What do I see yonder?
What do I see yonder?
A spectacle over which demons have exulted, the Church has mourned, and, if it be possible, angels have wept.
I knew him well. He was my compeer in age, my associate in study, the companion of my walks, the confidant of my bosom. His fine mind was redolent of thought; his bright eye gleamed with genius; his tall and manly form was fascinating in its address. Few men ever entered the Christian ministry with higher prospects — or awoke richer, fonder, hopes in the hearts of tutors, of friends, and of the Church. He bid fair, as his sun arose to its zenith — to be a bright and a shining light. Distinguished posts of labor were offered to him. Crowds, eager to receive his instructions — clustered around his pulpit, drawn together by the tender, subduing eloquence of his lips.
But he fell — and fell deeply, awfully! The Church entrusted to him the keeping of the vineyards — but his own vineyard, he kept not. Laboring for the salvation of others — he labored not for his own. He grew prayerless, unwatchful, self-confident, worldly, and presumptuous — and by slow but certain and fatal degrees — he descended from his lofty eminence. His sun went down while it was yet day, and around him is now gathered, in thick and solemn folds — the dark pall of guilt, of infamy, and of shame. "Weep for him and cry! See how the strong scepter is broken, how the beautiful staff is shattered!"
An eminent American minister, now passed to his final account, has left behind him, in an address which he once delivered to his ministering brethren, a thrilling allusion to ministerial responsibility and its relation to the judgment-day — so true and impressive, that I shall make no apology in introducing it in connection with this section of our work:
"Dear brethren, our office is no ordinary one. We are ambassadors from the King of kings and Lord of lords — to a revolted world. Never had men committed to them an embassy of such deep and everlasting importance. No work ever undertaken by mortals — was so important, so solemn, or connected with such momentous consequences. Among all the thousands to whom we preach — all will take an impression from us that will never wear out. Humanly speaking, the fate of millions, through succeeding generations, depends on our faithfulness. Heaven and Hell will forever ring with recited memorials of our ministry. And, oh, our own responsibility! There is for us no middle destiny. Our stake is for a higher throne of glory — or for a deeper Hell. We have daily to go where Nadab and Abihu went, and to transact with Him who darted His lightning upon them. It is a solemn thing to stand so near the holy Lord God. Let us beware how, by unhallowed fervors — we bring false fire before the Lord. Let us not fail to devote to our work — our best powers, our unceasing application, consecrated by unremitting prayer. Let us not have careless preparations for the pulpit — and a sleepy performance in it. Forget your father, forget your mother — but do not forget this infinite work of God. Soon we shall appear with our respective charges before the judgment-seat of Christ. What a scene will then open between the pastor and his flock — when all his official conduct toward them shall be scrutinized, and all their treatment of him and his gospel shall be laid open. It shall then be known that an omnipresent eye followed him into his study every time he sat down to write a sermon and traced every line upon his paper and every motion of his heart; and followed him into the pulpit and watched every kindling desire, every drowsy feeling, every wandering thought, every reach after fame. Ah, my dear brethren, when you hear on the right hand the songs of bursting praise that you ever had existence, and, on the left, behold a company of wretched spirits sending forth their loud lament that you had not warned them with a stronger voice — will you not regret that all your sermons were not more impassioned, and all your prayers more agonizing?
"But what is that I see? A horrid shape more deeply scarred with thunder than the rest, around which a thousand dreadful beings, with furious eyes and threatening gestures, are venting their raging curses! It is an unfaithful pastor, who went down to Hell, with most of his congregation — and those around him are the wretched beings whom he decoyed to eternal death. My soul turns away and cries, 'Give me poverty, give me the curses of a wicked world, give me the martyr's stake — but, oh my God, save me from unfaithfulness to you and to the souls of men!'"
In view of the principles laid down, the truths discussed, and the motives pressed in the preceding pages — permit me to inquire, in closing, "Why should we not aspire to the model of a perfect minister of Jesus Christ? Why may we not aim for a higher order of ministerial holiness and excellence?"
The means of its attainment are within our reach — yes, they are in our hands.
The gospel which we preach is ours — with all its holy doctrines, its guiding precepts, its persuasive motives, its precious promises, its rich encouragements, its strong consolations, its animating hopes.
The Savior whom we preach is ours — with all His infinite fullness of sanctifying grace, supporting strength, tender love, and unchangeable faithfulness.
The throne of grace is ours — with all its costly privileges, its secret attractions, its soothing, hallowing influence.
Then let us, forgetting the things that are behind, press forward and upward to a more elevated standard of personal holiness and ministerial efficiency. Let us, while with all devotedness we address ourselves to our great work — not forget the careful, vigilant keeping of our own vineyard. And let us often recur to, and lay solemnly to heart, the exhortation addressed by the aged apostle on the eve of his departure to the young Timothy: "Keep a close watch on yourself and on the teaching. Persist in this, for by so doing you will save both yourself and your hearers!"