The Divine Relationship
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In addition to all this, we have to blend the thought of the close and sacred relationship which binds you to Jesus, on the ground of which you are emboldened to approach and tell Him all. As a believer, you are one of the countless number given by the Father to Jesus. You are one of His sheep, His brother, His friend. To receive you with indifference, or to repulse you with scorn, would be to trample upon Himself—for we are as His brethren, “bone of His bone and flesh of His flesh.” In us, too, He beholds His Father’s image restored, His own righteousness imputed, and our bodies living temples of the Holy Spirit.
When the eye of King Ahasuerus lighted upon Esther, robed and jeweled with royal splendor, her person found grace in his sight, and he bade her approach. With a complacency and delight infinitely transcending this, does Jesus contemplate the believer as he enters into the Divine presence, lovely with His loveliness put upon him. Extending the symbol of welcome, He invites your approach; His heart, responsive to your petition, is prepared, and His power, commensurate with your case, is “able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think.”
O royal highway of access! Opened by the blood and kept open by the intercession of Christ, the much incense of whose merit ascends up moment by moment before the throne—there is not a thought, a feeling, or a circumstance, with which you may not go and tell Jesus.
Just as I am—Your love unknown
Has broken every barrier down,
Now to be Your, yes, Your alone,
O Lamb of God! I come!
Let me remind you, in vindication of the glory of Immanuel, that going and telling Jesus, implies on His part, no ignorance of, or indifference to your case. He who redeemed us is GOD—“God manifest in the flesh.” All people, all things, all events are known to Him from the end to the beginning. When, therefore, you stand in the presence chamber of Jesus you offer no request, breathe into His ear no sorrow, unveil to His eye no infirmity, with which, in all its most minute detail, He was not already infinitely better acquainted than yourself.
Long before the sadness had shaded your brow, or a tear had dimmed your eye, or the burden had pressed your spirit, or the perplexity had woven its web around your path, or the archer had bent his bow and winged his shaft—Jesus knew it all, had appointed it all, had anticipated it all. It was no surprise to Him! Precious truth! Christ had entwined my perplexity with His thoughts, had wrapped my grief around His heart, had provided a pavilion for my safety before a pebble had paved, or a cloud had shaded, or a whisper of the storm had breathed over my path.
“O Lord! You know my downsitting and mine uprising; You understand my thoughts afar off, You compass my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways.” Satisfied with such a fact, cheered by such a truth, animated by such a thought, you may unhesitatingly advance into the unknown history of another year; firm in the belief that Jesus will be faithful in fulfilling the promise, “I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known; I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them.”
Let me now briefly trace a few of the many occasions in which you are invited to avail yourself of this privilege.
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