The Church's Love to Her Loving Lord 2

Would not my ardent spirit vie With angels round your throne, To execute your sacred will And make your glory known?" Yes, indeed, we thus can sing, and mean, I trust, every word; yes, will go forth into the whole world and preach the gospel to every creature. We will tell of this love to all, and labor to win for the Master's honor a multitude which no man can number out of every nation, and kindred, and tribe, and tongue and people. I believe in an active love, a love which has hands to labor and feet to run, as well as a heart to feel, eyes to glance, and ears to listen. A mother's love is of the purest and intensest sort in the world, and it is the most practical. It shows itself in deeds of untiring devotion both night and day. So also should it be with us; we should let our affections prompt us to life-long labor. The love of Christ should constrain us to live, and if needs he die to serve him. Heaven is the place of purest, holiest attachment to Christ; then we shall understand most about his love to us, and of all he has done to prove it, and the consequence will be that his servants shall serve him day and night in his holy temple. We are expecting a home in glory not of idleness, but of continual activity. It is written, " His servants shall serve him," and we are taught to pray now that we may do his will on earth as it is done in heaven. Let us, therefore, each one, be busily engaged in the great harvest-field. The harvest is great and the laborers are few. There is room for all, and each man's place is waiting to receive him. If we truly love our Lord, we shall at once press to the front and begin the "work of faith and labor of love."

Has not the Master been used to show his love to us in deeds? Look to Bethlehem, to Gabbatha, to Gethsemane, to Golgotha; yes, look to his whole life as he "went about doing good," and see if all this will not stir you imp to service. Listen to the life-story of the Lord, and you will hear a voice from each one of his deeds of love saying to you, "Go you and do likewise." And, once again, if we love Jesus we shall be willing to suffer for him. Pain will become light; we shall sing with Madame Guyon "To me it is equal whether love ordain my life or death, Appoint me ease, or pain." It is a high attainment to come to, but love can make us think ourselves of so small import that if Christ can serve himself with us, we shall make no choice as to what, or where we may be. We can sing once more- "Would not my heart pour forth its blood In honor of your name, And challenge the cold hand of death To damp this immortal flame?" Our hearts are, I trust, so full of real devotion to Christ, that we can give him everything, and endure all things for his sake. Cannot we say- "For him I count as gain each loss, Disgrace for him renown, Well may I glory in his cross, While he prepares my crown."

Darkness is light about us if we can serve him there. The bitter is sweet if the cup is put to our lips in order that we may share in his sufferings, and prove ourselves to he his followers. When Ignatius was led to his martyrdom, as he contemplated the nearness of his death and suffering, he said, "Now I begin to be a Christian;" he felt that all that he had done and suffered before was not enough to entitle him to be called a follower of Christ, but now as the Master's bloody baptism was before him, he realized the truth so dear to every right-minded Christian, that he was to be "like unto his Lord." Here we can all prove our love, we can suffer his will calmly if we are not able to do it publicly. "Weak as I am, yet through your love, I all things can perform; And, smiling, triumph in your name Amid the raging storm." I pray God we may have such a love moreover as thirsts after Jesus, which cannot he satisfied without present communion with him.

II. This brings me to the thought, which I shall only touch upon as the swallow skims the brook with his wing, and then up and away, lest I weary you; the second point of consideration is the desire of the Church after Christ Jesus our Lord: having called him by his title, she now expresses her longing to be with him. "Tell me, O you whom my soul loves, where you feed, where you make your flock to rest at noon." The desire of a renewed soul is to find Christ and to be with him. Stale foods left over from yesterday are very well when there is nothing else, but who does not like hot food fresh from the fire? And past communion with Christ is very well. " I remember you from the land of the Hermonites and the hill Mizar;" but these are only stale foods, and a loving soul needs fresh food every day from the table of Christ, and you that have once had the kisses of his mouth, though you remember the past kisses with delight, yet want daily flesh tokens of his love. He that drinks of this water will never thirst again, it is true, except for this water, and he will so thirst for it, that he will be like Samuel Rutherford, who began to be out of heart with the buckets and to want to get right to the well-head that he might lie down and drink, and then, if he could have his fill, he would drink the well quite dry. But there is no hope of that, or rather no fear of it: the well can never be empty, for it rises as we drink.

A true loving soul, then, needs present communion with Christ; so the question is, "Tell me where you feed? Where do you get your comfort from, O Jesus? I will go there. Where do your thoughts go? To your cross? Do you look back to that? Then I will go there. Where you feed, there will I feed."

