A Word in Season from Christ to the Weary
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"The Sovereign Lord has given me an instructed tongue, that I should know how to speak a word in season to him who is weary." Isaiah 50:4
A greater than the prophet Isaiah is here. It is even He who, alluding to his office as the servant of the Father, and the consequent humiliation of that servitude, thus speaks- "The Lord God has opened my ear, and I was not rebellious, neither turned away back. I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to those who plucked off the hair. I hid not my face from shame and spitting." Who, then, is the speaker but Jesus? To no other will this remarkable description apply, and from no other could such precious words proceed. How full of significance and sweetness are they! With what melody will they fall on many an ear, and with what gladness will they thrill through many a heart!
They are addressed to the WEARY. Let us contemplate the character. It comprises a large class. Many there are who come within its description. All may not ascribe their weariness to the same cause, nor may all to the same degree be sensible of their state. Yet all are weary. Man is not naturally in his original and right position. The needle of his soul has been diverted from its center, and, until it regains it, will continue in incessant and tremulous motion- never at rest. To illustrate the thought by another figure. He who leaves his mother earth and launches upon the sea, must submit to all the caprices of the new element on which he has embarked. He becomes the sport of every current, and the plaything of every wave. Life is this sea, ever moving, ever restless, ever flowing on. Upon its bosom, and exposed to its currents and its storms, man is voyaging to eternity. And that, thus exposed to its ever fluctuating, shifting scenes, habits, and passions, he should be weary, can create no surprise in a reflecting mind.
The world is a wearying and a weary world. We will suppose ourselves appealing for the truth of this statement to the world's most admiring and devoted votary. It has lavished upon you the utmost that it can give. You have ransacked its treasures, and have reveled among his sweets. What have you found it to be? You have no scriptural hope of another and a better world- what is the result of your experience of this? Did that green and sunny spot on which you lay afford you repose? Did that pleasant draught which you quaffed, slake your thirst? Have rank and wealth, honor and distinction, pride and beauty, love and friendship, realized the heart's fond hope, and placed you beyond the reach of weariness! Have they left you nothing to wish, nothing to desire, nothing to lament? Is there no heaving of life's sea- no ripple upon its surface- no trembling of its bosom? Is all satisfaction, and quietude, and repose? We will anticipate your honest reply- "Far from it." There are yet a craving and a restlessness which nothing has met. So true is God's word, "The wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest." And so will it be until the creature man returns to his Creator God.
But not in the world of sense only do you complain of weariness. What rest, we would ask, have you found in the world of faith? Again the reluctant and mournful reply will be- "None." Least of all have you found it here. If the carnal mind and sensual heart found not satiety and repose in their own native world, they cannot be expected to find it in a world with which they have not the slightest sympathy. The world of faith is a foreign climate to the natural man; it is the antithesis of the world of sense. He that would pass from the one to the other must become a "new creature in Christ Jesus." There must be an entire revolution of mind and of feeling. Old things must pass away, and all things must become new. The moral constitution must be acclimated (so to speak) to the new world into which it is introduced. It cannot breathe its atmosphere, nor admire its scenery, nor enjoy its delights, nor participate in its employments, without a corresponding nature. It is impossible that rest can be found in things that are spiritual, by a heart all whose desires and appetites are carnal and only carnal.
Heaven itself would to such a one cease to be heaven. How truly and graphically the prophet describes this state: "And you say, 'What a weariness!' and you sniff at it contemptuously" (Mal. 1:13.) Is there not something peculiarly awful in this description of your state? What a weariness do you find in the religion of Christ! Of prayer you exclaim, "What a weariness!" Of public worship, "What a weariness!" Of hearing sermons, "What a weariness!" Of religious conversation, "What a weariness!" Of the service and work of the Lord, "What a weariness!" "and you sniff at it contemptuously, says the Lord Almighty." O awful condition! O melancholy state! The world heaving like an angry sea beneath your feet- the heavens lowering and threatening above your head! Things temporal and things spiritual alike affording no repose to your agitated and restless mind! How true is God's word: "The wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt. There is no peace, says my God, to the wicked." Unconverted reader! this is your present character, and this your present state!
But these are not the "weary" to whom this passage especially addresses itself. They are the Lord's weary ones- souls quickened, aroused, made sensible of their condition, and led to seek and to find their rest in Jesus. "Him who is weary." The character may be regarded as descriptive of GRACE IN ITS EARLIEST AND WEAKEST UNFOLDINGS. When the Holy Spirit first enlightens and convinces, he produces a restlessness in the soul, which all created good refuses to meet. Previously to this, sin was not felt to be a burden, guilt produced no anxiety, eternity no fearfulness, and evil habits were not felt to be a galling and oppressive chain bound around the soul. The world's insufficiency was indeed acknowledged, and the soul's restlessness was felt; but still sin was loved, and the world was followed, and there was no brokenness of heart, nor contrition of spirit, nor going to Jesus for rest.
With others it was, perhaps, somewhat different. There was just awakening enough to produce alarm and anxiety of soul; sufficient light to reveal the pollution and the darkness; and knowledge enough to teach the necessity of a righteousness in which to stand before God. To work out that righteousness, and so find rest, was the object upon which the whole soul was bent. Circuitous was its march, toilsome its work, and wearisome its way. "Do this and live," was all the sound it heard, the only gospel it knew. "What shall I do?" was its mournful and despairing reply. But the Spirit of God takes the work into his own hands. And what a revolution of thought and of feeling transpires! Sin is now felt to be a heavy burden, hateful and hated. Past iniquities rise before the eye like Alp piled upon Alp, or roll over the soul, like wave succeeding wave. The spirituality of the law is seen, its curse is felt, its condemnation is dreaded. In a word, the whole soul is laid prostrate at the feet of Jesus, weary and heavily laden. But oh! we may pronounce it, blessed weariness! sweet brokenness and contrition!
Show me the spot on which JEHOVAH's eyes rest with delight, and over which angels hover and rejoice, and you take me to one whose heart God has made soft, whose spirit is contrite, who mourns for sin, repenting in dust and in ashes. This is weariness indeed! Reader, have you felt your sins, and not your sins only, but your own righteousness to be a burdensome and a wearisome thing, too heavy for you to bear? Then, you are included in the number of the Lord's weary ones, and may come and take your place with them at his feet, and hear the words he would speak to you.
The Lord's weary ones, too, include all those WHO FEEL THE BURDEN OF THE BODY OF SIN, AND ARE CAST DOWN AND WEARY, BY REASON OF THE DIFFICULTIES AND THE HARDNESS OF THE WAY. The Lord's people are emphatically a weary people. It is a "weary land" through which they are passing- it is no marvel that they should be faint, even though pursuing. Here is the cause of the greatest weariness. Not more truly does the "whole creation groan and travail in pain," than does he who "bears about with him the body of sin and of death, day by day." It is indeed to him a continual and unrelievable pressure. "Who will deliver me from the body of sin and of death?" is his constant and mournful cry. It is the union of the opposites in him that creates his burden. Life and death- holiness and sin- grace and nature- are in perpetual, and often fierce combat. In this lies the inward conflict. This is the fight of faith. Until life was breathed, and holiness was created, and grace was given, there were no oppressions, and no warfare, and no weariness. Think of this, you burdened and oppressed saints of God! Let this thought fall like a sunbeam upon your gloomy and saddened spirit. Let it cheer you in your cloudy and dark day. Were you dead, or were you still in unrenewed nature, you would be an utter stranger to this weariness; and could never understand the meaning of the apostle, "I see another law in my members, warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin which is in my members."
THE ASSAULTS OF THE ADVERSARY contribute not a little to the sense of weariness which often prostrates a child of God. To be set up as a mark for Satan: the enemy smiting where sensibility is the keenest, assailing where weakness is the greatest, taking advantage of every new position and circumstance- especially of a season of trial, of a weak, nervous temperament, or of a time of sickness- distorting God's character, diverting the eye from Christ, and turning it in upon self- are among Satan's devices for casting down the soul of a dear believer.
