infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me; therefore I
take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in
persecutions, in distresses, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak,
then am I strong." To be content in success and prosperity, were easy
enough; but to be content in trials such as these, immeasurably
surpasses the power of the unsanctified human heart. The apostle,
however, bore his tribulations, not merely with patient submission and
quiet fortitude, but even with exultation; rejoicing evermore; in every
thing giving thanks; counting the heaviest cross his greatest blessing;
with all his heart glorying in the fellowship of his Saviour's
suffering; willing to live or die, because in life or death God would
be magnified in his body; and when the alternative presents itself in
imminent prospect, perplexed only as to which he ought to prefer: "I am
in a strait betwixt two; having a desire to depart and be with Christ,
which is far better; nevertheless, to abide in the flesh is more
needful for you; and having this confidence, I know that I shall abide
and continue with you all for your furtherance and joy of faith, that
your rejoicing may be more abundant by my coming to you again." What
heroic resignation is here! what disinterested charity! what
transcendent sublimity of hope!
And how had the apostle attained to such experience? In what school,
from what teacher, had he learned so great a lesson? Certainly not from
nature, nor from any human system of morality. Ever since man went
forth from the blessed garden, he has been a restless and unhappy
creature, always seeking repose for his spirit in some inferior good,
and ever disappointed in the end. Contentment is a lesson to be
learned, and to be learned only, in the school of Christ. There St.
Paul learned it, not at the feet of Gamaliel. There he learned it,
under the tuition of Providence, aided by the Holy Spirit of grace, by
a long and painful course of discipline--by hunger and thirst, cold and
nakedness, desertion and persecution, shipwreck and dungeon, scourging
and stoning, a life of perpetual conflict, and the frequent menace of
death.
So others have learned it. And what a blessed lesson it is, well
learned! Aaron, when his sons were smitten, "held his peace." And Eli,
when informed of coming judgments, said: "It is the Lord; let him do
what seemeth him good." And Job, bereft of every earthly comfort,
exclaimed: "The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the
name of the Lord." And David, trained in every school of affliction, is
ever singing of the loving-kindness of the Lord, and extolling the
excellence of his mercy which endureth forever. Such contentment as
these instances exemplify, nothing can produce but the grace of God in
co-operation with his providence, the one purifying and the other
disciplining the heart. But when we learn to draw water from the wells
of salvation, we shall imbibe contentment with the draught. Believing
in Christ as our Saviour, we shall confide in God as our Father. All
made right within, all will be right without. An Almighty Friend in
heaven--"a very present help in trouble," we have no real cause for
anxious thought or disquieting fear. Faith overcomes all apprehension
of evil, and enables every saint to sing with the psalmist--"The Lord
is my portion, Faith my soul, therefore will I hope in him;" and to say
with the apostle--"I have learned, in whatsoever state I am, therewith
to be content."
Brethren, let us aspire to this apostolic experience. In this grace,
why should we not equal St. Paul? Is it not the high calling of every
Christian? And what reason for discontent have we, that this noble hero
had not? Our present state, like his, is God's appointment, and only
for a season; and the discipline of sorrow and conflict may be no less
needful for us than it was for him, and the result no less a blessing.
How much worldly good is necessary for any of us? how much wealth,
honor, happiness? Most of our wants are artificial and unreal. We
create them, or imagine them, and then complain that they are not
supplied. Our first needs--our only absolute needs--are food and
raiment; and having these, we are divinely counselled to be content.
And many have been content with much less of them than we possess, and
no health for their enjoyment--have been content without either
sufficient food or comfortable raiment, and for years scarcely an hour
of exemption from pain--content in great poverty and utter destitution,
on the bed of sickness, in the gloom of the dungeon, under the
foreshadow of martyrdom--consoling themselves with the assurance that
God hath chosen the poor of this world, the afflicted, the persecuted,
rich in faith, and heirs, of his heavenly kingdom.
And to be content--is it not, after all, the best way to be well
supplied? "Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all
these things shall be added unto you." Will not the Good Shepherd
provide for his confiding sheep? Will not he who clothes the lilies and
feeds the sparrows regard your necessities, O ye of little faith? Can
you not trust the bounty of your King, the affection of your Father?
