The Battle Is the Lord's 2
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2. "Neither do we know what to do." That seems worse still. Know not what to do! To be in such perplexity as not to know how to act! If a man were to say, "I am very weak, but I have a plan in my head which I am sure will succeed; or, although I cannot do the thing myself, yet I have a friend that can;" such a person we should not consider without resource of some kind. He could not with truth say, "I know not what to do." To have no strength is to be very low; but to have no wisdom is to be lower still.
Now when a "great company" comes against you, do you always or often know "what to do"? Is there a 'treasury of wisdom' in your heart? Can you take inward counsel, and say, "I see how I can manage this; I can easily overcome that; I have a plan for this difficulty, and a contrivance for that annoying circumstance. It does not therefore much matter what trial comes, I know exactly how to meet it"? If you are there, you are not in the experience of Jehoshaphat, and the people for whom he was interceding with the Lord. He was compelled to confess for himself and them what many a poor child of God has said in substance, if not in word, "We know not what to do!" We are fairly brought to our wits' end, and are altogether baffled and confounded.
Apply this experimentally to your own case. When afflictions come, do you know what to do? You may have heavy losses in providence. Can you always meet the trial with calmness and resignation, and say, "Well, to be sure, it is rather a loss, but then it is not significant"? A man who can talk so, does not know much about the matter. Apathy is not submission, though one of that spurious brood that often walk abroad under Christian surnames. This is the trying point, not to "know what to do"; not to see what way to take, nor be able by any contrivances of our own skill or wisdom to meet the difficulty.
Again, when your lusts and passions are stirred up—and I suppose sometimes they move, they do not always lie calm and dead in your soul—you find now and then a little working of the old Adam nature; sin is not always taking its nap, nor torpid like a snake in winter. I suppose that now and then there is something not altogether spiritual or gracious, some sensual desire, some pride, some base imagination at work in your carnal mind. O be assured there is a veil of unbelief on your heart if you do not see, and your conscience is not very tender if you do not feel it. But when your old Adam nature is stirred up, do you know what to do? "O, yes," you say, "I do! I am at no loss or standstill whatever. Directly as I find sin begin to stir, I make a firm resolution that I will not be overcome by it. I never give way to pride, covetousness, worldly-mindedness, evil tempers, or any of the works of the flesh."
I really cannot believe you. You may make resolutions; but how long or how often do you keep them? Is it not as long as a little child keeps its resolutions to be good? When the parent is about to punish it, O what resolutions it makes! The tears run down its little cheeks; it will promise almost anything to avoid punishment—"I will never do it again, I will never do it again; I will be so good, so good." How long? how long? Perhaps not half-an-hour. And thus our resolutions, if we make them, are not much better than the promises of a child. I have long given over making any. But if we are so foolish as to make resolutions, how long will they last? Just as long as a feather lies quiet upon the roof of a house; it only waits for the first puff of wind, and then it is gone. And so our resolutions are like feathers; the first puff blows them to the winds.
And how can you manage your doubts and fears? Do you take them by the neck and strangle them? Can you put your hand down into your heart and cast them out like a nest of vipers? You will be stung in the attempt!
The real cry of the soul is, "We know not what to do!" In times past we thought we knew what to do; we were tolerably strong, we would pray, would read God's Word, would keep our eyes and ears and tongues, would set a guard over the movements of the heart, and perhaps to a certain extent we succeeded. But it was because we knew little of this "great company." It was a little company, perhaps; and when it was only a little company, we might know what to do; but when this "great company" came, it put the soul to its wits' end, and brought forth the exclamation, "We do not know what to do!"
Now, until the soul is more or less brought here, it knows very little of the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ. We must be brought into trying places to know anything of God. I have often thought of poor McKenzie's words, and striking words they were, in his last illness. When the blood was gushing from his mouth, he said, "It is here we need a God!" Aye, it is here we need a God; but very often, too often, we do not need a God. Am I going too far when I say that nine-tenths of our time, perhaps, we can do without a God? Take this day. You have been engaged in your business, in your lawful occupations. Have you not been doing the greater part of this day perhaps without God? Have you in many hours, many quarter-hours, many minutes this day, really felt your need of a God, really needed God; feeling in that state and case that you needed a present God, a God to help, a God to bless, a God to appear, a God to come down into your soul? I do not mean that there has been no aching void, no looking upward, no secret prayer or supplication; but not such extreme desires and earnest cries as if you needed Him in a special manner. Base creatures are we with all our profession, that we can do so much and so often without a present God; that we keep Him, so to speak at a distance; pay him compliments, and yet can do for the most part so much without Him.
But when brought into hopeless circumstances, then it is we begin to need a God, and such a God as is the God and Father of the Lord Jesus Christ, such a God as alone can bless and comfort the soul.
