flesh." Where was the shield? It is not necessary for us to know the
character of his thorn. But assuredly it was some ailment which appeared
to interfere with the completeness of his work. Some think it was an
affliction of the eyes; others think that it was a proneness to some
form of malarial fever which frequently brought him into a state of
collapse and exhaustion. But there it was, and the shield of faith did
not keep it away.
Or look again at his exhausting labours. There is no word concerning his
ministry more pregnant with meaning than this word "labour," which the
apostle so frequently used to describe his work. "In labours oft;"
"whereunto I labour;" "I laboured more abundantly than they all." This
is not the labour of ordinary toil. It is the labour of travail. It is
labour to the degree of poignant pang. It is labour that so expends the
strength as to empty the fountain. It is the labour of sacrifice. And I
thought that perhaps a protected life might have been spared the
sufferings of a living martyrdom and that the service such a man
rendered might have been made fruitful without pain. I thought God might
have protected His servant. But the shield of faith did not deliver him
from the labour of travail through which he sought the birth of the
children of grace.
Or look once more at his repeated failures. You can hear the wail of
sadness as he frequently contemplates his ruined hopes concerning little
churches which he had built, or concerning fellow-believers whom he had
won to Christ. "Are ye so soon fallen away?" "Ye would have given your
eyes to me but now--." "I hear that there is strife among you." "It is
reported that there is uncleanness among you." "Demus hath forsaken me."
And it is wail after wail, for it is failure after failure. Defeat is
piled upon defeat. It is declared to be a protected life, and yet
disasters litter the entire way. It is perfectly clear that the shield
of faith did not guard him from the agony of defeat.
Such are the experiences of the man who gave his strength to proclaim
the all-sufficiency of the shield of faith, who spent his days in
recommending it to his fellow-men, and whose own life was nevertheless
noisy with tumult, and burdened with antagonisms, and crippled by
infirmity, and clouded with defeat. Can this life be said to be wearing
a shield? We have so far been looking at the man's environment, at his
bodily infirmities, at his activities of labor, at his external defeats.
What if in all these things we have not come within sight of the realm
which the apostle would describe as his life? When Paul speaks of life
he means the life of the soul. When he thinks of life his eyes are on
the soul. In all the estimates and values which he makes of life he is
fixedly regarding the soul. The question of success or failure in life
is judged by him in the courthouse of the soul. You cannot entice the
apostle away to life's accidents and induce him to take his measurements
there. He always measures life with the measurement of an angel, and
thus he busies himself not with the amplitude of possessions, but with
the quality of being, not with the outer estates of circumstances but
with the central keep and citadel of the soul. We never find the apostle
Paul with his eyes glued upon the wealth or poverty of his surroundings.
But everywhere and always and with endless fascination, he watches the
growth or decay of the soul. When, therefore, this man speaks of the
shield of faith we may be quite sure that he is still dwelling near the
soul and that he is speaking of a protection which will defend the
innermost life from foul and destructive invasion.
Now our emphasis is prone to be entirely the other way, and therefore
we are very apt to misinterpret the teachings of the apostle Paul and to
misunderstand the holy promises of the Lord. We are prone to live in the
incidents of life rather than in its essentials, in environment rather
than in character, in possessions rather than in dispositions, in the
body rather than in the soul. The consequence is that we seek our
shields in the realms in which we live. We live only in the things of
the body and therefore against bodily ills we seek our shields. We want
a shield against sorrow, to keep it away, a shield to protect us against
the break-up of our happy estate. We want a shield against adversity, to
keep it away, a shield against the darkening eclipse of the sunny day.
We want a shield against loss, to keep it away, a shield against the
rupture of pleasant relations, a shield to protect us against the
bereavements which destroy the completeness of our fellowships. We want
a shield against pain, to keep it away, a shield against the pricks and
goads of piercing circumstances, against the stings and arrows of
outrageous fortune.
