By moments in life, I mean certain periods which occur more or less
frequently in our history,--when the spirit in which we then live, the
step we then take, the word we then utter, or what we at that moment
think, resolve, accept, reject, do, or do not, may give a complexion
to our whole future being both here and hereafter.
Let me notice one or two features which characterise those moments.
They may, for example, be very brief. Napoleon once remarked, that
there was a crisis in every battle, when ten minutes generally
determined the victory on one side or other. Yet on the transactions
of those few minutes the fate of empires may hang, and on the single
word of command, rapidly spoken amidst the roar of cannon and the
crash of arms, the destinies of the human race be affected. Men in
public life, who are compelled every day to decide on matters of
importance, appreciate the value of minutes, and estimate the
necessity of snatching them as they pass with promptness and
decision;--of "taking advantage of the chance," as they say, knowing
well that if that moment is allowed to pass, "the chance" it brings
is gone for ever; that whatever their hand "finds to do" must be done
then or never. The results to them of what they decide at that moment
may be incalculable. What is then done may never be undone; yet not
another second is added to the time given them for action. Within the
germ of that brief moment of life is contained the future tree of many
branches and of much fruit.
What a brief moment, indeed, in our endless life is the whole period
even of the longest life on earth! It is compared to a vapour, which
appeareth for a short time, and then vanisheth away; to "a watch in
the night,"--"a tale that is told." And if we but consider how nearly
a third portion of our threescore years and ten is necessarily spent
in sleep; and add to this the years spent during infancy while
preparing for labour; during old age, when our labours are well-nigh
past; and many more consumed in adorning and supporting or giving rest
to the body; and then if, after summing up those years, we deduct what
remains of time at the disposal of the oldest man for the formation
of active thought and the improvement of his spiritual being, oh! how
brief is the whole period of our mortal life, when longest, though its
transactions are to us fraught with endless and awful consequences!
Another characteristic of those moments in life is the silence with
which they may come and pass away. No "sign" may be given to indicate
their importance to us. They do not announce their approach with the
sound of a trumpet, nor demand with a voice of thunder our immediate
and solemn attention to their interests; but stealthily, quietly, with
noiseless tread like spirits from another world, they come to us, put
their question, speak the word, and vanish to heaven with our reply.
In after years, possibly, with "the long results of time" to guide us
upward as by a stream to the tiny threads of this fountain of life
and action, we may be able in a greater degree to realise of what
tremendous importance they were to us. "Had we only known this at the
time!" we exclaim, as we revolve those memories, and think of all we
would have said or done;--"had we only known!" But it is not God's
will that we should know how much of the future is involved in the
present, or how all we shall be is determined by what we may resolve
to be or do at any particular moment. Such a revelation would paralyse
all effort, and destroy the mainspring of all right action. Sight
would thus be substituted for faith; the fear of evil consequences
for the fear of evil; and the love of future benefits for the love of
present duty. God will have us rather cultivate habitually a right
spirit at each moment, so as to be able to act rightly when the
all-important moment comes, whether we then discover its importance
or not. Let us not be surprised, then, if God comes to us, not in the
strong wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but only in the still small
voice which speaks to the heart or to the conscience, demanding
the conduct which becomes us as responsible beings and as obedient
children.
But let me illustrate these remarks by a few examples of "moments in
life," and such as must come to us all.
It is a solemn "moment in life" when the glad tidings of the love of
God in Christ Jesus are heard and understood. Remember that we are
saved by "the truth;" born again "of the Word;" sanctified "by the
truth." To receive the truth of God, then, as a living power into the
mind and conscience, is of infinite importance to us. Now, while God's
truth comes to us "at various times and in diverse manners," there are
moments in life when we cannot choose but feel as if it was addressing
our inner spirit as it never did before, and earnestly knocking for
admission. The circumstances in which this appeal is made may be what
are called commonplace; such as when hearing a sermon preached from
the pulpit, when reading a book by the fireside, or when conversing
for a few minutes with an acquaintance; yet at such times truth
expressed in a single sentence, or in a few words, may search our
spirits, and gaze on us with a solemn look, saying, "Thou art the man
I am in search of!" But, as it sometimes happens, the circumstances in
which we are thus arrested by the truth, and are compelled to listen
to it for weal or woe, may be peculiarly impressive; as when we are
ourselves in sickness or danger, or when addressed by a parent or dear
friend on their dying bed, or when in deep family distress, or when
standing beside the grave that conceals our best earthly treasure from
our sight. At such moments the voice of God's Spirit is awfully solemn
as He cries, "Now is the day of salvation;" "To-day, if ye will hear
His voice, harden not your hearts;" "Believe and live."