III. How under these circumstances they cry to the Lord, "Will You not judge them?" Now under these circumstances does Jehoshaphat plead with God. And how tenderly and affectionately does he plead! If you will read what precedes our text, you will see how he pleads with God, and chiefly on three grounds. He pleads with Him first on the ground of His power and might—"Is there not all power with You?" He pleads with Him secondly on the ground of His covenant—"Are not You our God?" He pleads with Him thirdly on the ground of His dwelling with them in the sanctuary—"Your people settled here and built this Sanctuary for you. They said, 'Whenever we are faced with any calamity such as war, disease, or famine, we can come to stand in your presence before this Sanctuary where your name is honored. We can cry out to you to save us, and you will hear us and rescue us.'" 2 Chron. 20:8-9
By the "sanctuary" we may understand the human nature of the Lord Jesus Christ, that sanctuary and true tabernacle which the Lord pitched and not man. He comes therefore to God with these three powerful pleas—as a God of great strength, and therefore able; a God in covenant, and therefore willing; and a God in Christ, and therefore loving and merciful. These three powerful pleas he brings, and lays them at His sacred feet, interceding with Him to do that for them which they could not do for themselves—"Will You not judge them?"
There is something, to my mind, very striking and suitable in this expression—"Will You not judge them?" It is as though he put himself, so to speak, into close communication with God, and identified Judah's cause with the cause of God; so that God in delivering her was actually fighting His own battles; and as a judge upon His judgment seat, was passing a judgment upon His own enemies.
Now this is the most prevailing plea we can make with God; when we can look up to Him as our God in covenant, and take our enemies, our temptations, our afflictions, our doubts, our exercises, so to speak, into our hand, as so many enemies to God, and ask the Lord to pass a sentence upon them, not because they are our enemies, but because they are His. We may perhaps thus illustrate it. In war time there is in the garrison a traitor who is conspiring to betray the fortress. A soldier detects the wretch; he seizes him upon the spot, brings him to the general, and denounces his crime. Now when the soldier arrests the traitor, he does not arrest him as his personal enemy, but as the enemy of his sovereign. So, if we can arrest our lusts and base passions, seize them as traitors, bring them before God, and say, "These are Your enemies; You judge them and punish them, and for Your name's sake deliver us from their treachery;" this seems, as it were, to put God upon our side, and to call in His justice to execute judgment upon them as His enemies.
There is no use fighting the battle in our own strength. We have none. There is no use when sin has made a breach in the conscience to thrust into the gap a stout board of self-righteousness. The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but spiritual. The strength of Christ, the blood of Christ, the grace of the gospel, the sword of the Spirit—these must be our weapons. "They overcame by the blood of the Lamb, and by the word of their testimony." But how few fight with these weapons! How many take their self-righteousness as a weapon against their sins; and thus they only fight flesh with flesh; they only combat self in one form by self in another form. This is popery.
Poor weak creatures go into convents and monasteries. For what? To fight against sin. By what? By self-righteousness. They macerate their bodies, wear sackcloth, repeat their prayers, and attend to their ceremonies. For what purpose? To subdue their sins, arming flesh against flesh. And what is the consequence? If they have any conscience at all, they are crushed down in this ineffectual struggle, as Luther was in his cell at Erfurt. This is popery in full blossom—a gaudy flower, of which Protestant self-righteousness is a swelling bud.The essence of popery is creature righteousness, and to fight against sin by self-righteousness is next door to going into a monastery, wearing a hair shirt, or flagellating the shoulders with a scourge.
The gospel has brought to light a better, a more effectual way. "Will You not judge them?" "Here are my lusts, I cannot manage them; here are my temptations, I cannot overcome them; here are my doubts and fears, I cannot subdue them; here are my enemies, I cannot conquer them. Lord, I do not know what to do. But will You not judge them? Will not You manage for me? Will You not subdue my enemies and Yours?" This is, so to speak, taking these lusts and passions by the neck, and laying them down at the feet of God as God's enemies, and thus bringing the power of God against them, setting in array the omnipotence of Jehovah against what would otherwise destroy us. This is prevailing. To fight thus under the banner of the Lord is to make headway against sin; but to fight against it in our own resolution and strength is only to fall its victim. This is taking the weapons of God to fight against our spiritual foes; and these weapons are not carnal, but mighty through God to the pulling down of strongholds. This is fighting against sin, not in the flesh, but in the Spirit; not by the law, but by the gospel; not by self, but by the grace of God. And if your soul has had many a tussle, and many a wrestle, and many a hand-to-hand conflict with sin, you will have found this out before now, that nothing but the grace, power, and Spirit of Christ ever gave you the victory, or the least hope of victory.
IV. The fixed posture of their souls—"Our eyes are upon You." Jehoshaphat did not know what to do; he was altogether at his wits' end; and yet he took the wisest course a man could take. This is the beauty of it, that when we are fools, then we are wise; when we are weak, then we are strong; when we know not what to do, then we do the only right thing. O had Jehoshaphat taken any other course; had he collected an army, sent through Judah, raised troops and forged swords and spears, he would certainly have been defeated. But not knowing what to do, he did the very thing he should do—"Our eyes are upon You! You must fight our battles; You must take the matter into Your own hands. Our eyes are upon You, waiting upon You, looking up, and hoping in You, believing in Your holy Name, expecting help from You, from whom alone help can come."