In a word, we want a shield to make us comfortable, and because the
shield of faith does not do it we are often stunned and confused, and
our thin reasonings are often twisted and broken, and the world appears
a labyrinth without a providence and without a plan. It is just here
that our false emphasis leads us astray. We live in circumstances and
seek a shield to make us comfortable; but the apostle Paul lived in
character and sought a shield to make him holy. He was not concerned
with the arrangement of circumstances, but he was concerned with the
aspiration that, be the circumstances what they might, they should never
bring disaster to his soul. He did not seek a shield to keep off
ill-circumstances, but he sought a shield to keep ill-circumstances from
doing him harm. He sought a shield to defend him from the
destructiveness of every kind of circumstance, whether fair or foul,
whether laden with sunshine or heavy with gloom. Paul wanted a shield
against all circumstances in order that no circumstance might unman him
and impoverish the wealth of his soul.
Let me offer a simple illustration. A ray of white light is made up of
many colors, but we can devise screens to keep back any one of these
colors and to let through those we please. We can filter the rays. Or we
can devise a screen to let in rays of light and to keep out rays of
heat. We can intercept certain rays and forbid their presence. Now, to
the apostle Paul the shield of faith was a screen to intercept the
deadly rays which dwell in every kind of circumstance; and to Paul the
deadly rays in circumstances, whether the circumstances were bright or
cloudy, were just those that consumed his spiritual susceptibilities and
lessened his communion with God, the things that ate out his moral
fibre, and that destroyed the wholeness and wholesomeness of his human
sympathies, and impaired his intimacy with God and man. It was against
these deadly rays he needed a shield, and he found it in the shield of
faith.
Paul wanted a shield, not against failure; that might come or stay
away. But he wanted a shield against the pessimism that may be born of
failure, and which holds the soul in the fierce bondage of an Arctic
winter. Paul wanted a shield, not against injury; that might come or
stay away; but against the deadly thing that is born of injury, even the
foul offspring of revenge. Paul wanted a shield, not against pain; that
might come or might not come; he sought a shield against the spirit of
murmuring which is so frequently born of pain, the deadly, deadening
mood of complaint. Paul wanted a shield, not against disappointment,
that might come or might not come; but against the bitterness that is
born of disappointment, the mood of cynicism which sours the milk of
human kindness and perverts all the gentle currents of the soul. Paul
wanted a shield, not against difficulty; that might come or might not
come; but against the fear that is born of difficulty, the cowardice and
the disloyalty which are so often bred of stupendous tasks. Paul did not
want a shield against success; that might come or might not come; but
against the pride that is born of success, the deadly vanity and
self-conceit which scorch the fair and gracious things of the soul as a
prairie-fire snaps up a homestead or a farm. Paul did not want a shield
against wealth; that might come or might not come; but against the
materialism that is born of wealth, the deadly petrifying influence
which turns flesh into stone, spirituality into benumbment, and which
makes a soul unconscious of God and of eternity. The apostle did not
want a shield against any particular circumstance, but against every
kind of circumstance, that in everything he might be defended against
the fiery darts of the devil.
He found the shield he needed in a vital faith in Christ. First of all
the faith-life cultivates the personal fellowship of the Lord Jesus
Christ. The ultimate concern of faith is not with a polity, not with a
creed, not with a church, and not with a sacrament, but with the person
of the Lord Jesus Christ. And therefore the first thing we have to do if
we wish to wear the shield of faith is to cultivate the companionship of
the Lord. We must seek His holy presence. We must let His purpose enter
into and possess our minds. We must let His promises distil into our
hearts. And we must let our own hearts and minds dwell upon the Lord
Jesus in holy thought and aspiration, just as our hearts and minds dwell
upon the loved ones who have gone from our side. We must talk to Him in
secret and we must let Him talk to us. We must consult Him about our
affairs, and then take His counsels as our statutes, and pay such heed
to them that the statutes will become our songs. Faith-life cultivates
the friendship of Christ, and leans upon it, and surrenders itself with
glorious abandon to the sovereign decrees of His grace and love.