These moments may be very brief. The crisis of the battle between God
and self, right and wrong, truth and falsehood, may be concentrated
into a few minutes. But time sufficient is, nevertheless, given
wherein to test our _truthfulness_, the soil in which truth grows, the
mirror that reflects its beams; time sufficient is given to say Yes
or No to that God who claims our faith and love. Truth comes with
authority and majesty as an ambassador from the living God, and with
clear voice, pure eye, and an arm omnipotent to save, offers to give
light, life, and liberty to the captive spirit. But we may evade his
bright glance, and close our ears to his voice, and refuse to consider
his claims, and deal falsely with his arguments; we may reject his
offers, and, shrinking back from his touch and his helping hand,
retire into the gloom of self-satisfied pride, preferring the darkness
to the light; or we may make merry with Heaven's ambassador, and mock
him as they did the prophet of old; or cry out, "Away with him!" as
the world cried to the Lord of light and life. And what if the second
ambassador never comes again with such pressing earnestness, but
passes by the door once so rudely closed against him, and will knock
no more? Or, though he may in mercy return again and again, what if
the eye gets blinded by the very light which it rejects? and the ear
becomes so familiar with the voice, that it attracts attention no
more than the winds that beat upon the wall; and the heart becomes so
hardened as to be unimpressible, until the dread sentence is at last
passed,--"Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched
out my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought all my
counsel, and would none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your
calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as
desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress
and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon me, but I will
not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me: for
that they _hated_ knowledge, and _did not choose_ the fear of the
Lord: they would none of my counsel: they despised all my reproof.
Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filled
with their own devices."
A young man came to Jesus seeking eternal life. "Jesus, looking on
him, loved him," and answered his prayers by teaching him how eternal
life could alone be attained. But the young man went away sorrowful,
because he had much riches. What a history was contained in that brief
moment of his life!
Again, young King Agrippa, along with the young Bernice, hear a sermon
from Paul the prisoner. The outward picture presented to the eye on
that day had nothing more remarkable or peculiar about it than
has been witnessed a thousand times before and since. Those royal
personages entered "the place of hearing" with "great pomp,"
accompanied by "the chief captains and principal men of the city." And
before them appeared an almost unknown prisoner, upon whom his own
nation, including "the chief priests and elders from Jerusalem,"
demanded the judgment of death to be passed. That prisoner, "in bodily
presence weak and contemptible," was however "permitted to speak for
himself;" and verily he did speak! He spoke of God and Christ; of
repentance and the new life; and of his own glorious commission to
"open the eyes" of men, "to turn them from darkness to light, from the
power of Satan unto God, that they might receive the forgiveness of
sins, and inheritance among them that are sanctified through faith in
Jesus." What a revelation was this from God to man! The voice which
spoke from Sinai and through the prophets, the voice of Him who is
truth and love, spoke at that moment of life through Paul to those
royal hearers, and to the captains and principal men. But Agrippa,
with a sneer or with some conviction of the truth, replied, "Almost
thou persuadest me to be a Christian." Unlike St Paul himself, when
the Lord spoke to him on his way to Damascus, Agrippa was disobedient
to the heavenly vision. And so the sermon ended; the gay multitude
dispersed; the place of hearing was left in silence, and echoed only
the midnight winds or the beat of the sea-wave on the neighbouring
shore. St Paul retired to his cell; Agrippa, Festus, and Bernice, to
their chambers of rest, to sleep and dream by night, as they slept and
dreamt by day. But they never heard the apostle preach again! It
was their first and last sermon; that moment in their life came and
passed, but never returned. Like two ships which meet at midnight on a
moonlit sea, those two persons, the prisoner and the king, spoke, then
each passed into the darkness, and onward on their voyage to their
several ports, but never met again! Oh, how awful are such moments
when truth reveals herself to the responsible spirit of man! And so,
my reader, does it ofttimes happen between thee and God's Spirit. Let
me beseech of thee to "redeem the time," to know this "the day of
_thy_ visitation," and to hear and believe "the word of the Lord."
Another "moment in life" which may be specially noticed, is that in
which we are tempted to evil. Temptations are no doubt "common to
man." Our whole life in a sense is a temptation, for whatever makes a
demand upon our choice as moral beings, involves a trial of character,
and tests the "spirit we are of." But nevertheless there do occur
periods in our lives when such trials are peculiarly testing; when
large bribes are offered to the sin that doth so easily beset us,
tempting us to betray conscience, give up principle, lose faith in the
right and in God, and to serve the devil, the world, or the flesh.
Such moments may be very brief, yet decisive of our future life. They
may come suddenly upon us, though possibly many notes of warning have
announced their approach. For they are often but the apex of the
pyramid to which many previous steps have gradually and almost
imperceptibly led; the beginning of a battle, which must at last be
fought, and very shortly decided, but yet the ending of many previous
skirmishings. Be this as it may, that moment of life does come to us
all, when evil like the enemy appears to concentrate against us its
whole force, and when we must fight, conquer, or die; when like a
thief it resolves to break into our home and take possession; when as
a deceiver it promises happiness, and demands immediate acceptance or
rejection of the splendid offer,--"All these will I give thee, if thou
wilt fall down and worship me!"
