The Furnace and its Fruits 2
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1. But what is it that tries faith? Reading the Bible on a summer evening? having our family prayer with all due regularity? coming to chapel twice on the Lord's day, and attending all the prayer-meetings? Good things in their way—I would not say a single word against any of them. But we may do all these things, and yet have no faith. What is it, then, that tries faith? Why, inward exercises, painful conflicts, powerful temptations, and all that work within which is carried on in the bosom of the elect. Now, if there be no faith, there will be no trial of faith; but if there be faith, there will necessarily be the trial. No more—just in proportion to the strength of your faith, will be its trial. If you have little faith, you will have few and feeble trials; if you have great faith, you will have many and strong trials.
And this thing shows to me, as much as anything, the emptiness—the emptiness, I say—of that dead assurance which we find so much of in the present day. There are no trials connected with it, no deep exercises, no powerful temptations, no severe afflictions, no inward conflicts. It is a sort of faith that dances over conflicts, slips over trials, and flies about unweighted by temptations. And this very thing proves its rottenness; for if it were living faith in a living soul, there would be trials proving it, bringing it to light, and showing that it is of the operation of God in the soul.
Nor has this dead assurance any fruits; no humility, no brokenness, no contrition, no tenderness of conscience, no godly fear, no separation from the world, no living to God's glory. There is not a single fruit of the Spirit attending it. And by these two things—by its being a faith without trial, and a faith without fruit—it is proved to one who has eyes to see, not to be the faith of God's elect—for the faith that God himself is pleased to raise up in the hearts of his poor and needy family, has both trials and fruits; and by these two things it is manifested to be genuine.
But O, how painful it is to have faith tried! We would gladly have sweet views of Jesus, blessed glimpses and glances of his Person, tokens of his love, the gracious comings in of his favor, and the droppings in of his mercy and tender kindness. But no trials. O no! we would not have one—no afflictions, no powerful temptations, no painful conflicts, no suggestions of Satan, no horrible workings of a depraved nature. We would be glad to be free from all these things. As much peace and comfort as we may; but none of those painful things that give such trouble and exercise to the tender conscience. But God has put them together; and no man can, as no honest man will try, to put them asunder. If I have faith, I must have trials with it. The Lord gives no other but 'tried faith'. He says, "Buy of me gold tried in the fire, that you may be rich." (Rev. 3:18.) It is "the trial of your faith" which is "found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ."
2. But the Apostle here speaking of the trial of faith, directs our thoughts to the way in which faith is specially tried. He compares it to "gold," and not merely to gold, but to "gold tried in the fire." Now, what is this figure? It is a very common one in the word of God, and very expressive—that of the FURNACE. But what is the gold put into the furnace for? To make it gold? O no! It was gold before. To turn the dross into gold? O no! Let the ore be put into the fire as long as you please—the dross does not become gold, the gold does not become dross. So it is spiritually. Afflictions do not create faith—afflictions do not turn nature into grace, nor grace into nature. Grace is grace, nature is nature, in the furnace as well as out of the furnace; just as gold is gold, and dross is dross, in the fire as well as out of the fire. But what is the effect? To separate, to bring to light, to purge away the scum and dross.
Is it not so spiritually? If we have faith, we have a deal of dross mixed with it; presumption, self-righteousness, unbelief, pride, lofty thoughts of self—all this dross and filth is apparently (not really, but apparently) mingled with the few grains of faith that God may have dropped into our soul; and nothing but the fire can separate them. Now, afflictions, tribulations, and temptations are the furnace which God makes use of to separate the dross from the gold. How? By bringing it to light. Suppose I am in a trial—say, a providential trial; I want God to appear for me in providence. God does not appear. What is made manifest? Unbelief, murmuring, rebellion, repining—questioning God's power, or God's wisdom, or God's goodness. How my unbelief and infidelity are brought to light by these means!
Or say that I am laboring under some powerful temptation to doubt the being of God, the inspiration of the Scriptures, the deity of Christ, the work of the Holy Spirit, or horrible thoughts that I may hint at, but no more. What is the effect? O what a turmoil takes place in the bosom! O how false faith flies away at the first touch! It cannot stand this. Infidelity drives all before it.
But what do we learn by these temptations? Our own weakness and helplessness and miserable condition. The infidelity and skepticism that are mixed up with, and form part of, our carnal mind are brought to light and discovered; and thus the scum and dross are manifested in the process. But after awhile, little faith begins to lift up her head. And how does she manifest herself? By crying to the Lord, by groaning out her desires into his ear. And the Lord is pleased, now and then, to drop in a word, to encourage drooping faith to lift up her head; and as faith begins to lift up her head, she lays hold of some of God's promises, as suitable to her case. And thus faith becomes manifested as faith, and unbelief becomes manifested as unbelief.
Again. I am in some temptation that brings to light all the hidden evils of my heart. O how snugly does sin lie curled up in the carnal mind! O in what secret corners of the heart do our lusts lurk like sleeping vipers! But some temptation comes that stirs up, brings to light, and makes manifest these sleeping vipers, these torpid toads, and they begin to hiss and discover themselves to our astonishment. 'O,' says the soul, 'that ever I could be such a wretch. I have been told, and I thought I believed what a fallen creature I was; but that I should have such pride springing up in my heart, such covetousness, such enmity against God and his truth, such sensuality, such internal defilement—O, I could not have believed it if I had been told it by an angel that I was such a wretch, such a monster of inward filth, sin, and evils!'