And then, there are THE NARROWNESS OF THE NARROW WAY, and the INTRICACIES of the intricate way, and the PERILS of the perilous way, tending to jade and dispirit the soul. To walk in a path so narrow and yet so dangerous, that the white garment must needs be closely wrapped around; to occupy a post of duty so conspicuous, responsible, and difficult, as to fix every eye, some gazing with undue admiration, and others with keen and cold suspicion, ready to detect and to censure any slight irregularity- these add not a little to the toilsomeness of the way.
Add to this, THE NUMEROUS AND VARIED TRIALS AND AFFLICTIONS which pave his pathway to heaven; his tenderest mercies often his acutest trials, and his trials often weighing him to the earth- and you have the outline of a melancholy picture, of which he whose eye scans this page may be the original. Does it surprise us, then, that from the lips of such a one the exclamation often rises, "Oh that I had wings like a dove! for then would I fly away and be at rest. Lo, then would I wander far off, and remain in the wilderness. I would hasten my escape from the windy storm and tempest."
It is to such the Lord Jesus now addresses himself in words most appropriate and animating, "The Sovereign Lord has given me an instructed tongue, that I should know how to speak a word in season to him who is weary." His preeminent fitness for this peculiar and difficult office, is the first point with which he would arrest the attention. "An instructed tongue." The Lord's qualifications will appear in two or three particulars. His identity with their very nature describes him as well calculated to address himself to their case. Of the nature thus oppressed and weary, he in part partook. But for this, so infinitely removed had he been from their condition, he had been incapable of meeting its peculiar necessity. Absolute Deity could not, through the medium of sympathy, have conveyed a word of comfort to the weary. There had been lacking, not the power to relieve, but the mode of relieving the oppressed and sorrowful heart. There had been needed the connecting and transmitting chain- the heavenly highway of thought, of feeling, and of sympathy- between these extremes of being, the loving heart of God and the desolate heart of man. Unacquainted with grief, untouched by sorrow, unbeclouded by care, unaffected by weariness, an absolute God could not possibly offer the support and the condolence which sympathetic feeling alone could give, and which a jaded spirit and a sorrow-touched, care-oppressed, and sin-beclouded soul demanded.
Nor could angels afford the help required. The only burden which they know is the burden of love; and the only weariness they feel is the weariness of ever-burning devotion and zeal. It is this which gives strength to their wings, and swiftness to their flight. They are represented as "hearkening to the voice of the Lord," ready to speed their way on some embassy of mercy and love. In fulfilling this their ministry, their eye never slumbers, their pinions never droop. But we needed a nature so constituted as to enter into, and, as it were, become a part of the very weariness it sought to relieve.
Look at Jesus! "Behold the Man!" With weariness in every form he was intimate. He knew what bodily weakness was. Do you not love to linger in pensive thoughtfulness over that touching incident of his life which describes him as sitting fatigued upon Jacob's well? "And being weary, he sat thus upon the well." Picture him to your eye! See the dust upon his sandals- for he Jesus had walked forty miles that day- the sweat upon his brow, the air of languor upon his countenance, and the jaded expression in his eye! Do we deify his humanity? No! It was real humanity- humanity like our own. It is our joy, our boast, our glory, our salvation, that he was really man, as he was truly God.
Consider, too, what he endured for man, from man. This was no small part of the weariness of our nature into which he entered. How soon did he come to the end of the creature! Alas! the creature has an end, and sooner or later God brings us to it, and in the exercise, too, of the tenderest love of his heart. When most he needed its sheltering protection, he found the creature a withered gourd, and he bore his sorrow alone. And when he repaired to it for the refreshing of sympathy, he found it a broken cistern- and he panted in vain. Where were his disciples now? He was in trouble, but there was no one to help; he was in the storm, but no one would know him; refuge failed him, no man cared for his soul! He was in sorrow, but no bosom offered its pillow; he was accused, but no tongue was heard in its defense; he was scourged, but no arm was lifted to repel; he was condemned, but no one vindicated his innocence, nor sought to arrest his progress to the cross! Oh, how fully did Jesus realize the creature's nothingness, and so enter into his people's condition of weariness.
Contemplate, too, the pressure that was often, we might say always, upon his sensitive spirit. See him bearing our sicknesses and our sorrows; more than this, carrying our iniquities and our sins. Think not that your path is a lone one. The incarnate God has trodden it before you, and he can give you the clear eye of faith to envision his foot-print in every step. Jesus can say, and he does say to you, "I know your sorrow; I know what that cross is, for I have carried it. You have not a burden that I did not bear, nor a sorrow that I did not feel, nor a pain that I did not endure, nor a path that I did not tread, nor a tear that did not bedew my eye, nor a cloud that did not shade my spirit, before you, and for you. Is it bodily weakness? I once walked forty miles, to carry the living water to a poor sinner at Samaria. Is it the sorrow of bereavement? I wept at the grave of my friend, although I knew that I was about to recall the loved one back again to life. Is it the frailty and the fickleness of human friendship? I stood by and heard my person denied by lips that once spoke kindly to me; lips now renouncing me with an oath, that once vowed affection unto death. Is it straitness of circumstance, the galling sense of dependence? I was no stranger to poverty, and was often nourished and sustained by the charity of others. Is it that you are houseless and friendless? So was I. The foxes had their shelter, and the birds winged themselves to their nests, but I, though Lord of all, had nowhere to lay my head; and often day after day passed away, and no soothing accents of friendship fell upon my ear. Is it the burden of sin? Even that I bore in its accumulated and tremendous weight when I hung accursed upon the tree." Yes, Christian reader, you have not a High Priest who cannot be touched with the feeling of your infirmities, but was, in all points, tempted like as you are, though he was without sin. O how pre-eminently fitted is Christ to speak a word to the weary!
But in addition to this, Jesus possessed a derived fitness- a fitness communicated to him by his Father. This his words clearly imply. "The Lord God has given me the tongue of the learned." All the grace and the gifts with which, as man, he was furnished, were the bestowment of the Spirit of God, and were given in order to qualify him to speak to the weary. In a distinguished sense, he possessed the tongue of the learned; or, as the passage might be rendered, "The Lord Jehovah has given me an eloquent tongue, (literally, one skilled, practiced, instructed,) that I might know how to console the weary, or, that I may sustain the weary with a word."
Never was there a tongue like Christ's- so learned, so eloquent, and so skilled. "Never a man spoke like this man." Greece and Rome, in their "High and palmy state," never exhibited such philosophy as he taught, nor such erudition as he displayed, nor such eloquence as he breathed. Had he so chosen it, he could have placed himself at the head of a school of his own, and, with a beck, might have allured to his feet all the poets and philosophers of his day, proud to own him as their Master. But no! The wisdom and the eloquence of this world possessed no charm for him. He drew the learning and the melting power with which he spoke from a higher, even a heavenly source. His was divine philosophy; his was the eloquence of God! "The Lord Jehovah has given me the tongue of the eloquent."
And TO WHOM did he consecrate this learning, this wisdom, and this eloquence? To the very objects whom the proud philosophers and the doctors of his day despised and neglected- even the weary. What a field was here for the exercise of his skill and for the play of his benevolence! How fully would he demonstrate that he truly possessed the "tongue of the learned!" If, to interest the feelings of the exhausted; if, to enchain the attention of the weary; if, to concentrate upon one subject the powers of a mind, jaded and burdened; if, to awaken music from a heart whose chords were broken and unstrung, mark the loftiest reach of eloquence, then, his was eloquence unsurpassed- for all this he did. The beings whom he sought out and drew around him, were the burdened, the bowed down, the disconsolate, the poor, the friendless, the helpless, the ignorant, the weary. He loved to lavish upon such the fulness of his benevolent heart, and to exert upon such the skill of his wonder-working power. Earth's weary sons repaired to his out-stretched arms for shelter, and the world's ignorant and despised clustered around his feet, to be taught and blessed. Sinners of every character, and the disconsolate of every grade, attracted by his renown, pressed upon him from every side. "This man receives sinners," was the name and the character by which he was known. It was new and strange. Uttered by the lip of the proud and disdainful Pharisee, it was an epithet of reproach and an expression of ridicule. But upon the ear of the poor and wretched outcast, the sons and daughters of sorrow, ignorance, and woe, it fell sweeter than the music of the spheres. It passed from lip to lip; it echoed from shore to shore- "this man receives sinners!" It found its way into the abodes of misery and need; it penetrated the dungeon of the prisoner, and the cell of the maniac; and it kindled an unearthly light in the solitary dwelling of the widow and the orphan, the unpitied and the friendless.