What a moment is this in the life of many a young person. How
unutterably solemn is the first deliberate act which opposes
conscience, rebels against the authority of God and of His law, shuts
out the light, and prefers darkness. Future character, and the life
and happiness of years, may be determined by it. The step taken in
that brief moment, the lie uttered, the dishonesty perpetrated, the
drunkenness or debauchery indulged in, the prayers for the first time
given up, and the father's home left for the far country. Who can
realise the consequences of those first acts, or estimate the many
links of evil, and the endless chain itself, that may connect
themselves with the one link of sin fashioned in that moment of life!
Who can foresee the streams ever increasing in breadth and depth which
may flow from this letting in of water! Would God that my readers,
young men especially, would but believe in the possibility even of the
choice they make at such a time determining their future destiny. The
thought of this might at least make them pause and consider.
There is no exaggeration in this language. To realise the danger, all
we need assume is the law of habit; for, according to that law, we
know that any act of the will, good or bad, has a tendency to repeat
itself with increasing ease and decreasing consciousness, until it
becomes a "second nature." Hence the first resistance of evil is much
less difficult than any subsequent attempt; and he who in one moment
of life could by a manly effort become a conqueror, and enter on a
life of principle and peace, may, by yielding, very soon sink down
into a degraded slave, who is held fast by the iron chain of habit,
each link of which he has himself forged by his own self-will.
What a moment was that in the life of Herod when he permitted evil
desire for Herodias to enter his soul. That desire conceived sin, and
sin when finished brought forth death. Acts passed into habits,
and habits into a life of abandoned passion. Then came the festive
birthday, and the dancing before him of the daughter of his paramour;
and then the foul murder, with the spectacle of the bloody head,
closed eyes, and sealed lips of the greatest and noblest man of his
time; and then followed the hour when Jesus Himself was brought before
the murderer, when the Lord spoke not one word of warning, rebuke,
or mercy to him, but smote the wretch with the terrible wrath and
righteous judgment of silence!
What a moment in life was that, too, when Judas welcomed covetousness
into his heart as a most profitable guest. Then one day Covetousness
offered him thirty pieces of silver if he would betray his Lord; and
Judas agreed to the proposal. A whole eternity of misery was involved
in that moment of his life: for the night soon arrived when the
bargain was to be kept. A few moments more, and the history will end
here to begin elsewhere. Yet there is not a sign on earth or heaven
to indicate the importance of that brief hour to Judas! He forms one
among the most distinguished company that ever sat at the same table
since the earth began; and never did mortal ears listen to such words
uttered by human lips, nor did mortal eyes ever contemplate such
a scene of peace and love as was witnessed in that upper room in
Jerusalem. But the hour has struck, and Judas rises to depart. The
deed of darkness must now be done. It is late, and he has made a most
important appointment; unless he keeps it, he may lose his money; and
what a loss to the poor follower of a man who had nowhere to lay His
head! Judas leaves that company; and what was there in things visible
to make him suspect even that an awful moment of life--his last--had
come? All was calm within that upper room,--all was peace in the world
without. The naked heavens shone in the calm brilliancy of an Eastern
night The streets of Jerusalem, along which the traitor passed on his
dreadful errand, echoed his footsteps in their silence. Yet Judas,
"the son of perdition," was at that moment on his way "to his own
place!"
And thus it is with many a man in the hour of temptation. The voice of
sin speaks not loudly, but whispers to his inner spirit. He pursues
his path of evil without alarm being given by sight or sound from
heaven or earth. There is nothing in the world without to disturb the
thoughts and purposes of the world within his false and unprincipled
soul. The moment of his life brings the temptation, and he yields his
soul to its power, and the moment passes with as noiseless a step;
and soon the last moment comes, and passes away; but he too has
noiselessly passed away with it "to his own place!"
The "moment in life" when we are called upon to perform some positive
duty, is one which is often very critical and full of solemn
consequences to us. The duty may _appear_ to be a very trifling
one,--such as writing a letter, visiting a friend, warning some
brother against evil, aiding another, or sympathising with a sufferer
in his sorrow. But whatever the work may be, and in whatever way it is
to be performed, whether by word or deed, by silence or by speech,
yet there is a time given us for doing it, very brief perhaps,
and unaccompanied by any sign to mark its significance,--a time,
nevertheless, when whatever has to be done must be done quickly, "now
or never."
Such a moment in life was that in the history of the three apostles
who accompanied our Lord, at His own request, in order to watch
with Him in His last agony. As a man, He deserved their thoughtful
presence, their watchful sympathy, when enduring the dread sorrow
which filled His cup, from realising by anticipation all that was
before Him. Thrice He came to them from the spot, not far off, where
He wrestled in prayer with His terrible agony.