And then, secondly, the faith-life puts first things first, and in its
list of primary values it gives first place to the treasures of the
soul. Faith-life is more concerned with habits than with things, with
character than with office, with self-respect than with popular esteem.
The faith-life puts first things first, the clean mind and the pure
heart, and from these it never turns its eyes away.
And, lastly, the faith-life contemplates the campaign rather than the
single battle. One battle may seem to go against it. But faith knows
that one battle is not the end of the world. "I will see you again, and
your sorrow shall be turned into joy." Faith takes the long view, the
view of the entire campaign. "I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem,
coming down out of heaven from God." "The kingdoms of this world shall
become the kingdom of our God." Such a relationship to the Lord protects
our life as with an invincible shield. It may please God to conduct our
life through long reaches of cloudless noon; the shield of faith will be
our defence. It may please God to lead us through the gloom of a long
and terrible night; the shield of faith will be our defence. "Thou shalt
not be afraid of the pestilence that walketh in darkness nor for the
destruction that wasteth at noonday."
VI
THE HELMET OF HOPE
_Eternal God, mercifully help us to unitedly draw near to the
atoning Saviour, and through His mercies find access into the
inheritance of the saints in light. Forgive the sins of our
rebellion and redeem us from our guilt. Transform our spiritual
habits that we may find ourselves able to fix our minds upon
things above. Cleanse our hearts by the waters of regeneration,
in order that our inclinations may be fixed upon the things that
please Thee. Rekindle the fire of our affections, purify the
light of our conscience. Broaden our compassions and make them
more delicate in their discernments. Impart unto us the saving
sense of Thy Companionship, and in the assurance of Thy Presence
may we know ourselves competent to do Thy will. Meet with us one
by one. Equip us with all needful armour for our daily battle.
Feed us with hidden manna, that so our strength may be equal to
our task. Unite us in the bonds of holy fear, and may we all be
partakers of Thy love and grace. Amen._
VI
THE HELMET OF HOPE
"And take the helmet of salvation." Ephesians 6:17.
"And for an helmet the hope of salvation." I Thessalonians 5:8.
The helmet of hope! Who has not experienced the energy of a mighty
hope? It is always a force to be reckoned with in the day of life's
battle. Hope is a splendid helmet, firmly covering the head, and
defending all its thoughts and purposes and visions from the subtle
assaults of the evil one. The helmet of hope is one of the best
protections against "losing one's head"; it is the best security against
all attacks made upon the mind by small but deadly fears; it is the only
effective safeguard against petty but deadly compromise. Far away the
best defence against all sorts of mental vagrancy and distraction is to
have the executive chambers of the life encircled and possessed by a
strong and brilliant hope.
Now every student of the apostle Paul knows that he is an optimist. But
he is an optimist, not because he closes his eyes, but because he opens
them and uses them to survey the entire field of vision and possibility.
He is an optimist, not because he cannot see the gross darkness,--no one
has painted the darkness in blacker hues,--but because he can also see
the light; and no one has portrayed the light with more alluring
brilliance and glory. He is an optimist, not because he cannot see the
loathsome presence of weakness, but because he sees the unutterable
grace and love of God.
Yes, he is a reasonable optimist, and I dare to say that you cannot
find anywhere in human literature a hundred pages more glowing and
radiant with the spirit of hope than in the letters of the apostle Paul.