Thus received its accomplishment the prophecy that predicted him as the "Plant of renown," whom Jehovah would raise up. Thousands came, faint, and weary, and sad, and sat down beneath his shadow; and thousands more since then have pressed to their wounded hearts the balsam that flowed from his bleeding body, and have been healed.
Let us turn our attention for a moment, to the subject-matter of our Lord's address to the weary. WHAT DOES HE SPEAK TO THEM? Some would reply, the law. No; the law of God never spoke a word of comfort to the weary. It was not designed for such. Its very nature for bids it. It can anathematize, alarm, and wound; but not a solitary word of consolation and soothing can it address to a soul weary and heavily laden with sorrow and with guilt. But it is the glorious gospel of the blessed God that the Lord Jesus speaks to his weary ones. It was designed and framed especially for them. Its very nature fits it for such. Every word is an echo of the love of God's heart. Every sentence is permeated with grace, mercy, and truth. The word which Jesus speaks, is just the word the weary need. It unfolds a free pardon, complete acceptance, perfect reconciliation with God, and all-sufficient grace to perfect this work in holiness. It bids me, as a sinner, approach just as I am; my poverty, my vileness, my guilt, my utter destitution, forming no just hindrances to my salvation, because his atoning work has made it a righteous thing in God to justify the guilty, and a gracious act in Jesus to save the lost. Yes, he condescends to assure me in that word of a free grace gospel, which he speaks with a tongue so eloquent, that I honor him in accepting his offered boon, and that I glorify him by trusting my soul into his Almighty hands.
There is yet an essential and most important truth here to which we would direct the reader's particular attention. We allude to the REST IN CHRIST to which his word to the weary especially invites. Our blessed Lord is not one that mocks the circumstances of the weary. When he speaks, it is with all the love of his heart, and when he invites, it is with all the sincerity of his soul. Listen, then, to his gracious words, "Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." With what brightness does the truth appear written with beams of heavenly light- JESUS, THE REST OF THE WEARY! "Come unto me." The Father has made his Son the resting place of his church. He Himself has vested His whole glory in Christ. He knew what Christ was capable of sustaining. He knew that as His Fellow -one equal with Himself, He could with safety entrust the honor of His government in the hands of His Son. He confided therein Himself! His government, and His church- all in Christ. To this "tried stone," He would now bring His people. He found it strong enough for Himself, and He knows it to be strong enough for them, and with confidence He invites the weary to come and repose upon it. Jesus but echoes the heart of the Father when he says, "Come unto me, I will give you rest." Never did the tongue of Jesus utter words more learned- more eloquent- more persuasive. Just the word we need.
By nature we foolishly seek rest everywhere, and in everything, but in Jesus. We seek it in the sensual world, we seek it in the moral world, we seek it in the religious world- we find it not. We seek it in conviction, we seek it in ordinances, we seek it in doing the works of the law, and still it evades us. We go from place to place, from mean to mean, from minister to minister, and still the burden presses, and the guilt remains, and we find no rest. No; and never will we find it, until it is sought and found solely, wholly, exclusively, and entirely in Jesus. Rest for the sin-weary soul is only to be met with in him who bore the curse for man's transgresion. Here God rests, and here the sinner must rest. Here the Father rests, and here the child may rest. Jesus is the great burden-bearer for God and for man. Listen again to the melody of his words: "Come unto me- I will give you rest." See, how he invites you, without one solitary condition. He makes no exception to your guilt and unworthiness. The word is, "Come unto me:" in other words, believe in me. To "come," is simply and only to believe.
And oh! how can we fully set forth THE REST to be found in Jesus? Let those testify who took their guilt to his blood, their vileness to his righteousness, their sins to his grace, their burdens to his arm, their sorrows to his heart. Let them tell how, in a moment, their sense of weariness fled, and rest, sweet, soothing rest to their soul, succeeded. Are you, my reader, a sin-weary soul? Then, to you is this invitation addressed: "Come unto ME- to me, the Savior, whose willingness is equal to my ability. To me; who never rejected a single soul that sought salvation and heaven at my hands. Come unto me -I will give you rest."
In the case of A TRIED BELIEVER, the rest that Jesus gives does not always imply the removal of the burden from where this sense of weariness proceeds. The burden is permitted to remain, and yet rest is experienced. Yes, it would appear from his procedure, that the very existence of the burden was essential to the experience of the rest. He does not withdraw the trouble from us, nor us from the trouble; and still the repose we sighed for is given. Wonderful indeed! But how is it explained? That burden takes us to Jesus! It is but the cause of our simply going to him. But for that sorrow, or that calamity, or that sickness, or that bereavement, we would have stayed away. The pressure compelled us to go. And how does he meet us? Does he open a way of escape from our difficulty, or does he immediately unbind our burden and set us free? No; better than this, he pours strength into our souls, and life into our spirits, and love into our hearts, and so we find rest. Thus are fulfilled in our experience the precious promises, "As your days, so shall your strength be." "My grace is sufficient for you."
But there is still a deeply interesting truth to be considered. It is THE TIMING OF THE LORD'S ADDRESS TO THE WEARY. It is always a "word in season." It is spoken just at the moment that it is needed. Herein is no small unfolding of the love of our Lord. Nor less an evidence of his complex person as God-man. How could he so time his word to the weary as to meet their emergency at its very crisis, did not his Deity make him cognizant of the critical junctures in which they were placed! And let it be mentioned, that this operation is going on in every place and at every moment! And how could he meet that crisis, and speak a word in season to the weary, but as his humanity was touched with the feeling of the infirmity? It is by this process of experience that we are brought into close views of the glory of our incarnate God.
Yes, it is a "word in season." When Jesus speaks to the penitent weeping at his feet, "Your sins are forgiven," who can describe the joy which now fills the heart, and the radiance of hope which now lights up the soul? It was, perhaps, at the moment of dark despair; all other refuge failed; all was given up for lost; and just as the last billow came rolling on, threatening to engulf the soul in woe, Jesus spoke a "word in season," and all was peace.
And when he speaks through the ministry of the word, or by the word itself, to the believer, wearied with conflict and with trial, it has been just at the moment that its sustaining and consoling power was needed. The eye that slumbers not, nor sleeps was upon you. He knew in what furnace you were placed, and was there to temper the flame when it seemed the severest. He saw your frail vessel struggling through the tempest, and he came to your rescue at the height of the storm. How has he proved this in seasons of difficulty and doubt! How often, at a crisis the most critical of your history, the Lord has appeared for you! Your lack has been supplied, your doubt has been solved, and your perplexity has been guided; he has delivered your soul from death, your eyes from tears, and your feet from falling.
A word by Jesus, spoken in due season, how good is it! In what an exalted and endearing light does this truth place Christ's sleepless vigilance of his people! Imagine yourself threading your way along a most difficult and perilous path, every step of which is attended with pain and jeopardy, and is taken with hesitancy and doubt. Unknown to you and unseen, there is One hovering each moment around you, checking each false step, and guiding each doubtful one; soothing each sorrow, and supplying each need. All is calm and silent. Not a sound is heard, not a movement is seen; and yet, to your amazement, just at the critical moment, the needed support comes- you know not from where, you know not from whom. This is no picture of imagination. Are you a child of God retracing your steps back to paradise by an intricate and a perilous way? Jesus is near to you at each moment, unseen and often unknown. You have at times stood speechless with awe at the strange interposition on your behalf, of providence and of grace. No visible sign betokened the source of your help. There was no echo of footfall at your side, no flitting of shadow athwart your path. No law of nature was altered nor suspended, the sun stood not still, nor did the heavens open; and yet deliverance, strange and effectual deliverance, came at a moment most unexpected, yet most needed. It was Jesus your Redeemer, your Brother, your Shepherd, and your Guide. He it was who, hovering around you, unknown and unobserved, kept you as the apple of his eye, and sheltered you in the hollow of his hand. It was he who armed you with bravery for the fight, who poured strength into your spirit, and grace into your heart, when the full weight of calamity pressed upon them. Thus has he always been to his children.
