vigor flag. It is grievous to go on like a clock which is wound up, not because you rejoice in the work, but because you must. My soul shudders at the thought of 'routine religion', 'formal service', 'dead devotion', and 'mechanical godliness'. What a mercy to reach the fresh springs, to feel a daily renewed youth, an anointing with fresh oil! For this I pine and pant.

One gets driving on in the dark, as coachmen sometimes do when they are asleep on the box: dangerous work, this! I know that I am safe in Christ, but I could sincerely suffer anything rather than become habitually of a slumbering heart. Better hurt under the long whip of affliction, or feel the stings of conscience, or even the darts of the devil, than lie down in carnal security's lap to be shorn of one's locks by the Philistines; yet I fear this has been my case. I do not know how far my confession may be echoed by my brethren today, but I am shrewdly suspicious that the more wakeful you are, the more heartily will you acknowledge a terrible tendency in the other direction.

Again let me remind you that to sleep now is an EVIL thing, DANGEROUS to yourselves, a CRUEL thing to others, an UNGRATEFUL act towards Christ, and DISHONORABLE to his cause. Shall such a King be served by lie-in-bed soldiers? Shall his midnight pleadings be repaid by our daylight sleepiness? Shall an agony of bloody sweat be recompensed by heavy eyelids and yawning mouths? Away, forever away, O you who are redeemed by the Well-beloved, with this detestable slumber, of which I do not fear must honestly confess yourselves to have been guilty!

II. The song before us reminds us of A HOPEFUL SIGN. "My heart wakes."

What a riddle the believer is! He is asleep, and yet he is awake. His true self, the I, the veritable Ego of the man is asleep; but yet his heart, his truest self, his affections, are awake. The believer is a standing paradox; he cannot even understand himself. The wakefulness of the heart, does it not mean just this? "I sleep, but I am not content to be asleep"?

The true believer is not satisfied to slumber. Time was when, if he could have pacified his conscience, he would have been extremely thankful, however deadly might have been the drug which caused the slumber, but now the man starts, shivers, tosses to and fro in his sleep, is unrested by his rest, dreams horribly, and cries to be awakened. The saved man cannot be happy in a false and rotten peace. The divine life within struggles against the monstrous serpent of sin which tries to twist its folds of sleep around it. No renewed heart can enjoy perfect rest while conscious of being an idler in the vineyard, and a loiterer in the race.

Backsliding believer, does your heart wake? If so, you will know it, for it will smite you, it will upbraid you, and demand of you whom you are, that you should thus behave yourself? Elect of God, and yet asleep while Jesus is dishonored! Redeemed by blood, and yet misspending time which belongs to your Redeemer! Married to Christ, and yet absent from your Husband, and content without a smile from his dear face! How can it be? Be ashamed and be confounded, and never show your face any more, for this is ingratitude of the deepest dye.

It is a hopeful sign when a man can conscientiously say as much as the spouse in this case, but remember it is not much to say. Do not pride yourself upon it. Be ashamed that you should be asleep at all. Do not congratulate yourself that your heart is awake. Be thankful that infinite love affords you grace enough to keep your heart alive, but be ashamed that you have no more, when more may be had, and should be had. Mere longings and moanings are so small a work of grace that they should alarm rather than console.

It will be a foul temptation of Satan if you are led to say, "I am content to sleep so long as my heart does but wake." Firm resolves of amendment are needful, and something more than 'resolves'. Alas I have need to add those few words, because the most of our 'resolutions' vanish in thin air. We get as far as this, "I am not quite content to be in such a lukewarm state of mind, and I will therefore by-and-by endeavor to arouse myself, and renounce this downy bed of sloth." This is not much to say, for it is no more than we ought to do, it is all the less, because we so seldom keep the vow, but like the disturbed sluggard, we turn over to the other side and mutter sullenly, "A little more folding of the hands to sleep."

I fear me that there are thousands of God's children who are enough awake to know that they are asleep, enough convinced of their wrong to know that they are wrong, and to hope that they will one day be better, but alas! they continue in the same unhallowed condition. May I invite every believer to make a strict examination of his own spiritual state. My brother, you may be sleeping because of your great worldly prosperity, for nothing tends to slumber more surely than a gentle rocking in the 'cradle of luxury'.