Thrice He found them asleep. "What!" he asked, "could ye not watch
with me one hour?" Ah! they knew not what an hour that was!--what it
was to Him--what it was and might have been to them! They might have
had the joy, the exalted privilege, which for ever would have been as
a very heaven of glory in their memory, of sharing, through the power
of sympathising love, the burden of their Lord's anguish. But they
yielded to the flesh, and permitted that moment of time to pass; and
when they at last roused themselves from their slumber, it was too
late. That moment in life had come and gone, and could return no more.
"Sleep on, and take your rest; behold, he who betrayeth me is at
hand!"
And thus it often happens in the life of us all. An hour is given us
when something may be done for our Lord or our brethren, which cannot
possibly be done if that hour is permitted to pass away unimproved.
Then we may teach an ignorant soul, or rouse a slothful one to action;
we may alarm one who is lethargic, worldly, sensual, "without God or
Christ in the world," so as to win him to both; or we may comfort the
feeble-minded, and support the weak. Circumstances may give us the
opportunity, and the "moment in life," when such works may be done.
The persons to be helped are perhaps inmates of our dwelling; they are
our relations: they are sick or dying; or they have cast themselves
upon our aid. But we let the moment pass. The work given us is
not done. We have neglected it from sloth, procrastination,
thoughtlessness, or selfishness. And we may become awake to our
culpable negligence, and rouse ourselves to duty. But, alas! those
whom we could have aided are past help. They are dead, or are removed
from our influence, or in some way "past remedy." And so the moment
in life given us is gone, and gone for ever, except to meet us and to
accuse us before the bar of God. And thus it is with duty in countless
forms. What our hands find to do must be done quickly, if done at all,
and in the time given us. If not, a night comes, and may come soon and
come suddenly, in which either we ourselves cannot work, or in which,
though at last willing to do it, it is no longer given us to do.
But there is one moment in life--and I conclude by suggesting it to
your thoughts--which must come to every man, and which generally comes
with signs sufficiently significant of its importance,--I mean the
last moment which closes our life on earth. Come it must. And, as an
old writer remarks, "the day we die, though of no importance to the
world, is to ourselves of more importance than is all the world." That
moment in life ends time to us, and begins eternity; it ends our day
of grace and begins the day of judgment; it separates us from the
world in which we have lived since we were born, and introduces us to
the unseen, unknown world of things and persons in which we must live
for ever during the life of God. What a moment is this! It may come in
the quiet of our own chamber, or amidst the confusion and excitement
of some dread accident by land or sea; it may be heralded by long
sickness or old age, and accompanied by much weakness and bodily
suffering. But if that moment, when it comes, is to bring us
peace, let our present moments, as they come, find us watchful,
conscientious, believing, and prayerful. And should these words of
mine be read by chance by one who has begun his last moment without
having begun the work for which he was created, preserved, and
redeemed, let me beseech of him to improve it by repentance towards
God, and faith in Jesus Christ, who will pardon his sins, give him a
new heart, and save him as he did the thief on the cross. If every
hour of his day of grace has been misimproved, let not this last be
added to the number. If he has stood all the day idle, let him in the
eleventh hour accept his Master's work of faith alone in his own soul,
and do what he can for the good of others. But let this moment in
life pass, then shall the next moment after death bring only fear
and anguish; for, be warned and also encouraged by the words of
the truthful and loving Jesus, uttered with many tears, over lost
souls,--"If thou hadst known, even thou, at least _in this thy day_,
the things that belong unto thy peace; but now they are for ever hid
from thine eyes!"
"LABOURERS TOGETHER WITH GOD."
These words seem to me to express the idea of true labour, such as God
calls us to, and _in_ the doing of which there is a great reward. They
imply that the living God has a work to do on earth, in men and by
men; that in this work He has--if I may so express it--a deep personal
interest, because it is one worthy of Himself, and for the advancement
of His own glory, and the good and happiness of man.
Now, God wishes us to know this work, and to sympathise with Him
in it. He does not conceal from us what He wishes done, or what He
himself is doing; nor obliges us to remain for ever blind as to His
will and purposes regarding ourselves or others; so that, if we work
at all, we must work according to our own wills only, and for our own
purposes. Instead of this, He reveals in His Word, by His Son, through
His Spirit, and in the conscience, what His will is--what He wishes
us to be and do. Nor does He say to us, "Learn my commands, and
obey them; but seek not to know why I have so commanded." Were it
impossible, indeed, to know _why_ any command was given, the mere fact
of its injunction would itself demand instant compliance; "but,"
says our Lord, "I have not called you servants, but friends, for the
servant knoweth not what his lord doeth." The servant or slave does
not occupy the place which the friend does. The one hears only what
is commanded; but the other, through personal acquaintance with the
master, is enabled to sympathise with the righteousness and love in
the command. The friend not only knows what, as a servant, he _must_
do, but sees how right and beautiful it is that he should be commanded
so to do. In like manner, we read that God made known His "ways" to
Moses, but only His "acts" to the children of Israel. This revelation,
of principle and plan to His servant was indeed a speaking with him
"face to face;" and thus does God speak to us now in these latter days
by the grace and truth revealed in His Son. And it is only when we
thus know God's work on earth, and when, from a will and character
brought into harmony with His, we see how excellent the work is, that
we can be, not labourers only, but "_fellow_-labourers" with God;--not
workers only, but "workers _together_ with Him."