The incident of the disciples in the storm presents a striking instance of this. Behold him standing upon the shore, eyeing with riveted gaze the little boat as it struggled amid the sea. They were often invisible to human eye, but not a moment were they lost to his. Not even when in the mount alone in prayer, were they forgotten nor unobserved. He beheld from thence their peril; he knew their fears, and he hastened to their support. Stepping from the shore he approached them. O how majestic did his form now appear- walking like a man, and upon the water, like a God! They knew not that it was Jesus, and were afraid. But their knowledge of him was not necessary to their safety. It was enough that he knew them. And just as the storm was at its height, and their fears rose with their peril, he drew near and said in his own gentle soothing tone, unto them, "It is I, do not be afraid." It was a "word spoken in season."
It is one of the most blessed truths of the covenant of grace, that the God of the covenant is a "very present help in every time of trouble." Loving His people as He does, dwelling in them by His Spirit, their persons and circumstances continually before Him in the person and the intercession of His dear Son, how can He possibly lose sight of them for a single moment? They may, and they often do, lose sight of Him. They do not, alas! set the Lord always before their face. They do not train and discipline themselves to see Him in every event, circumstance, and incident of life. They are not clear-sighted to recognize, nor prompt to acknowledge Him in every providence that darkens or lightens upon their way. Were they but right-minded, they would exclaim of every good and of every evil as it came, "The Lord is in this!" But they are never for an instant out of his heart, out of his thoughts, out of his hands, or out of his eye.
How near to them, too, is THE HOLY SPIRIT! Dwelling in, and overshadowing them, he is at their side to guide, to uphold, and to cheer; bringing to their memory a precious promise, or writing upon their heart an animating truth, or opening before their eye some endearing glimpse of Jesus, just the moment it was needed. What a happy, what a favored people are the Lord's! "Happy is he that has the God of Jacob for his help, whose hope is in the Lord his God. Happy is that people that is in such a case."
But let us trace some of THE PRACTICAL CONCLUSIONS to which this interesting subject brings us. The Lord Jesus speaks at the present time to the weary. We need constantly to bear in mind the immutability of our Lord; that "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, and today, and forever." That all that he ever has been- and oh! what has he not been? he is at this moment. What countless numbers are now bathing their souls in the bliss of heaven, whose tears were once dried, whose fears were once quelled, whose burden was once removed by those precious words spoken in season- "Come unto me, all you that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest!" O could they, bending now from their thrones, but speak to us, they would testify what substance, what reality, what sweetness, what power, and what charm they once found in them! And they would bid every weary spirit, every weeping penitent, every tried saint believe, and press the promise to their heart.
But a dearer, a lovelier, and a better than they, bids you receive it. Jesus himself speaks to you, "Come unto ME- and I will give you rest." All that he was in their happy experience, he will be in yours. The grace that made them what they once were, and what they now are, is sufficient for you. Go, and lay your weariness on Christ. Ask not, "Will he bear my burden?" He bears every burden brought to him. Not one poor, weary, heavy laden sinner does he turn away. You are, perhaps, a mourning penitent- he will receive you. You are, perhaps, a vile outcast- he will welcome you. He says he will, and he cannot deny himself. It is impossible that he should lie.
The Lord Jesus gives HIS PEOPLE THE TONGUE OF THE LEARNED, that they may sometimes speak a word in season to his weary ones. Have you not a word for Christ? May you not go to that tried believer in sickness, in poverty, in adversity, or in prison, and tell of the balm that has often healed your spirit, and of the cordial that has often cheered your heart? "A word duly spoken, how good is it!" A text quoted, a sentiment repeated, an observation made, a hint dropped, a kind caution suggested, a gentle rebuke given, a tender admonition left- oh! the blessing that has flowed from it! It was a word spoken in season! Say not with Moses, "I am slow of speech, and of a slow tongue;" or, with Jeremiah, "Ah, Lord God! behold I cannot speak, for I am a child." Hear the answer of the Lord, "Who has made man's mouth? have not I the Lord? Now therefore go, and I will be with your mouth, and teach you what you shall say."
And oh, how frequently and effectually does the Lord speak to his weary ones, even THROUGH THE WEARY! All, perhaps, was conflict within, and darkness without; but one word falling from the lips of a man of God, has been the voice of God to the soul. And what an honor conferred, thus to be the channel of conveying consolation from the loving heart of the Father to the disconsolate heart of His child! To go and smooth a ruffled pillow, and lift the pressure from off a burdened spirit, and light up the gloomy chamber of sorrow, of sickness, and of death, as with the first dawnings of the coming glory. Go, Christian reader, and ask the Lord so to clothe your tongue with holy, heavenly eloquence, that you may "know how to speak a word in season to him who is weary."
IN CONTENDING FOR THE FAITH, remember the Lord Jesus can give you the tongue of the learned. Listen to his promise- "I will give you a mouth and wisdom, which all your adversaries shall not be able to gainsay nor resist." Thus, the most unlearned, and the most weak, may be so deeply taught, and be so skillfully armed in Christ's school, as to be able valiantly to defend, and successfully to preach the truth, putting to "silence the ignorance of foolish men.
It is a matter of much practical importance, that you take heed not to anticipate or to forestall the promised grace. For every possible circumstance in which you may be placed, the fulness of Christ and the supplies of the covenant, are provided. That provision is only meted out as the occasions for whose history it was provided occur. Beware of creating trouble by anticipating it. Seen through the mist, the advancing object may appear gigantic in size, and terrific in appearance. And yet the trouble you so much dread may never come; or, coming, it will assuredly bring with it the "word spoken in season." In the case of every child of God, calamity never comes alone; it invariably brings Jesus with it.
There is a period approaching- the last and great crisis of human life- when we shall more than ever need the "tongue of the learned." It will be of all seasons most trying and solemn, the season that separates the soul from the body. To that each must come. The hand that holds this pen, and the eye that reads the lines which it traces, will relax, and grow dim in death, and the writer and the reader will meet together to read another book in the light of the great white throne- the book of life! Oh blessed indeed to find our names recorded there! But if Jesus is our salvation, why shrink from that hour? He will be there to speak a word in season to your weary soul amid the swellings of Jordan- loving, and faithful to the last.
Do not be surprised at any way which the Lord may take to bring your weary soul to rest in himself. It is not always in the crowd that he speaks comfortingly to the heart. More frequently he leads his people out, and takes them apart by himself alone. It is often in the privacy of separation and retirement, when the soul is curtained within his pavilion, that the greatest and the sweetest nearness to Jesus is experienced. "Behold, I will allure her into the wilderness, and speak comfortably to her." (margin- speak friendly, to her heart.)
Has the Lord been leading you about- severing this tie, and breaking up that repose; disappointing you here, and thwarting you there? Amazed, you have asked, "Lord, why this?" And the only reply has been the comfort which he has spoken to your weary, desolate heart. Thus does he make good in your experience his own exceedingly great and precious promise- "I will satisfy the weary soul, and will replenish every sorrowful soul."
"Is it for this my weary feet
So long the wilderness have trod,
Through winter's cold, and summer's heat,
Thus to be comforted by God?"
"Is it for this he brought the night,
And quenched awhile each tiny ray;
That He himself might be my light,
And turn the darkness into day?"
"Is it for this the waves arose,
And tempests raged, and would not cease,
That Christ himself might interpose,
And shed around a perfect peace?"
"Is it for this he chastened sore,
And let my soul in prison be;
That he might show an open door,
And say in tender love- 'Be free'"
"Is it for this he laid me low,
And filled my heart with strange alarms;
That I might let all others go,
And sweetly rest upon his arms?"
"Oh yes! my feeble faith descries
Bright light between each parting cloud;
And soon my soul, with glad surprise,
Shall mount and sing her song aloud."