Is not this doing the soul good? Here is the furnace—out of it come the scum, foam, and filth of our carnal mind. You thought perhaps you were making great advances in holiness, had nearly climbed to the top of the tree, and were getting so spiritual and heavenly-minded, that sin was almost killed. But it was not dead—it was only sleeping—just torpid for awhile. But these temptations have brought to light some of the evil that always was in your heart. It slept there, though you knew it not; it was covered up, concealed, perhaps smothered over with a huge cloak of profession, or plastered in with some untempered mortar. But temptation has brought it to light. Has faith nothing to do here? Yes. This is "the trial of faith." Faith begins to groan out its desires to the Lord to be kept from evil, and to walk in the strait and narrow path; it comes unto the Lord, and, as he enables, pleads with him; and, as he gives, lays hold of some promise suitable to its tried, tempted, exercised state.
And is not this proving that we have faith? It can be proved in no other way. We may think, vainly think, what a vast stock of faith and strength we have, when all the time our faith may be little else but presumption. There are hundreds of professors in this metropolis who think themselves strong believers; but could you take the scales of the sanctuary, and weigh their faith in them, you would scarcely find a grain. Presumption, profession, notions in the head, and dead assurance, pass with thousands for the living faith of God's elect.
And so it would pass with you and me, if God did not see fit to exercise our souls upon the solemn things of eternity. If we had no trials, temptations, afflictions, nor inward conflicts, and were destitute of the many painful things within and without that we are now exercised with, we would sit in our arm chair of carnal ease, and be as puffed up with a few empty notions as they. But we cannot—if we fear God, we cannot. Our exercises, trials, and temptations keep us from this carnal ease. There is conscience speaking in our bosom, and that will not let us rest in a name to live while dead. There are inward workings, sometimes night and day, and sometimes every hour, which make us dread to be deceived by the delusions of Satan, or to take up with all empty profession of godliness.
This, then, is the effect of the furnace. The furnace does not make nature to be grace—or grace to be nature. Grace is still grace—nature is still nature. But the furnace brings nature to light—no more, the furnace brings grace to light. And thus faith is known to be faith by the trial which it has to endure.
3. And the Apostle says, this is "much more precious than of gold that perishes." It will not do to tell this upon the Stock Exchange, that living faith in a poor broken-hearted creature, perhaps dying in the workhouse, is better and more precious than all the gold in the banks. But it is so in God's sight, and should be in ours, if we viewed it as God views it, and saw light in God's light. Yes—if there be one spark of living faith in the soul, one grain of the grace of God in our heart, it is better, a thousand million times better, than if we had all the possessions and all the wealth of the men of this world put together. Doubtless, we cannot often think or feel so—yet our feelings and unbelief do not alter the fact. The reality is the same, though our poor unbelieving mind is often denying, or putting a false gloss upon the words of immutable truth.
4. But when will it be found so? "At the appearing of Jesus Christ." In that great and solemn day which is fast hastening on, when the Lord Jesus Christ will "appear the second time without sin unto salvation," (Heb. 9:28.) then, "the trial of our faith," if we possess it (the heart-searching God knows whether we do possess it or not), "will be found unto praise and honor and glory." Little "praise" belongs to it now. The world will not praise it—that we are well convinced of. Empty professors will not praise it—that we are sure of; because if we are right, they are wrong; if our religion be of God, it cuts up their's root and branch, and leaves it not a foot to stand upon. Satan will not praise it—that is very certain; for he fights with bitter enmity against the grace of faith in the soul. And our carnal minds, we may be very sure, will not praise it, for "the carnal mind is enmity against God." (Rom. 8:7.)
We must not even expect the church of God very often to praise it; because God is jealous of his glory, and knows what poor empty creatures we are, pleased with the good opinions of men. Thus, if we are exercised children of God, our faith will not have praise from the world, from graceless professors, from the devil, from our own carnal minds, and very little praise even from God's own children. But it will be our mercy if it "be found unto praise at the appearing of Jesus Christ." It will be our mercy if he then salutes us with his own gracious lips, "Come you blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you!" (Matt. 25:34.)
And to "honor." Worldly honor we may not expect to have; God forbids us to desire it, though our carnal mind longs after and loves it. It is a bad mark if we seek it—a worse mark if we get it. But if the Lord Jesus Christ in the day of his appearing is pleased to honor our faith with the smile of his approbation, and crown it with immortal bliss and glory, we shall not need the applause of creatures—we shall not need to pine after the honor of man that perishes, or of the sons of men who are as grass. We shall have a crown of honor that surpasses all—an exceeding and eternal weight of "glory" in the presence of God and of the Lamb.
O what can equal this!—to have the trial of our faith thus unto eternal glory! O you suffering saints of God! you tried and afflicted children of the Most High! raise up your thoughts as God may enable you—lift up your eyes, and see what awaits you. Are you tried, tempted, exercised, afflicted? It is your mercy. God does not deal so with every one. It is because you are his children, that he lays on you his chastening hand. He means to conform you to the image of his Son in glory, and therefore he now conforms you to the image of his Son in suffering.
'O but,' you say, 'I cannot believe it is so!' No; if you could, it would not be much of a trial. This is the trial of faith—to go groaning on, struggling on, sorrowing on, sighing on—believing against unbelief, hoping against hope—and still looking to the Lord, though there is everything in nature to damp the hopes and expectations of your waiting souls. Yet all will end well with the people of God. Their life here is a life of temptation, of suffering, and trial—but heaven will make amends for all. And if our faith is now tried as "with fire," it will one day, "be found unto praise and honor and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ." In that day when the secrets of all hearts will be brought to light, the faith of thousands will be found to be little else than presumption; but the faith of God's dear family will then be crowned with "praise and honor and glory"—and they shall see the Lamb as he is face to face, when all tears are wiped away from all faces!
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