Consider, for instance, _the work of God in our own souls_. This is,
as far as we ourselves are concerned, the most important work in the
universe. Upon it depends whether the universe shall be to us a heaven
or a hell. "What will a man give in exchange for his soul?" is a
question which assumes that to the man himself nothing can be so
valuable. But has God any work to do in our souls? Has He ever
expressed any wish as to what He would have us believe, become, or
enjoy, or revealed for what end or purpose He made our spirits? Is
there no wrong state or condition in us with which He is "angry" and
"grieved," and no right state with which He is "delighted," and over
which He "rejoices?" Has He laid no command upon us to "work out our
own salvation with fear and trembling?" and has He given no intimation
of His "working in us to will and do?" Or is it to Him the same
whether we are wrong or right? Surely we can have no difficulty in
replying to such all-important questions! If a man loses faith in the
reality and sincerity of God's wish, that he personally should have
his guilty soul freely pardoned, and his unholy soul sanctified, and
his whole being renewed after God's own image,--that he himself should
be a good, a great, a happy man, by knowing and loving his God; and if
a man brings himself to such a state of practical atheism as to doubt
whether God knows or cares anything about him;--then it is impossible
for such a man to be "a fellow-labourer," a "worker together" with God
in his own soul; for he does not know and has never heard of any work
of God required _there_. But if he believes that God is indeed his
"Father in heaven;"--that He has goodwill to him, and therefore
desires his good by desiring him to _be_ good;--that, for the
accomplishment of this end, all has been done which is recorded in the
Bible, from Genesis to Revelation;--that God has been working in him,
through agencies innumerable, since his childhood, by parents and
friends, by tender mercies and bitter chastisements, by Sabbath
ordinances and pulpit ministrations, by the constant witness of
conscience and the Word of God, in order that he should know and love
God his Father,--then, seeing this, will he see also how he may be
a "fellow-labourer with God." _And have not you, my reader, been
conscious of this work?_ You cannot get quit of the conviction that
there is One higher than yourself with whom you have to do,--One who
is ever with you, seeking to deliver you from evil, from your own evil
self,--One whose voice is never silent, and who is righteously judging
your daily life. And have you never been conscious, too, of fighting
against what you certainly knew was not self, but a holy, winning,
mysterious power or Person, who opposed self, and for that very
reason was resisted by self? And therefore your sin has not been the
ignorance of good, but opposing the good,--not the absence, but the
resisting of a good work in you. It is on this very principle men will
be condemned, for "This _is_ the condemnation, that light hath come
into the world, and men _prefer_ darkness to light, because their
deeds are evil." And if this has been your sin, so has it been your
misery. In exact proportion as you thus "hated knowledge, and did not
choose the fear of the Lord," you become wretched and unsatisfied. No
wonder! for with whom does the man work when he works in opposition
to the will of God? In refusing to serve God, he serves Satan, and
becomes a "worker together" with "the spirit who now worketh in the
children of disobedience!"
Well, then, what are you to do? I reply: "Yield yourselves to God;"
"be subject to the Father of your spirit, and live." "Wherefore do
you spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that
which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that
which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness. Incline
your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live." Instead
of being workers against, seek to be "workers _together_" with God in
your own souls; to have His "work of faith and love," and everything
beautiful and holy, perfected in you. Believe in Jesus Christ as the
living Person who alone can and will save you, by pardoning your sins,
and giving you His Spirit to make you like Himself. Begin your work by
assuming that God _is_ working in you to will and do; and _because_
you have Him, through His omnipotent Spirit, working in you, do not be
as one who beats the air in aimless and profitless warfare, nor strive
against nor grieve that Spirit, but through Him "work out your own
salvation." In thus pleading with you, I feel that I myself am but
working with God; for I can say with the apostle, "Now then we are
ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray
you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made
Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the
righteousness of God in Him. We then, as _workers together with Him_,
beseech you also that ye receive not the grace of God in vain."