The Axe Laid at the Root
"And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which does not produce good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire." Matthew 3:10
It is a solemn and a veritable thought, that human character is training and molding for eternity. Nothing in the universe of matter or of mind is stationary. Everything is in motion; the motion is progressive- the movement is onward. Things whose being is limited by the present state, obeying the law of their nature, advance to their maturity, and then perish. They attain their appointed and ultimate perfection, and then die. Beings destined for another, a higher, and a more enduring state, are each moment tending towards that existence for which their natures are formed, and to which they aspire. There is, innate in man, a principle which incessantly yearns for, and reaches after, a state of perfection and deathlessness. He would sincerely, at times, quench in eternal night the spark of immortality which glows in his breast. A morbid distaste of life, or a pusillanimous shrinking from its evils, or the anticipation of some impending calamity- in most cases springing from a mind diseased, and destroying the power of self-control; have tended to inspire and to strengthen this desire. But eternal sleep is beyond his reach. He sighs for it, but it heeds not his moan; he invites it, but it comes not at his bidding; he inscribes the sentiment over the charnel house of the dead, but it changes not their state- he may slay the mortal, but he cannot touch the immortal. The compass of his soul points on to life. The long, bleak coast of eternity, its shores washed by the rough billows of time, stretches out before him; and towards it, his bark each instant tends, and to it it will assuredly arrive. Such is the chain that links man to the invisible world! So interesting and important a being is he. An eternity of happiness or of misery is before him- from it lie cannot escape- and for the one or the other, mind is educating, and character is forming.
A truth kindred in its solemnity to this, is the nearness of judgment to every unconverted individual. To his eye- its vision dimmed by other and diverse objects- it may appear far remote. Damnation may seem to linger, judgment to tarry. Sentence executed against an evil work may appear delayed. But this is an illusion of the mental eye, a deception of Satan, a lie which the treacherous and depraved heart is eager to believe. Never was a snare of the devil more successful than this. But death, judgment, and hell are in the closest proximity to man; nearer than he has any conception of. His path winds along the very precipice that overhangs the billows of quenchless flame. Let him assume what position he may, high or low, fortified or unguarded, from that position there is but one step between him and death, between death and judgment, between judgment and a fixed and a changeless destiny. As one has truly remarked, what a creature of time is eternity! Time is, in some respects, more solemn and important than eternity. The present decides the future. The future is all that the present makes it. It is "troubled or serene, inviting or revolting, happy or miserable, a blessing or a curse, as time, omnipotent time, ordains it."
And this is the sentiment of the text which suggests our subject. "And now also the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which brings not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire." There is much truth in these words, that is deeply and solemnly instructive. They describe the character of an unconverted state, warn us of its danger, and predict its doom. May the Spirit who speaks in the word, be the Spirit who illumines us, while that word is now laid open to our view!
What A TRUE DESCRIPTION have we here OF THE CHARACTER OF A CARNAL, UNREGENERATE SOUL- "Every tree which brings not forth good fruit." No pencil could more accurately delineate the condition of such a one. There cannot be, by any possibility whatever, the slightest misconception here. This is not descriptive of a renewed state. The expressive metaphor cannot, by the most forced construction, be made to apply to a state of grace. A living member of the true Vine is a fruit-bearing tree. Thedegree of his fruitfulness is another question. It is with the reality of the vital principle within him, that he has first and mainly to do. The question that takes precedence of all others is, his severance from the 'wild olive tree' of a carnal, lifeless nature, and his grafting into Christ the true Vine.
Can any metaphor, drawn from the world of imagery, more strongly and truly set forth an unconverted state than this? It is a tree that bears no good fruit. It is a soul utterly destitute of everything that is really good, holy, and spiritual. It makes no allusion to the verdant leaves of a 'mere Christian profession', or to the blossoms of good resolutions' and 'external reformations', which often appear in life. These may be many and fair to look upon. But it speaks of more than 'the leaf', and the promising 'blossom'; it speaks of 'fruit', and of 'good fruit', and of good fruit only. The "tree which brings not forth GOOD FRUIT."
It will now be proper for us to inquire into the NATURE and the PROPERTIES of the "good fruit" which is found in a state of grace, the absence of which decides a state of nature.
Shall we begin with PRAYER? Who will not pronounce this a fruit of the Spirit, and in its nature and influence, truly good? When Saul of Tarsus was smitten to the ground by the divine light which shone around him- all his pride and rebellion in a moment prostrated- the first accents heard from him in heaven, and announced on earth, were accents of prayer. There came a voice from the excellent glory, exclaiming, "Behold, he prays." Here was the first throbbing of life in the new-born soul. Here was spiritual breath, pouring out itself into the bosom of Him from whom it came. It was more than the sprouting leaf, more than the opening bud, more than the full-blown blossom; it was precious fruit, brought forth in the heart by God the Eternal Spirit. Are you a praying soul? Has the prayer ever burst from your lips, "God be merciful to me a sinner?" I ask not if you are theoretically, or notionally acquainted with prayer. You may be accustomed to the formal habit of prayer, and yet never pray. You may eagerly purchase, and diligently use every form of devotion which the piety or the skill of others has compiled, and yet the gladdening intelligence may never have passed from lip to lip in heaven- "Behold, he prays!" If this be true of you, you are that tree that brings not forth the good fruit of prayer. For years, perhaps it has been so. You have lived thus far a prayerless life. What! no hallowed communion with Heaven! No sweet fellowship with the Father! No yielding to the attraction of the throne of His grace!
What! an utter stranger to all this? Then, your life has been unsanctified by prayer- your family unblest by prayer- your business pursued without prayer. The dew of mercy has fallen, and the sun of prosperity has shone upon you; means of grace, and a thousand influences, have conspired to make you a man of prayer; and yet again and again has the Lord of the vineyard come seeking in you this good fruit, and found none. Then, what scriptural, reasonable, valid claim to the character of a child of God can you possibly have, lacking this, the first and the latest evidence of spiritual life?
In the House which Christ is rearing, and of which he is the foundation, all the stones are living stones. "You also as living stones, are built up a spiritual house." There are no dead materials here. In the scaffolding, and among the rubbish- things not forming essential parts of the building itself- we expect to find no life. Yes, solemn thought! among the builders themselves there may be, there often are, those having no sympathy with the nature and character and ultimate design of the structure whose walls they are helping to uprear. But in every stone, placed and cemented in that building, and forming an essential part, there is life- divine, spiritual, resurrection, deathless life, flowing from union to Christ, who has ever been, and ever will be, the "tried stone, the precious corner-stone, the sure foundation" of his church.
Then, do not be deceived; the scaffolding will be taken down, and the rubbish will be removed, and the workmen will be dispersed, and this beautiful and stupendous structure will present to the eye the spectacle of a "glorious church, not having a spot, or a wrinkle, or any such thing," partaking of the life, and radiant with the glory, of the Lord through eternity. Then, all those who had a Christian "name to live while they were dead," who were employed around this spiritual house, but formed no part of the house itself, will have their portion in the "second death." Speaking of the results of the Christian ministry, the Apostle employs this solemn language, "Every man's work shall be made manifest; for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is." These are searching, shuddering facts, relating both to minister and to people.
But oh! what a precious fruit of the renewed heart is true prayer! If there is a single exercise of the soul that places the fact of its regeneracy beyond a doubt, it is this. Prayer, that comes as holy fire from God, and that rises as holy incense to God- prayer, that takes me, with every need and infirmity, with every sin and sorrow, to the bosom of the Father, through the smitten bosom of the Son- prayer, that sweetens my solitude, that calms my perturbed spirit, that weakens the power of sin, that nourishes the desire for holiness, and that transports the soul, by anticipation, beyond the region of winds, and storms, and tempests, into the calmer presence of God, where all is sunshine and peace- O what a wondrous privilege is this!
That there is much of awful mystery yet to be unraveled in relation to this holy exercise of the soul, we readily admit. How prayer operates upon God we know not. That it can effect any alteration in His purpose, or change His will, or afford Him information, no one for a moment supposes. And yet, that it should be an ordained medium by which finite weakness seems to overcome Infinite strength, and a human will seems to turn the Divine will, and man's shallow mind seems to pour knowledge into the fathomless mind of God- that it should halt a threatened judgment, or remove an existing evil, or supply a present need- is a marvel in which, like all others of Divine revelation, I submit my reason to my faith, receiving and adoring what my reason cannot, unless I were God, perfectly comprehend.