Nowhere can you travel with him, not even to the darkest and most tragic
realms of human need, without catching the bright shining of a splendid
hope. You know how it is when you walk along the shore with the full
moon riding over the sea. Between you and the moon, and right across the
troubled waters, there is a broad pathway of silver light. If you move
up the shore the shining path moves with you. If you move down the shore
still you have the silver path across the waves. Wherever you stand
there is always between you and the moon a shining vista stretching
athwart the restless sea. And wherever the great apostle journeyed, and
through whatever cold or desolate circumstances, there was always
between him and the risen Lord, the Lord of grace and love, a bright and
broadening way of eternal hope. No matter where he is, and how appalling
the need, no matter what corruption may gather about the shore on which
he is walking, always there is the silver path of gospel-hope stretching
from the human shore-line to the burning bliss of the eternal Presence.
In Jerusalem, in Antioch, in Lystra, in Ephesus, in Philippi, in Rome,
he was never without these holy beams. They moved with him wherever he
went, for they were the outshining rays of the mercy of the eternal God.
Yes indeed, he was an optimist born and sustained in grace. He saw a
shining road of hope out of every pit, stretching from the miry clay to
the awful and yet glorious sanctities of holiness and peace.
Now our ordinary experience teaches us how much energy resides in a
commanding hope. A big expectation is stored with wonderful dynamic, and
it transmits its power to every faculty in the soul. The influence of a
great hope fills the mind with an alert and sensitive trembling,
inspiring every thought to rise as it were on tiptoe to await and greet
the expected guest. A great hope pours its energy into the will,
endowing it with the strength of marvellous patience and perseverance. I
have lately read of an ingenious contrivance, which is now being used in
some parts of Egypt, in which, by a subtle combination of glass
receivers, the heat of the sun is collected, and the gathered energy
concentrated and used in turning machinery in the varied ministries of
agriculture. That is to say, the power of a diffused shining is directed
to an engine and its strength enlisted in practical service. And so it
is with the sunny light of a large hope. Its gathered energy is poured
into the engine of the will, imparting glorious driving power, the power
of "go" and laborious persistence.
Every sphere of human interest provides examples of this principle.
Turn to the realm of invention. An inventor has a great hope shining
before him as a brilliant vision of possible achievement. With what
energy of will it endows him, and with what tireless, sleepless,
invincible patience! Think of the immeasurable endurance of the brothers
Wright who were inspired by the great hope of achieving the conquest of
the air! Their hope was indeed a helmet defending them against all
withering suggestions of ease, protecting them against the call of an
ignoble indolence which is so often heard in hours of defeat. An
electric railway has just been introduced by its inventor to the British
Government, which is capable of transmitting mails and parcels along a
prepared track at the rate of three hundred miles per hour; and the
inventor has recently quietly told us that he has been at work upon it
for thirty years! But think how, all through those long and many
fruitless years, his helmet of hope defended him, and especially
protected him from those alluring suggestions which come from the mild
climate of Lotus-Land, and which tempt a man to relax his tension and
lie down in the pleasant and thymy banks of rest and ease.
Or seek your examples in the realms of discovery. Read the chapters in
Lord Lister's life which tell how he, braced and inspired by a mighty
hope, laboured and laboured in the quest of an anaesthetic. Or turn to
the equally fascinating pages which tell how Sir James Simpson toiled,
and moiled, and dared, and suffered in the long researches which led to
the discovery of chloroform. His will was rendered indomitable by the
splendid hope of assuaging human pain.
Or think again of the restless, tireless labours of hundreds of men who
are to-day engaged in searching for the microscopic cause of cancer,
that having found it they might isolate it, and discover an antagonist
which shall work its complete destruction. There is a glorious hope
shining across the cancer waste, and it is nerving the will of research
with unconquerable perseverance. Yes, indeed, men wear a splendid
helmet, even in the ways of common experience, when they wear the helmet
of hope.
And mark their condition when they lose it. Turn to the scriptural
record of the voyage when Paul and his fellow-prisoners were being
escorted by soldiers to take their trial in Rome: A tempestuous storm
arose, and, in the power of a mighty hope to save the boat and
themselves the men called out every ounce of their strength. But now
note this connection in the narrative as I read it to you: "All hope was
taken away." ... "We let her drift." That is it, and it offers a
striking symbol of a common experience. While our hope is burning we
steer; when our hope is gone out we drift. The motive power is gone, and
the hopeless man is like a drifting hull in the midst of a wild and
desolate sea.