Or does this mean actively, instead of being in the passive or the neuter? Where do you feed your flock? in your house? I will go there, if I may find you there. In private prayer? Then I will not be slack in that. In the Word? Then I will read it night and day. Tell me where you feed, for wherever you stand as the shepherd, there will I be, for I need you. I cannot be satisfied to be apart from you. My soul hungers and thirsts to be with you.

She puts it again, "Where do you make your flock to rest at noon," for there is only rest in one place, where you cause your flock to rest at noon. That must he a grace-given rest, and only to he found in some one chosen place. Where is the shadow of that rock? It is very hot just now here in the middle of summer, when the sun is pouring down his glorious rays like bright but sharp arrows upon us, and we, that are condemned to live in this great wilderness of brown bricks and mortar, often recollect those glades where the woods grow thick, and where the waters leap from crag to crag down the hill side, and where the birds are singing among the trees. We delight to think of those leafy bowers where the sun cannot dart his rays, where, on some mossy bank, we may stretch ourselves to rest, or have our weary limbs in some limpid stream; and this is just what the spouse is after. She feels the heat of the world's sun, and she longs to be away from its cares and troubles that have furrowed and made brown her face until she looked as if she had been a busy keeper of the vineyards. She needs to get away to hold quiet communion with her Lord, for he is the brook where the weary may lave their wearied limbs; he is that sheltered nook, that shadow of the great rock in the weary land where his people may lie down and be at peace. "Jesus, the very thought of you, With sweetness fills my breast; But sweeter far your face to see And in your presence rest. For those who find you, find a bliss, Nor tongue, nor pen can show The love of Jesus, what it is, None but his loved ones know." Now do you not want this tonight? Do not your souls want Christ tonight? My brothers, my sisters, there is something wrong with us if we can do without Christ. If we love him, we must want him. Our hearts ever say, "Abide with me from morn until eve, For without you I cannot live; Abide with me when night is near, For without you I dare not die."

Yes, we cannot do without Christ; we must have him. "Give me Christ, or else I die," is the cry of our souls. No wonder Mary Magdalene wept when she thought they had taken away her Lord, and she knew not where they had laid him. As the body suffers without food, so should we without Christ. As the fish perish out of water, so should we apart from Christ. I must quote another verse of a hymn, for really the sweet songsters of Israel have lavished all their best poetry, and very rightly so, to tell for us our love-tale concerning our Beloved. I am sure that our heart's inner voice can set to sweetest music the words- "Oh that I could forever sit With Mary at the Master's feet: Be this my happy choice My only care, delight, and bliss, My joy, my heaven on earth be this, To hear the Bridegroom's voice."

Yes! to be with Jesus is heaven; anywhere on earth, or in the skies- all else is wilderness and desert. It is paradise to be with him; and heaven without Christ would he no heaven to me. My heart cannot rest away from him. To have no Christ would he a punishment greater than I could bear; I should wander, like another Cain, over the earth a fugitive and a vagabond. Verily there would be no peace for my soul.

I am sure that the true wife, if her husband is called to go upon a journey, longs ardently for his return. If he is gone to the wars, she dreads lest he should fall. How each letter comes perfumed to her when it tells of his love and constancy, and how she watches for the day when she shall clasp him in her arms once more. Oh, you know that when you were children, if you were sent to school, how you counted until the holidays came on. I had a little almanac, and marked out every day the night before, and so counted one day less until the time I should get home again, and so may you. "May not a captive long his own dear land to see? May not the prisoner seek release from bondage to be free?" Of course he may, and so may you, beloved, pant and sigh, as the deer pants for the waterbrooks- for the comfortable enjoyment of the Lord Jesus Christ's presence.

III. The argument used by the Church.

Here is the desire. Now, to close, she backs that up with an argument. She says, "Why should I be as one that turns aside by the flocks of your companions?" You have plenty of companions- why should I he turned aside? Why should I not be one? Let us talk it over. Why should I lose my Lord's presence? But the devil tells me I am a great sinner. Ah! but it is all washed away, and gone forever. That cannot separate me, for it does not exist. My sin is buried. "Plunged as in a shoreless sea- Lost as in immensity."