The only solution which we have of this mystery of prayer, is contained in these words: "He that searches the hearts, knows what the mind of the Spirit is , because he makes intercession for the saints according to the will of God." The Holy Spirit thus inditing just that petition which is in harmony with the purpose, will, and love of Him who is emphatically the Hearer and the Answerer of prayer. What a volume might be composed on the subject of prayer, and yet the half would not be told! A compilation of its achievements would of itself be the work of the longest life. Blessed are they who can enter into the spirit of these words, "I give myself unto prayer." "It is good for me to draw near unto God." "Pray without ceasing." "Praying with prayer." "If we ask anything according to his will, he hears us; and if we know that he hears us, whatever we ask, we know that we have the petitions that we desired of him." Have you, reader, this fruit? Then, restrain not prayer before God!
"Prayer is a creature's strength, his very breath and being;
Prayer is the golden key that can open the wicket of Mercy
Prayer is the slender nerve that moves the muscles of Omnipotence;
Therefore, pray, O creature, for many and great are your needs;
Your mind, your conscience, and your being, your rights commend you unto prayer,
The cure of all cares, the grand panacea for all pains,
Doubt's destroyer, ruin's remedy, the antidote to all anxieties."
(Tupper)
GODLY SORROW must be quoted as another fruit, good and precious, of the renewed heart. This, also, is the product of the Holy Spirit, indicating the life of God in the soul of man. No single exercise of mind is presented in the Word as holding so essential and important a place in a work of grace as this: it is absolutely indispensable as an element of conversion. There cannot be the subsequent stages of faith in Jesus, of righteousness, joy, and peace in the Holy Spirit, without the previous sense and sorrow of sin. We need, on this interesting subject, no other teaching than what is contained in these words: "Thus says the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also that is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones." Again- "For all these things has my hand made, and all these things have been, says the Lord; but to this man will I look, even to him who is of a poor and contrite spirit, and trembles at my word."
Can any truth be more strongly and affectingly stated? This, too, was the doctrine which our Lord preached: "I say unto you, that except you repent, you shall all likewise perish." And so did his Apostles, when they declared, "God now commands all men everywhere to repent." No command, no duty can be more distinctly, intelligently, and solemnly defined and urged than this. But the inquirer will ask, "What is repentance?" The reply is- it is that secret grace that lays the soul low before God- self, loathed; sin, abhorred, confessed, and forsaken. It is the abasement and humiliation of a man because of the sinfulness of his nature, and the sins of his life, before the holy, heart-searching Lord God.
The more matured believer is wont to look upon a broken and contrite spirit flowing from a sight of the cross, as the most precious fruit found in his soul. No moments to him are so hallowed, so solemn, or so sweet, as those spent in bathing the Savior's feet with tears. There is indeed a bitterness in the grief which a sense of sin produces; and this, of all other bitternesses, is the greatest. He knows from experience, that it is an "evil thing and bitter, that he has forsaken the Lord his God." Nevertheless, there is a sweetness- an indescribable sweetness, which must be experienced to be understood- blended with the bitterness of a heart broken for sin, from a sight of the cross of the incarnate God. O precious tears wept beneath that cross!
But how shall I portray the man that is of a humble and a contrite spirit? He is one who truly knows the evil of sin, for he has felt it. He apprehends, in some degree, the holiness of God's character, and the spirituality of his law, for he has seen it. His views of himself have undergone a radical change. He no longer judges himself as others judge him. They exalt him; he abases himself. They approve; he condemns. And in that very thing for which they most extol him, he is humbling himself in secret. While others are applauding actions, he is searching into motives; while they are extolling virtues, he is sifting principles; while they are weaving the garland for his brow, he, shut in alone with God, is covering himself with sackcloth and with ashes. O precious fruit of a living branch of the true Vine! Is it any wonder, then, that God should come and dwell with such a one, in whom is found something so good towards Him? O no! He delights to see us in this posture- to mark a soul walking before Him in a conscious sense of its poverty, the eye drawing from the cross its most persuasive motives to a deep prostration of soul at His feet.
Dear reader, to know what a sense of God's reconciling love is- to know how skillfully, tenderly, and effectually, Jesus binds up and heals, your spirit must be wounded, and your heart must be broken for sin. O it were worth an ocean of tears to experience the loving gentleness of Christ's hand in drying them. Has God ever said of you, as he said of Ahab, "See how he humbles himself before me?" Search and ascertain if this good fruit is found in your soul.
And what shall be said of FAITH? Truly is it the crowning grace of all, and a most costly and precious fruit of the renewed mind. From it springs every other grace of a gracious soul. It has been designated the Queen grace, because a royal train ever attends it. Faith comes not alone, nor dwells alone, nor works alone. Where faith in Jesus is, there also are love, and joy, and peace, and long-suffering, and patience, and godly sorrow, and every kindred perfection of the Christian character, all blending in the sweetest harmony, all uniting to celebrate the glory of God's grace, and to crown Jesus Lord of all. Is it, then, surprising that this should be distinguished from all the others by the term "precious faith?" No! that must needs be precious which unfolds the preciousness of every thing else. It makes the real gold more precious, and it transmutes everything else into gold. It looks to a "precious Christ." It leads to his "precious blood." It relies unqualifiedly on the "precious promises." And its very trial, though it be by fire, is "precious."
It so changes the nature of the painful, the humiliating, and the afflictive, as to turn the Father's frown, rebuke, and correction, into some of the costliest mercies of life. Precious grace that bids me look upon God in Christ as reconciled; and which, in the absence of all, evidence of sight, invites me to rest upon the veracity of God!- which takes me in my deepest poverty to Jesus, my true Joseph, having in his hands, and at his disposal, all the treasures of grace and glory! These are some of the characteristics of this royal grace. "Being justified by faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ." By faith I can not only say that Jesus died for sinners, but that he died for me. Faith makes the great atonement mine. Faith appropriates to itself all that is in Christ. It lays its hand upon the covenant of grace, and exclaims, "All things are mine." Oh! to see one bowed to the dust under a sense of sin, yet by faith traveling to the blood and righteousness of the Lord Jesus for salvation, and finding it too- to mark the power of this grace in sustaining the soul in deep waters, holding it up in perilous paths- is a spectacle on which God Himself must look down with ineffable delight.
The application of this truth, reader, must be to your conscience- "Do you believe in the Soil of God?" Have you "like precious faith" with that which we have attempted to describe? Alas! it may be that you are that tree which does not bring forth this good fruit. Yours may be a species of fruit somewhat resembling it; but do not be deceived in a matter so momentous as this. "You believe there is one God- you do well, the devils also believe, and tremble." That is, you assent to the first proposition of true religion- the being of God; this is well, because your judgment assents to that which is true. And still you have not gone beyond the faith of demons! They believe, and yet horror inconceivable is but the effect of the forced assent of their minds to the truth- they "tremble." O look well to your faith! There must be in true faith, not only an intellectual assent, but also a heart consent. In believing to the saving of the soul, we not only assent to the truth of the word, but we also consent to take Christ as he is there set forth- the sinner's reconciliation with God. A mere intellectual illumination, or a historical belief of the facts of the Bible, will never place the soul beyond the reach of hell, nor within the region of heaven. There is a "form of knowledge," as well as a "form of godliness;" and both existing apart from vital religion in the soul, constitute a "vain religion."
Again we press upon you the important inquiry; Have you the "faith of God's elect?" Is it the faith that has stained the glory of 'merit', and laid the 'pride of intellect' in the dust? Is it rooted in Christ? Has it transformed you, in some degree, into the opposite of what you once were? Are any of the "precious fruits" of the Spirit put forth in your life? Is Jesus precious to your soul? And to walk in all circumstances humbly with God, is it the earnest desire of your heart? If there is no sorrow for sin, no going out of yourself to Jesus, no fruits of holiness, in some degree, appearing, then is yours but a "dead faith." Dead, because it is a part and parcel of a nature dead in trespasses and in sins- dead, because it is not the fruit of the quickening Spirit; dead, because it isinoperative, even as the lifeless root transmits no vitality and moisture to the tree- dead, because it never can bring you to eternal life. Of what value, then, is it? Cut it down! why does it cumber the ground? If, then, you have never brought forth the good fruit of prayer, and repentance, and faith, you are yet in the old nature of sin, of rebellion, and of death.