On the other hand, you may be sleeping because of overwhelming sorrow, even as the twelve fell asleep when our Lord was in the garden. Some make a downy pillow of their wealth, but others fall asleep in their poverty, like Jacob with a stone for his pillow. To be surrounded with constant worldly occupation, to be oppressed with many cares in business, this is to pass through the enchanted ground; and happy is the man who has grace enough to overcome the influence of his position. Now, if your heart today is sufficiently awake to tell you that you are not living as near to God as you were some years ago, that you have not the love to him you once had, that your warmth and zeal for Christ has departed from you, I beseech you hear the voice of Jesus Christ: "As many as I love, I rebuke and chasten: be zealous therefore, and repent." "Repent and do your first works." Turn unto your Savior now, that this very day before the sun goes down you may rejoicingly exclaim, "I have found him whom my soul loves; I will hold him, and will not let him go."

III. The third thing in the text is A LOVING CALL.

Asleep as the spouse was, she knew her Husband's voice, for this is an abiding mark of God's people. "My sheep hear my voice." A half sleeping saint still has spiritual discernment enough to know when Jesus speaks. At first the Beloved one simply knocked. His object was to enter into fellowship with his church, to reveal himself to her, to unveil his beauties, to solace her with his presence. Such is the object of our blessed Lord, this morning, in bringing us to this house. I hope this sermon will be a knock: I trust my discourse may give many knocks at the door of every backsliding believer here.

Jesus cries, "Open to me! Open to me!" Will you not admit your Savior? You love him. He gave himself for you, he pleads for you: let him in to your soul, commune with him this morning. When you turn to read his word, every promise is a knock. He says, "Come and enjoy this promise with me, for it is yes and amen in me." Every threatening is a knock. Every precept is a knock. In outward providences every boon which we receive through our Mediator's intercession is a gentle knock from his pierced hand, saying, "Take this mercy, but open to me! It comes to you through me; open to me!"

Every affliction is a knock at our door; that wasting sickness, that broken bone, that consumptive daughter, that rebellious child, that burning house, that shipwrecked vessel, and dishonored bill- all these are Christ's knockings, saying, "These things are not your joys, these worldly things can afford no rest for the sole of your foot; open to me, open to me! These idols I am breaking, these joys I am removing; open to me, and find in me a solace for all your woes."

Knocking, alas! seems to be of little use to us. We are so stubborn, and so ungenerous towards our heavenly bridegroom, that he, the crucified, the immortal lover of our souls may stand and knock, and knock, and knock again, and the preacher and adversity may be his double hammer, but yet the door of the heart will not yield.

Then the Bridegroom tried 'his voice'. If knocking would not do, he would speak in plain and plaintive words, "Open to me, my sister, my love, my dove, my undefiled." The Lord Jesus Christ has a sweet way of making the word come home to the conscience; I do not now mean that effectual and irresistible power of which we shall speak by-and-by, but that lesser force which the heart may resist, but which renders it very guilty for so doing. Some of you who are the Lord's people, have heard soft and sweet whispers in your heart, saying, "You are saved; now, my beloved, live in the light of salvation. You are a member of my mystical body, draw near and enjoy fellowship with me, such as a member ought to have with its Head."

Do you not see the Lord Jesus beckoning to you with gentle finger, and saying, "Come with me oftener into the closet of secret prayer; get oftener alone to muse on things divine; acquire the habit of walking with me in your business. Abide in me, and I in you"? Do not these admonitions visit you like angels' whispers, and have you not too often resisted them? Have you not been thoughtful for them for the moment, and recorded them in your diary, and then forgotten them and lived as frigidly as you had done before, though the Sun of Righteousness was waiting to arise upon you with healing beneath his wings?

Now, beloved, observe the appeals which the Beloved here makes. He says, "Open to me," and his plea is the love the spouse has to him, or professes to have, the love he has to her, and the relationship which exists between them. "Open to me, my SISTER." Next akin to me, bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, born of the same mother;" for Jesus is "the seed of the woman," even as we are. One with us in our humanity, he takes each human heart that believes to be his mother, and sister and brother. "Open to me, my sister." If you are so nearly related to Jesus, why do you act so coldly towards him? If, indeed, he be your closest kinsman, how is it that you live so far remote, and come not to visit him, neither open the doors of your heart to entertain him?

"My DOVE," my gentle one, my favorite, my innocent." Oh, if you be indeed his dove, how can you rest away from the dovecote. How can you be satisfied without your mate? One turtle-dove pines without the other, how is it you do not pine to have fellowship with the dear Husband of your soul?

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