But this is painful work to be brought to this point, "our eyes are upon You," implying there is no use looking to any other quarter. It assumes that the soul has looked, and looked, and looked elsewhere in vain, and then fixed its eyes upon God as knowing that from Him alone all help must come. This I believe to be the distinctive mark of a Christian, that his eyes are upon God. On his bed by night, in his room by day, in business or at market, when his soul is in trouble, cast down, and perplexed, his eyes are upon God. From Him alone all help must come; none else can reach his case. All other but the help of God is ineffectual; it leaves him where it found him, it does him no good. We are never safe except our eyes are upon God. Let our eyes be upon Him, we can walk safely; let our eyes be upon the creature, we are pretty sure to slip and stumble.
"Our eyes are upon You." And O, how simple, suitable, complete, and blessed a remedy is this, when the Lord is pleased to open our eyes, and fix them on Himself. He must do it all. If the eyes are to be upon Him, He must first give us eyes; if lifted upon Him, He must raise them upwards; if kept upon Him, He must hold them waking.
It is good to be in this spot. There are times and seasons, perhaps, when we seem to have no religion whatever; when we look, and look, and look, and cannot find a grain. Where is our spirituality? Where our heavenly affections? Where our prayerfulness of spirit? Where our tenderness of conscience? Where our godly fear? Where our meditations upon God's Word? We look, and look, and look; they seem gone. Now perhaps, in the midst of this uncertainty we are brought into some painful exercise, some affliction, some temptation, some apprehension, something that lies with weight and power upon the soul. Now is the time we need our religion. But it is gone, it is gone, leaving us empty, needy, naked, and bare; religion, as regards its blessedness and comfort, we seem to have none. This is emptying work; this is stripping the soul, as it were, to the very bone.
But what a preparation to receive the religion which is from above! How the vessel must be emptied of the dirty water of 'creature religion', well rinsed, and washed out, to have the pure water of heavenly religion communicated from the divine fountain. God never mingles the pure stream of heavenly religion with the dirty, filthy water of our own creature religion. We must be emptied of every drop, so to speak, of our natural religion, to have the holy and spiritual religion, which is from above, poured into the soul. But to look, and look, and look, and find nothing but emptiness, nakedness, barrenness, and destitution; to have a "great company" of enemies all coming against us, and we as weak as water; what an emptying for divine filling, what a stripping for divine clothing, and what a bringing down of self for the raising up of Christ!
True religion consists mainly in two points—to be emptied, stripped, made naked and bare; and then to be clothed and filled out of Christ's fullness.
Thus, of all people the children of God are the weakest, and yet they are the only persons really strong; of all they are the most ignorant, yet they are the only wise; of all the mosthelpless, and yet they alone are effectually helped; of all the most hobbling, yet they alone have a good hope through God; of all perhaps in their feelings the most unbelieving, and yet are partakers, and they alone, of the grace of faith. "Great is the mystery of godliness." The life of a Christian is a paradox; he is called upon to tread a mysterious path; and he can rightly learn it in the school of experience alone. By a series of lessons in the school of Christ the people of God have their religion burnt into their souls; and what they thus learn becomes a part of themselves. It is not lost on the road from chapel, nor left behind in the pew, nor shut up in the hymnbook until the following Sunday, nor dropped at the street-door. It is not a passing notion, nor an empty name, nor towering smoke, nor earth-born vapor; but a divine reality lodged by the hand of God Himself in the heart, which will shine more and more to the perfect day.
Be not then discouraged, if the Lord is leading any of you in this path. Do not say that "a strange thing has happened unto you;" things you little thought of in times gone by. Does not the Lord lead the blind by a way they knew not? And in paths they have not seen? Does He not make crooked things straight before them, and rough places plain? Is not God in Christ alone to be our King, our Leader, our Help, our Hope, our All? It is a mercy to have something of the teaching of God in the soul, if it be only to empty it, to strip and lay low; to take away every false covering, to bring down into the dust of self-abasement, with the eyes upon the Lord, looking for and expecting a revelation of His mercy and love.
There are few who have got so far as this. There are few, comparatively speaking, who know they are nothing; few who are low enough for Christ to stoop down to; few who feel they are fallen among thieves, and need the good Samaritan to pass by and pour oil and wine into their wounds. There are very few who have got so far as to know their own sickness and their own sore. Yet would we hope there are those here whom the Lord is leading down into the valley; and though they are perhaps writing bitter things against themselves, their names are written in the Lamb's book of life. It is the poor and needy whom the Lord has respect unto, and those who humble themselves in God's own time and way shall be blessedly exalted!
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