Put this question in another way: Suppose you had met Jesus Christ
when He was on earth; that you had listened to one of His appeals when
He preached the gospel from city to city, and felt His eye looking
at you as He spoke in His own name, and in the name of His Father,
saying, "Come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I
will give you rest"--"The Son of man hath come to seek that which is
lost," and the like; that you had witnessed the delight it gave Him to
do good, and to find any one willing to receive His overflowing love,
and the sorrow He endured when men would not believe in Him or trust
Him, but preferred remaining without the blessing; and that you
had accompanied Him during His ministry on earth, and studied His
character from all you saw and heard,--could the impression made upon
you in such circumstances be thus expressed, "I believe that Thou
carest not for me; that my well-doing or ill-doing are equally matters
of indifference to Thee; and that there is no faith or love that Thou
desirest to see accomplished in my soul?" Would you have _dared_ to
speak in anything like this strain of blasphemy to the holy Saviour
had you met Him? Or would you not have been overwhelmed by the
conviction, that whether you yielded to His wishes or not, these
wishes were clear and unquestionable--that from His character as a man
having fellowship with God, His work as the Saviour of sinners, His
revealed will as Lord, nothing could be more certain than that He
wished you _personally_ to be holy and happy through faith in His
name; and accordingly, that if you accepted His call, and His offer
of power to be so, you were but working _with_ Him; and that if you
neglected both, you were certainly working _against_ Him?
But with this personal Saviour you have to do just as really and truly
now as any of His disciples who had followed Him when on earth; and
so I beseech you to be fellow-labourers with Him in His own holy and
living work within your own soul. Let your prayer then be: "Thy will
be done! Let Thy holy and loving will, my Father, be done in me! I
believe in Thy forgiveness, and am at peace with Thee, according to
that will, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. And as this
is also Thy will, even my sanctification, and Thy revealed purpose,
that I should be made conformable to the image of Thy Son, so let Thy
grace, which is sufficient for the chief of sinners, daily bring this
salvation into me, by teaching me to deny ungodliness and worldly
lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present
world; that so learning Christ, taking up His cross daily, following
Him and being disciplined by Him, I may be taught to put off the old
man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts, and to be
renewed in the spirit of my mind; and, as Thine own workmanship, be
created anew in Christ Jesus unto good works. Amen!"
Let us consider for a little longer God's work in us, by His
providential dealings towards us. A moment's reflection will suffice
to remind you that God, in His providence, is constantly working with
you. He is, for instance, a wonderful Giver. "He gives us all things
richly to enjoy." "He openeth His hand liberally." His mercies are
more than can be numbered; though as a father He also chastises His
children. "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away." Now, in whatever
way God deals with us, whether He gives or takes, there is a purpose
which He wishes accomplished. He has a work to do in us by every joy
and every sorrow. There is a voice for us in the rod of darkness, and
in the ray of sunshine; and it is our duty, our strength, our peace,
to hear that voice, and to know that work of providence so as to be
fellow-labourers with God in it. Perhaps you are disposed to excuse
yourselves for want of sober inquiry into God's dealings with you,
by saying, that it is very hard to know, and often impossible to
discover, what object or purpose He has in view when sending to us
this gift or that grief. In some cases it may be so; but it is much
to know and to remember what God's purpose is _not_, and what He can
never wish to have accomplished, either by what He gives to us or
takes from us. Never can it be the purpose of God, in any case, to
advance the work of Satan in our souls, or to retard within us the
coming of His own glorious kingdom of righteousness, peace, and joy in
the Holy Ghost. Never can He send us a gift to make us proud, vain,
indolent, covetous, earthly-minded, sensual, devilish, or in any
degree to alienate us from Himself as our chief good. For whatever
purpose He fashioned our body with such exquisite care, providing
so rich a supply for all its senses, it was not, assuredly, that we
should make that body the instrument of degrading and ruining the
immortal soul, and of sinking our whole being down to a level with the
beasts that perish! He never gave beauty of form to make us vain
or sensuous; nor poured wine into our cup that we should become
drunkards; nor spread food on our table merely to pamper our
self-indulgence and feed our passions. He never gave us dominion
over the earth that we should be Satan's slaves. He never awoke from
silence the glorious harmonies of music for our ear, nor revealed to
our eye the beauties of nature and of art, nor fired our soul with the
magnificent creations of poetry, that we might be so enraptured by
these as to forget and despise Himself. He never gifted us with a
high intellect, refined taste, or brilliant wit, to nourish ambition,
worship genius, and to become profane, irreverent, and devil-like, by
turning those godlike powers against their Maker and Sustainer. We
cannot think, that if money has been poured at our feet, He thereby
intended to infect us with the curse of selfishness, or to tempt us to
become cruel or covetous men, who would let the beggar stand at our
gate, and ourselves remain so poor as to have no inheritance in the
kingdom of God; or to make us such "fools" as to survey our broad
acres and teeming barns with self-love and worldliness, exclaiming,
"Soul, take thine ease; thou hast much goods laid up for many years;
eat, drink, and be merry;" or to tempt us to refuse the cross, and to
depart sorrowful from Christ, because we had great possessions; or to
choke the seed of the Word as with thorns, so that it should bring
forth no fruit to perfection! Can it be possible that He has spared
our family, and enriched us with so many friends, in order that, being
"so happy" with them, we should never wish to know God as our Father,
Christ as our Brother, or have any desire to become members of the
family of God? Has He given us so much pleasant, useful, or necessary
labour in the world, that we should forget the one thing needful, and
leave undone _the_ work for which we were created? Has He given us the
Church, the ministry, the Sabbath, the sacrament, that we should make
these ends instead of means--instruments for concealing, rather than
revealing our God and Saviour? And if the Lord has taken away, and
visited us with sharp sorrows and sore bereavements, was this "strange
work" done by Him who does not "willingly afflict" His children, in
order that we should have the pain without the "profit," "faint under"
or "despise" the chastisement, or become more set upon the world and
the creature, more shut up in heart against our Father, more dead to
eternal things, or fall into despair, and curse God and die?