The devil tells me I am unworthy, and that is a reason. But I always was unworthy, and yet it was no reason why he should not love me at first, amid therefore cannot be a reason why I should not have fellowship with him now. Why should I be left out? Now I am going to speak for the poorest here- I do not know where he is. I want to speak for you that have got the least faith; you that think yourselves the smallest in all Israel; you Mephibosheths that are lame in your feet, and yet sit at the king's table; you poor despised Mordecais that sit at the king's gate, yet cannot get inside the palace, I have this to say to you- Why should you be left there? Just try and reason. Why should I, Jesus, be left out in the cold, when the night comes on. No, there is a cot for the little one, as well as a bed for his bigger brother. Why should I be turned aside? I am equally bought with a price. I cost him, in order to save me, as much as the noblest of the saints: he bought them with blood; he could not buy me with less. I must have been loved as much, or else, seeing that I am of so little worth, I should not have been redeemed at all. If there he any difference, perhaps I am loved somewhat better. Is there not greater, better love shown in the choice of me than of some who are more worthy than I am?

Why, then, should I be left out? I know if I have a child that is deformed and decrepit, I love it all the more: it seems as if I had a tenderer care for it. Then why should my heavenly Father be less kind to me than I should be to my offspring? Why should I he turned aside? He chose me: he cannot change in his choice. Why, then, should he cast me off. He knew what I was when he chose me; he cannot therefore find out any fresh reason for turning me aside. He foresaw I should misbehave myself, and yet he selected me. Well, then, there cannot he a reason why I should he left to fall away. Again, I ask, Why should I turn aside? I am a member of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones, and though I am less than the least of all his saints, yet he has said, "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

Why should I turn aside? I have a promise all to myself. Has he not said, "I will not quench the smoking flax, nor break the bruised reed"? Has he not said, "The Lord takes pleasure in those who fear him in those who hope in his mercy"? If I cannot do more, I can do that.' I do hope in his mercy; then why should I be turned aside? If any should think of doing so, it should not be I, for I need to be near him; I am such a poor plant that I ought to he kept in the sun: I shall never do in the shade. My big brother, perhaps, may manage for a little time without comfort, but I cannot, for I am one of the Ready-to-Halts.

I recollect how the shepherds of Mount Clear said, "Come in, Mr. Little Faith; Come in, Mr. Feeble Mind; Come in, Mr. Ready-to-Halt; Come in, Mary;" but they did not say, "Come in, Father Faithful; Come in, Matthew; Come in, Valiant-for-Truth." No, they said these might do as they liked; they were quite sure to take their own part; but they looked first to the feeblest. Then why should I he turned aside? I am the feeblest, and need him most. I may use my very feebleness and proneness to fall, as the reason why I should come to him. Why should I he turned aside? I may fall into sin. My heart may grow cold without his glorious presence; and then, what if I should perish!

Why, here let me bethink myself. If I am the smallest lamb in his flock I cannot perish without doing the God of heaven a damage. Let me say it again with reverence. If I, the least of his children, perish, I shall do his Son dishonor, for what will the arch-fiend say? "Aha," says he, "you Surety of the Covenant, you could keep the strong, but you could not keep the weak: I have this lamb here in the pit whom you could not preserve. Here is one of your crown-jewels," says he, "and though it be none of the brightest, though it he not the most sparkling ruby in your coronet, yet it is one of your jewels, and I have it here. You have no perfect regalia: I have a part of it here." Shall that ever be, after Christ has said, "They shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of my hand"? Shall this be, when the strong arm of God is engaged for my help, and he has said to me, "The Eternal God is your refuge; and underneath are the everlasting arms?" Jesus, turn me not aside, lest by my fall I grieve your Spirit, and lest by my fall I bring disgrace upon your name. Why should I turn aside? There is no reason why I should. Come my soul, there are a thousand reasons why you should not. Jesus beckons you to come. You wounded saints, you that have slipped to your falling, you that are grieved, sorrowing, and distressed, come to his cross, come to his throne again. Backsliders, if you have been such, return! return! return! A husband's heart has no door to keep out his spouse, and Jesus' heart has no power to keep out his people. Return! return! There is no divorce sued out against you, for the Lord, the God of Jacob says," He hates putting away." Return! return! Let us get to our chambers, let us seek renewed fellowship; and, oh, you that have never had it, and have never seen Christ, may you thirst after him to-night, and if you do, remember the text I gave you, "Him that comes to me I will in no wise cast out." Whoever you may be, if you will come to Jesus, he will not cast you out. "Come, and welcome sinner, come." God bring you for Jesus' sake. Amen.

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