We are now conducted to a truly solemn branch of the subject under discussion: namely, THE IMMINENT DANGER TO WHICH AN UNCONVERTED STATE IS EXPOSED. "And now also behold the axe is laid unto the root of the tree: therefore every tree which does not bring forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire." Here is an unequivocal declaration of the over hanging judgment of Christless souls. "Their damnation slumbers not." It is "ready to be revealed." It is not that such a state is advancing to a judgment, so much as its closest proximity to that judgment, that constitutes the most solemn feature. Were you to repair to an adjacent plantation, and observe the woodman's axe lying by the side of some lifeless oak, you would naturally conclude- "here is the preparation for removal; its doom is fixed; the axe is laid at its root;" and you would naturally expect soon to see it level with the earth. You are that dead "tree that brings not forth good fruit!" At the root of your dead faith, and lifeless profession, and impenitent, prayerless, godless, Christless life, the axe of divine judgment is lying, ready to fell you to the ground. There it lies, waiting but the lifted hand of Justice, at the command of the long-suffering, but sin-avenging God- "Cut it down!" "Their judgment now of a long time lingers not." For a long time that judgment has been in abeyance- O how long!- but now it "lingers not."
Behold, "now also the axe is laid." And laid where? Not at the withered, fruitless branches merely; these, indeed, the Lord often severs. He removes gospel privileges, or withdraws great mercies, or cuts off peculiar and choice blessings; sickness, bereavement, reverses, enter the domestic circle, once bright and happy, throwing the pall of vacancy, of gloom, and of desolateness over all. In this way the Lord sometimes lays the axe at the pleasant branches of creature blessing and comfort, and they fall before our eye, leaving the heart bleeding, and brooding in gloomy loneliness over its loss. But the most alarming view of this truth is its personal relation to ourselves. The axe of God's judgment is lying at the root. In the due consideration of this fact, we lose sight of others, and concentrate all our thought and anxiety upon ourselves. It becomes now a truth of increased magnitude and solemnity; because no longer thinking of the branches which God has removed, or may yet remove from us, we are appalled by the irresistible conviction- "I must die! the axe is lying at the root."
Ah! this is the most calamitous of all divine judgments. This is the climax of horrors! This is the filling to the brim of the cup of woe. The loss of wife, or children, or property, or health, has often resulted in untold blessings to the loser. It has led him to seek and to find all that he had lost, and infinitely more, in Christ. The Eternal Spirit has made it the means and the occasion of his conversion to God. And thus while he has mourned in bitterness the severance of the pleasant branches, he has rejoiced with a joy unspeakable, in the mercy that has spared, and in the grace that has quickened, the root. And is it so, that the beloved of our hearts must die before we can live? Must bough after bough of fragrant blossom, and of pleasant fruit, be severed, before we are led to give to God our hearts and to Christ our service? Must the idol be crumbled, and its shrine be broken down, before the Holy Spirit enters to re-create, renew, and occupy us for himself? Yes, mourning reader, it is often so! "For us they languish, and for us they die."
O happy for you, if now the vacant niche in your heart is filled by him who indeed "died for us, that we might live through him." Yes, judgment is suspended over the fruitless tree. The axe is lying at the root. And when a man loses himself, it is the direst loss of all. "What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world; and lose his own soul?" And what matter if a man lose all that the world esteems good, if yet he himself is found in Christ! He may lose all, and yet save himself. Ah! better that every branch, and leaf, and blossom should die, than that the root should be forever destroyed.
The periods at which the state of human probation ceases, are various. We often behold the young fall suddenly before the axe of death. The spectacle is peculiarly affecting; awfully so, if there is no hope! Picture it to your mind. The sun had scarcely risen before it set. It went down while it was yet day. The morning of life had just dawned, gilding the horizon with the golden hues of promise, when lo! the night of the grave drew rapidly on, and quenched all in darkness! There were health and beauty, vivacity and vigor. Hope predicted, and the world promised, much. A thousand avenues proffered to guide the youthful traveler to the sphere of happiness. The morning rejoiced over his head, and everything around him wore a smiling appearance. He traversed the newborn world, now bursting into beauty upon his view, cropping the unblown flower, and drinking the untasted spring. With spirits buoyant as the morning air, health blooming on his cheek, genius sparkling in his eye, visions of bliss floating before his imagination, he set out upon the journey of life. But the axe is at the root! It rises- it strikes- and in a moment the "strong staff is broken, and the beautiful rod!" Fearful, if on that tree "no good fruit" were found! Happy, if early ripe for heaven!
Such a one I knew. Nature had cast him in her finest mold. Possessed of a form of exquisite symmetry, a countenance pencilled with lines of perfect beauty and mirroring the greatness of his soul, art in her noblest chiselings never embodied the idea of a more perfect man. Learning enriched his mind; travel added to his rich stores of thought and information, and heightened the polish and the grace of his address; a poetic genius, perfectly classic, imparted an indescribable tenderness and delicacy to his sentiments; while religion, heaven-born religion, threw its sanctity and its charm over all. On his return from mingling amid the classic scenes of Homer and of Virgil, and the yet more thrilling and hallowed scenes of Christ and of his apostles, he was invested with the holy office of the Christian ministry. In its sacred duties he was permitted for a while to engage; admiring multitudes hanging on the lips that spoke so eloquently of Christ and of his cross. But fell disease was insidiously feeding at the root of this beautiful cedar of Lebanon; and when life was the sweetest and the brightest, and hope spoke most flatteringly to his ear; and when, from the precious stores of thought and sentiment, his fascinating voice flung their treasures the most lavishingly around him, at that moment he sickened, and drooped, and died! The skillful hand of affection has reared a splendid monument to his memory, the materials of which his own richly furnished mind had supplied. But his true and imperishable record is on high.
But why recall the memory of the young and the beautiful who have passed away? To give, if possible, increased force and solemnity to the exhortation which the Holy Spirit addresses to the young, "Remember now your Creator in the days of your youth." Remember Him who created you, and who created you for his glory- who fashioned your form, and who endowed your mind, and who placed you in your present position in life, be it of rank and influence, or of lowliness and obscurity. Remember him as a holy, sin-hating God, and that you stand to Him in the relation of a fallen creature, impure and unrighteous, impotent and hostile,unworthy to live, unfit to die.
Remember what He must have done, and what He must do for you if ever that relation is changed, and you become a new creature, an adopted child, an heir of glory. Remember the strong and inalienable claims which He has upon you- claims which He will never relax nor revoke. He who commanded the first of the ripe fruits, and animals of the first year, to be offered to Him, bids you remember Him in the days of your youth!- your first days, and your best, while the body is in health, and the mind is vigorous, and all the faculties of the soul fit you especially for His service and His glory. Oh remember Him now, before other things and other objects come and occupy the place which belongs to God alone. Remember your breath is in His hands; that the axe of judgment is lying at the root of the green tree as well as the dry, that the blooming flower and the young sapling are often cut down long before the stately cedar or venerable oak bows itself to the earth. Build not upon length of days- plume not yourself with the laurels which profound learning, or brilliant talent, or successful enterprise may already have won for you. See how soon they fade upon the brow which they adorn! Think of Kirke White, and of Spencer, and of Urquhart, and of M'cheyne, and of Taylor, and of Swaine, and of Griffin- those beautiful cedars of God's Lebanon, how verdant and how fragrant were the honors which went down with them to the tomb! But they early lived in the Lord, and unreservedly for the Lord- and the Lord took them early to live with himself forever. They gave to Him the first and the best, and He took them the first to glory, and has given them the best of glory. Who would not live and die as did they?
"It matters little at what hour of the day
The righteous fall asleep. Death cannot come
To those untimely, who are fit to die.
The less of this cold world, the more of heaven,
The briefer life, the earlier immortality."