Without prolonging such inquiries, enough has been said, I hope, to
enable you to apprehend what I mean by our being fellow-workers with
God in all His works of providence that concern ourselves. We believe
that these things, whether of joy or sorrow, do not come by chance,
nor through the agency of dead mechanical laws, but that a living
Person is dealing with us wisely, lovingly, righteously,--that, in
truth, "_the Lord_ giveth, and the _Lord_ taketh away," and that,
accordingly, there must be a design or purpose to serve in what He
gives or withholds,--that this never can be an evil purpose, but must,
in every case, be good, and that we may derive good and a blessing
from it. Let us, then, be fellow-workers with Him in seeking, through
faith and love, to have this purpose realised, and to have the end
designed by God fulfilled in us or by us, so that every joy and sorrow
may bring us nearer the glorious God, and make us know Him better, and
love Him more, and thus possess "life more abundantly," even "life
eternal!"
But not only is there a work to be done _in_ us, but also _by_ us, in
the doing of which we are to be "labourers together with God."
This kind of labouring with others is illustrated by Saint Paul when
he says, what I have already quoted, "Now then we are ambassadors for
Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's
stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to be sin for us,
who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in
Him. We then, as _workers together with Him_, beseech you also that
ye receive not the grace of God in vain." He is here, you perceive,
addressing those who were enemies to God, and beseeching such to be
"reconciled." But in what spirit does he plead with them? In labouring
to bring them into reconciliation with their Father, and to save their
souls, he does not feel himself alone and solitary in his work and
labour of love; as one prompted by his own goodwill to lost sinners,
and his own wishes to redeem them from evil, yet in doubt or in
ignorance as to what God's wishes or feelings were in regard to them.
He does not proclaim the gospel to one or to many sinners with such
thoughts as these: "It is no doubt my duty to preach to them, and to
plead with them, and from my heart I pity them, love them, and could
die to save them; but whether God pities them or not, or truly wishes
to save them, I do not know, for I am totally ignorant of His will or
purpose." Surely such were not the apostle's convictions! Did he not
rather engage in this work of seeking to save souls with intense
earnestness, because he knew that however great his love, it was but a
reflection, however dim, of the infinite love of God to them, and his
desire to save them but a feeble expression of the desire of God? Was
he not persuaded, that in "beseeching" them to be reconciled, he could
speak "as though God did beseech" them by him, as one "in Christ's
stead;" and that "in beseeching" them "not to receive the grace of God
in vain," he was but "a worker together with God?"
In this same spirit may we, and must we seek to do good to others.
We dare not look upon our brother as one belonging exclusively to
ourselves, or one dear to ourselves only, but as one belonging to God
his Creator, and dear to God his Father. We must ever keep before us
the fact, that there is a work which God wishes to have accomplished
in his soul, as well as in our own; and that our brother is given to
us in order that we should be workers _together_ with God in helping
on that good work. And if so, this will very clearly teach us at least
what we ought _not_ to do to our brother. We should never, by word or
by example, by silence or by speech, strengthen in his spirit the work
of evil: for that is not God's work. For when we flatter his vanity,
feed his pride, shake his convictions of the truth, or when, in any
way whatever, we lay stumbling blocks in his path, or tempt him to
evil, we are surely not workers together with God. In our conduct to
our brother, let us ask ourselves, Is this how Christ would have acted
to any one with whom He came in contact when on earth? Is this helping
on His work now? But, on the other hand, when our brother's soul is
dear to us,--when, at all hazards, we seek first, and above all,
his _good_,--when our love is such that we are willing to have its
existence suspected, and ourselves despised and rejected by him, even
as our loving Lord was by His "own whom He loved," rather than that we
should selfishly save ourselves, and lose our brother; then indeed we
are labourers together with God, and possess the spirit of Jesus! Oh,
little does the world understand the deep working of this kind of
love, which, however imperfect it may be, yet burns in the heart of
Christians only, because they only partake of that love which is
possessed in perfection by Him who loved us, and gave Himself for us!
