'Walk in the light; believe in the light.' These two sum up all our
duties; or rather, unveil for us the whole fullness of the possible
privileges and blessings of which our relation to that light is
capable. It is obvious that the latter of them is the deeper in idea,
and the prior in order of sequence. There must be the 'belief' in the
light before there is the 'walk' in the light. Walking includes the
ideas of external activity and of progress. And so, putting these two
exhortations together, we get the whole of Christianity considered as
subjective. 'Believe in the light; trust in the light,' and then 'walk'
in it. A word, then, about each of these branches of this double
exhortation.
'Trust in the light.' The figure seems to be dropped at first sight;
for it wants little faith to believe in the sunshine at midday; and
when the light is pouring out, how can a man but see it? But the
apparent incongruity of the metaphor points to something very deep in
regard to the spiritual side. We cannot but believe in the light that
meets the eye when it meets it, but it is possible for a man to blind
himself to the shining of this light. Therefore the exhortation is
needed—'Believe in the light,' for only by believing it can you see it.
Just as the eye is the organ of sight, just as its nerves are sensitive
to the mysterious finger of the beam, just as on its mirroring surface
impinges the gentle but mighty force that has winged its way across all
the space between us and the sun, and yet falls without hurting, so
faith, the 'inward eye which makes the bliss' of the solitary soul, is
the one organ by which you and I can see the light. 'Seeing is
believing,' says the old proverb. That is true in regard to the
physical. Believing is seeing, is much rather the way to put it in
regard to the spiritual and divine.
Only as we trust the light do we see the light. Unless you and I put
our confidence in Jesus Christ, the Son of God and Son of Man, we have
no adequate knowledge of Him and no clear vision of Him. We must know
that we may love; but we must love that we may know. We must believe
that we may see. True, we must see that we may believe, but the
preliminary vision which precedes belief is slight and dim as compared
with the solidity and the depth of assurance with which we apprehend
the reality and know the lustre of Him whom our faith has grasped. You
will never know the glory of the light, nor the sweetness with which it
falls upon the gazing eye, until you turn your face to that Master, and
so receive on your susceptible and waiting heart the warmth and the
radiance which He only can bestow. 'Believe in the light.' Trust it; or
rather, trust Him who is it. He cannot deceive. This light from heaven
can never lead astray. Absolutely we may rely upon it; unconditionally
we must follow it. Lean upon Him—to take another metaphor—with all your
weight. His arm is strong to bear the burden of our weaknesses,
sorrows, and, above all, our sins. 'While ye have light, trust the
light.'
But then that is not enough. Man, with his double relations, must have
an active and external as well as an inward and contemplative life. And
so our Lord, side by side with the exhortation on which I have been
touching, puts the other one, 'Walk in the light.' Our inward emotions,
however deep and precious, however real the affiance, however
whole-hearted the love, are maimed and stunted, and not what the light
requires, unless there follows upon them the activity of the walk. What
do we get the daylight for? To sit and gaze at it? By no means; but
that it may guide us upon our path and help us in all our work. And so
all Christian people need ever to remember that Jesus Christ has
indissolubly bound together these two phases of our relation to Him as
the light of life-inward and blessed contemplation by faith and outward
practical activity. To walk is, of course, the familiar metaphor for
the external life of man, and all our deeds are to be in conformity
with the Light, and in communion with Him. This is the deepest
designation, perhaps, of the true character of a Christian life in its
external aspect—that it walks in Christ, doing nothing but as His light
shines, and ever bearing along with it conscious fellowship with Him
who is thus the guiding and irradiating and gladdening and sanctifying
life of our lives, '_Walk_ in the light as He _is_ in the light.' Our
days fleet and change; His are stable and the same. For, although these
words which I have quoted, in their original application refer to God
the Father, they are no less true about Him who rests at the right hand
of God, and is one light with Him. He _is_ in the light. We may
approximate to that stable and calm radiance, even though our lives are
passed through changing scenes, and effort and struggle are their
characteristics. And oh! how blessed, brother, such a life will be, all
gladdened by the unsetting and unclouded sunshine that even in the
shadiest places shines, and turns the darkness of the valley of the
shadow of death into solemn light; teaching gloom to glow with a hidden
sun!
But there is not only the idea of activity here, there is the further
notion of progress. Unless Christian people to their faith add work,
and have both their faith and their consequent work in a continual
condition of progress and growth, there is little reason to believe
that they apprehend the light at all. If you trust the light you will
walk in it; and if your days are not in conformity nor in communion
with Him, and are not advancing nearer and nearer to the central blaze,
then it becomes you to ask yourselves whether you have verily seen at
all, or trusted at all, 'the Light of life.'