Or turn to the pages of Capt. Scott's journal when he and his party are
surmounting colossal tasks in the chivalrous hope of winning for their
country the honourable distinction of first discovery of the South Pole.
The narrative just blazes with hope, and therefore it tingles with
energy and shouts with song! But when Amundsen's flag was seen at the
Pole, and their strong hope was gone, and the disappointed company began
to return--O what heavy feet, and what accumulated burdens, and what
fiercely added laboriousness to an already laborious road! Hope had
gone, and they nobly trudged, and trudged, and trudged, to faint, and
fall, and die! Aye, men and women, hope is a tremendous power. To have
hope is to have always fresh reserves to meet every new expenditure of
the will. To lose hope is like losing the dynamo, the secret of
inspiration, and the once indomitable will droops and faints away. It
just makes an infinite difference whether or not we are wearing the
helmet of hope.
But now, if all this is true of common hope and common experience, how
is it with the supreme hope, "the hope of salvation?" What is this
hope,--"the hope of salvation?" To whom is the apostle Paul giving this
counsel? He is giving it to Christian believers in Ephesus: But were
they not already saved? Why should he speak to them of "the hope of
salvation" as though it were something still to be won? I remember when
I was a mere boy going to Spurgeon's Tabernacle, and as I was retiring
from the building at the close of the service, a gentleman laid his hand
upon my shoulder, and said: "My boy, are you saved?" His question
suggested that it was something I might already have experienced. Well,
had not the Ephesian disciples passed through that same experience? A
little while ago a London cabman stood at the foot of the pulpit-stairs
in our church, and told me that by the grace of God he had been
wonderfully saved. But the apostle speaks to these believers of "the
hope of salvation" as though it were something still before them. They
had taken a great step in discipleship in that vast and wicked city of
Ephesus, crowded with all sorts of antagonisms, and they had boldly
confessed themselves on the side of Christ. And yet, the apostle
counsels them to wear as a helmet "the hope of salvation."
The truth is that the apostle Paul uses all the three primary tenses
in speaking of salvation. He speaks to believers in the past tense, and
he says: "We were saved." And to the same believers he uses the present
tense, and he says: "Ye are being saved." And yet again to the same
believers he uses the future tense, "Ye shall be saved." All of which
means that to this great apostle a gloriously full salvation stretches
across the years from past to future, gathering riches with every
passing day. Salvation to Paul was more than a step, it was also a walk.
It was more than a crisis, it was also a prolonged process. It was more
than the gift of new life, it was the maturing in growth and power. A
drowning man, when he is lifted out of the water, is in a very profound
sense vitally saved. But after this initial salvation there is the
further salvation of re-collecting his scattered consciousness, and of
recovering his exhausted strength. And in a very glorious sense a man is
spiritually saved in a moment; in a moment in Christ Jesus he passed
from death into life. But it is also equally true that a man is only
saved in a lifetime, as he appropriates to himself more and more the
grace and truth of the risen Lord. Yes, after we have been converted and
saved, there is a further salvation in self-recovery, in self-discovery,
all of which becomes ours in a fuller and richer discovery of Christ.
Our possibilities of salvation in Christ Jesus stretch before us like
range upon range of glorious mountains. When we have attained one range
we have only obtained a new vantage-ground for beholding another; when
that, too, has been climbed, still vaster and grander ranges rise into
view. Every fresh addition to our Christlikeness increases our power of
discernment, and every added power of discernment unfolds a larger
vision and a more glorious and alluring hope. All believers in Christ
Jesus have been saved. All believers in Christ Jesus are being saved.
All believers in Christ Jesus will be saved. And therefore, says the
apostle, always wear the helmet of hope, "the hope of salvation."