Let us, then, remember that we are not to concern ourselves about
another's good as if we were alone in our labours, our wishes, and
our sympathies; as if we really cared more than God does about the
well-being of this relation or of that friend. Let our love flow out
with all its force, and express itself with holiest longings and
tenderest sympathies; yet infinitely above all this love is the love
of our God and their God! In our truest and holiest working be assured
that we are but a worker _together_ with Him, the true and holy One,
otherwise our labours could not be _right_; for they would not be in
harmony with God's will, or such as He could command or bless.
The same principle applies to our more extensive labours for the good
of the whole world, and is the very life and soul of home and foreign
missions. We can enter the abodes of ignorance and crime at home, and
ply with offers of mercy the inhabitants of the foulest den, and plead
with every prodigal to return to his Father, because we believe that
in all this we are in Christ's stead, and are warranted to beseech in
God's name, and with the full assurance that we are not working alone,
but "together with God." We can visit any spot in heathendom,
cheered and borne up by the same assurance amidst every difficulty,
discouragement, and danger. Whatever else is doubtful, this, at least,
is certain, that in every endeavour to save sinners, we are but
expressing our sympathy with Jesus in His love to them, in His longing
to see of the travail of His soul, and to be satisfied in their
salvation; and that when experiencing the deepest sorrow because
men will not believe, we are only sharing the sufferings of Him who
mourned on account of unbelief, and wept over lost Jerusalem because
it would not know the things of its peace. All this is as certain
as that there is such a living person as the Saviour, unchanged in
character, everywhere present, seeing the evil and the good, hating
the one and loving the other, whose labour and whose joy is that God's
name should be hallowed, His kingdom come, and His will be done on
earth as it is done in heaven.
Oh, how depressing, how deadening, to have any doubts as to this
reality of the interest which our God and Saviour takes in the good of
human souls! How must the dread thought silence the tongue, wither the
heart, and paralyse the hand, that however ardent the wish influencing
us to be good ourselves, or to do good to others, God is indifferent
to both, and has no real interest in either--as if we had more love,
more holiness, and more desire that the kingdom of righteousness
should advance, than the loving and holy God! Nay, how is it possible
for us to have any true love at all to human friends unless it is
first kindled by Him, and is in sympathy with Him, who loved His
neighbour as Himself?
Let me here remind you of the only other alternative set before
you,--it is the awful one of being a "labourer together" with Satan.
Our Lord rejects neutrality; for such is really impossible. He
recognises the _no_ real friend as a positive enemy. "He that is not
with me is against me;" "He who gathereth not scattereth;" "Ye cannot
serve God and mammon," but must serve either. Now, Satan has a work
on earth. It is this spirit which "worketh in the children of
disobedience." Will we, then, work with him in his desire to destroy
our own souls? Will we have "fellowship with the unfruitful works of
darkness," and take part with that wicked one in his dread work of
opposing the kingdom of light, and advancing the kingdom of darkness
in the world? Will we assist him in tempting others to evil,--in
entangling souls more and more in the meshes of sin,--in propagating
error and opposing truth? And will we, by our words and example,
by our coldness or open opposition, help to keep any man back from
Christ, or to drag down to hell a neighbour or friend, a brother,
sister, or child? A labourer together with Satan! Oh, consider the
possibility of this being the record at judgment of our history, that
we may start, as from a nightmare, from so hideous an imputation!
Instead of anything so inconceivably dreadful being true of us, may we
know and love the Father, through the Son, and by His Spirit, and thus
realise more and more in all our labours the strength and blessedness
of being "labourers together with God!"
The more we reflect upon this principle which I have been
illustrating, the more we shall see that it is the life of all true
work, and can be applied to any work in which a Christian can engage.
The true artist, for example, ought to occupy the elevated position
of being a labourer with God in faithfully, industriously, and
conscientiously working in harmony with Nature, which is "the Art of
God." He ought to study, therefore, the sculpture, the paintings, the
music, of the Great Artist, and understand the principles on which He
produces the beautiful in form, in colour, or in sound. The humblest
mason who plies his chisel on the highest pinnacle of a great
building, or who fashions the lowliest hut, should have an eye to Him
who makes all things very good, and for conscience' sake, ay, for
God's sake, he should, to the very best of his ability, work in the
spirit of the Great Architect, who bestows the same care in building
up the mountains, moulding the valleys, fashioning the crystal, making
a home to shelter the tiny insect, or a nest where the bird may rear
her young. Without loving our work, and doing it to the best of our
ability, as in the sight of God, we cannot be fellow-workers with Him
who hath made our bodies so wonderfully, and cultivated our souls so
carefully; for "ye are God's building"--"ye are God's husbandry."