Build, then, on nothing beneath the sky except an immediate and undoubted interest in Christ. Until you are born again, you are in peril; until God possesses your heart, as to any real holiness, and usefulness, and happiness, your life is a perfect blank. You live to yourself; and not to live to Him who created you, who upholds you, and who will soon judge you- is a poor life indeed. O give to Christ the golden period of your life! Bind the early sacrifice upon the altar. Lay upon it the first fruits- Jesus is worthy of your young affections, and of the earliest development of your mind. O what a treasure is Christ! To begin life with Christ in the heart, is to begin with a radiant morning- the sure prelude of a smiling day, and of a cloudless evening!
Others are cut down in the meridian of life. With them, the romance of youth is past; the ideal has vanished, succeeded by thesober reality. Immersed in its cares, entangled with its perplexities, or eager of its gains, its honors, and its pleasures, they heed not the sun's altitude; they watch not how far it has declined upon the dial of human life, and how near its setting is! With noiseless wing, time pursues its flight, and borne imperceptibly along upon the rapid current of human affairs, they realize not that they were born and are destined for another world, until they touch its confines!
"And while the scene on either side
Presents a gaudy, flattering show,
They gaze, in fond amusement lost,
Nor think to what a world they go."
A few, and but a few, are spared to the winter of old age. The fruitless tree of many years, and of long and unwearied culture, is permitted to stand as a monument of God's tireless patience. The tints of autumn are upon its once green foliage, and its branches are withered and decayed. Long has God waited for the good fruit, but none has appeared. He has looked year after year, but has looked in vain. Judgment and mercy have been sent, and both have alike proved ineffectual. No alarm, no seriousness, no reflection, no repentance, no prayer, have given evidence that within the man there dwelt a living soul. God has smitten, but he has not returned; God has smiled, but he has not loved! Oh where is there a spectacle in human life more awful and affecting than a fruitless, unconverted aged person? To see the hoary head found in the way of unrighteousness, worldliness, carnality, frivolity, hardness of heart and unbelief; instead of spirituality and sobriety, contrition and faith, is melancholy indeed. There is a worldly old age, and a sensual old age, and a frivolous old age, and a skeptical old age, and an impenitent old age.
And there is, on the other hand, a heavenly-minded old age, and a verdant, fruitful old age, and a happy old age! Dear aged reader, which is yours? You are approaching the end of all earthly things; you stand upon the borders of the invisible world; soon its tremendous realities will open upon you: this may be the last appeal; the grasp of death may be near you now, and mercy may be about to utter her eternal farewell. My heart's desire and prayer to God for you is, that you may be saved, even at the eleventh hour.
And O, should there appear, even now, in the exercise of God's rich and sovereign grace, the puttings forth of godly sorrow, and the buddings of precious faith in your soul- if now, at even-tide, it should be light- "your light rising in obscurity, and your darkness as the noon-day"- then, remember for your encouragement, the laborers who were welcomed into the vineyard at the eleventh hour; and think of the expiring malefactor, who, amid the very pangs of dissolving nature, and when his spirit trembled on the verge of eternity, uttered his cry for mercy, in penitence and faith, and was heard, and was forgiven, and was received up into glory- and press the truth to your heart, that yet there is hope for you!
And what is THE FINAL END of the "tree that bears no good fruit?" It is "hewn down and cast into the fire." Even as a tree marked for judgment, it is "hewn down." Sometimes it is by a gradual process of decay, long wasting disease bringing down the sinner to the grave. At other times it is sudden- a single stroke lays him low. "His breath goes forth, he returns to his earth; in that very day his thoughts perish." All his 'thoughts' of long life, his 'thoughts' of worldly acquisition, his 'thoughts' of human fame, his 'thoughts' of domestic happiness, "in that very day his thoughts perish." A slight pressure upon the brain, a single pulse ceasing at the heart, a few moments' suspension of air, and the soul is gone, in the twinkling of an eye- gone to meet its God! The fruitless tree is hewn down!
AND WHAT FOLLOWS? Shall we lift the veil? Christ has done it. "Cast the unprofitable servant into outer darkness, there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." O horror of horrors! O death of deaths! There they lie! They roll in billows of flame! They gnaw their chains in agony! They torment each other! They reproach themselves! They call for water! They shriek in despair! They blaspheme God! They invoke names once dear to them! They stretch out their hands! They sink, deeper, and deeper, and deeper, exclaiming, "This worm, this flame, this agony, forever- FOREVER!" Reader, there is a HELL! It is written- ah! and it is written with the pen of heaven- "The wicked shall go away into everlasting punishment." It is not the eternal sleep of the infidel- that is a dream. It is not the annihilation of the universalist- that is a lie. It is the Hell of fearful torments which the BIBLE reveals just as clearly as the heaven of ineffable delight. Yes, there is a HELL. Every moment its door opens and shuts upon some Christless sinner, entering to return no more- forever. "And now the axe is laid unto the root of the trees: therefore every tree which brings not forth good fruit is hewn down, and cast into the fire." Eternal ages of torment will produce no alleviation and no change. "If the tree fall toward the south, or toward the north, in the place where the tree falls, there it shall be"- and that to all ETERNITY. Reader, you must be cut down, either by the sword of God's Spirit, or by the axe of God's judgment. Which?
Many will read these pages to whom this awful character will not apply. They are "trees of righteousness, of the Lord's own right hand planting." Removed from the wilderness of unrenewed nature, sovereign grace has placed you in the Lord's garden; if this be so, then upon you rests the high obligation to aim after much fruitfulness. Do not be satisfied with the low standard of the day. We are surrounded by a worldly, time-serving, man-pleasing, temporizing profession of Christianity. Many are dead while they live. There are the leaves of Christian profession, but where are the fruits of the Spirit? Rise superior to this standard, and dare to be singular for the Lord. Remember that Christ is your "Green Fir Tree from whom is your fruit found." All contrition for sin flows from a sight of his cross; all obedience to his commands, from a sense of his love; all victory over temptation, from the power of his grace; and all consolation in sorrow, from the sympathy of his heart.
Perhaps you are bearing fruit in the midst of deep trial. Ah! never were you, it may be, so fruitful as now! Your Father never saw his image in you so fairly reflected- Jesus never saw his grace in you so triumphant- the Spirit never beheld his work so evident in your soul as now. You are bringing forth much precious fruit beneath the pruning hand of the heavenly Husbandman. Come, then, and rest your weary spirit- and satiate your hungry soul under the "Green Fir Tree." Listen how sweetly he invites you- "I am like a green fir tree; from me is your fruit found." You are one with that Tree, if you are a living branch. You are invited to come and partake of its fruit, and to sit down under its shadow. Its leaves are for your healing, its fruit is for your nourishing, its branches are for your refreshing. All that Christ is, belongs to you.
He is the Green Fir Tree- "the same yesterday, and today, and forever." No circumstance and no event can possibly effect any change in him. All that he ever was, as portrayed in the word, he is now, and will continue to be. His word is faithful, his truth is firm, his love is unchangeable. Jesus is the EVER GREEN- others may change, but he, never! He remains the same rich, loving, kind, true, and precious Brother, Friend, and Savior; when the frosts and the snows of wintry adversity have congealed every spring, and have mantled with gloom every object of creature good. Repair to him when you may, you will find him the Green Fir Tree- always the same. May the sentiments of the sweet poet be those of every reader!
"Sweet is the voice which now invites,
And bids me shelter take
In Christ, the living Tree, whose leaves
No storms shall ever shake."
"Under his shade I would abide,
And there your love, dear Lord,
Shall, to this weary heart of mine,
Rich stores of peace afford."
"With him my life is hid in God,
From him my fruit is found;
Can anything, then, tear me from his love,
Can anything my hope confound?"
"Ah, no! he is the 'Green Fir Tree,'
Firm as the rock he stands;
Our hope as firm- to him we're bound
By love's electing bands."
"When they who 'neath his shade do dwell,
As corn revive shall they,
Like lily and the vine shall grow,
But not like them decay."
"But like unto Mount Lebanon,
They shall their branches spread;
And sweetest fragrance breathe through Christ,
Their life, their rest, their head."
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