"Cast all your care upon him, for he careth for you." Jacob asked food
and raiment, and God gave him also abundant flocks and herds. Solomon
prayed for a wise and understanding heart, and received in addition
great riches and honor. With the divine love you are rich, whatever
else you lack; without it poor, whatever else you possess.
And what avails your discontent? What can it bring you but present
trouble and future regret? Why disquiet yourselves in vain? Can all
your anxiety change the color of a hair, or add a moment to your little
all of life? Does not God know what is best for you, and will he alter
his wise and gracious economy to gratify your foolish and capricious
desires? What claim have you on him? What service have you ever done
him? What benefit has he ever received from your virtue? Nay, you are
sharers of a thousand blessings, not one of which have you merited.
Rightly estimating yourselves, instead of murmuring against God, you
would be ready to say with the pilgrim patriarch: "I am not worthy of
the least of all the mercy and truth which thou hast shown unto thy
servant."
But discontent is ingratitude. Recently redeemed from the iron furnace,
shall the children of Israel complain of their hard fare in the
wilderness, spurn the manna, clamor for flesh, and talk of the fish
they freely ate in Egypt, of the cucumbers and the melons, the leeks,
the onions, and the garlics? Let them remember the toils of the
brick-kiln, the voice of the oppressor, the scourge of the task-master,
and all the burdens which there imbittered their lives. And you, have
you not infinitely more ground for gratitude than for grumbling? God's
mercies, fresh every morning and new every evening, crowd the day and
crown the night. One single gift hath he bestowed--one unspeakable
gift--the channel through which all others flow--worth more than a
solar system to every child of Adam. Redeemed by the blood of Christ,
every moment becomes an inestimable mercy; nay, every breath becomes a
thousand mercies; nay, every pulse metes out incalculable mercies by
the million; and while we receive them, what deserve we but reprobation
and ruin infinite? Add to these the many great and exceeding precious
promises with which the Bible overflows, all pointing to an
incorruptible inheritance reserved for you in heaven; and tell me, have
you no cause to be content?
All things ours--God with all his communicable fulness--Christ with all
his riches of grace and glory--heaven with all its clustering honors
and immunities--who will not say: "Return unto thy rest, O my soul! for
the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee"? Ye who now like Lazarus
have your evil things on earth, will you not hereafter with Lazarus be
comforted in Abraham's bosom? Oh! what is poverty to you who are to
inherit all things--heirs of God and joint-heirs with Jesus Christ?
What are toil and pain, reproach and persecution, the utter prostration
of health, the loss of every living friend, and the burial of all you
ever loved below, to you who look for your Lord's return from heaven,
the renovation of the world, the redemption of the body, the immortal
fellowship of the just, and the termination of all the sad vicissitudes
of time in the blissful calm of eternal content?
And those of you who are trying to content yourselves with these
fleeting vanities! know ye not that your treasures will decay, your
glories wither, and all the delights of sense perish with the world?
What will you do when the ground dissolves beneath you, and the
atmosphere around you becomes flame? A surer trust we proffer you, and
a nobler felicity. Come and feed your famishing souls with the hidden
manna of God, and slake your spirit's thirst from the fountain of
living waters. Here, in the love of God--here, in the blood of
Christ--here, in the assurance of pardon--here, resting upon the Rock
of ages--here, anchored in a sure and steadfast hope--you shall learn
at last the tranquil blessedness of true content!
[1] Preached at Seneca Falls, N.Y., Aug. 12, 1883--the last actual
pulpit-utterance of the author.
XXII.
"YE KNOW THE GRACE."[1]
Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich,
yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be
rich.--2 Cor. viii. 9.
To the rich, commonly, what is more terrible than poverty? So great,
sometimes, their dread of it, that they seek to avoid or avert it by
measures the most dishonorable and even the most desperate. Rather than
be poor, many will practise the worst hypocrisies or commit the
greatest crimes. For thirty pieces of silver, more than one Judas has
sold his Saviour to the murderers and his own soul to Satan; and to
escape the possible condition of Lazarus at his gate, many a Dives has
slain himself in his palace. Horrified at such insanity, we scarcely
wonder at the fear from which it springs. The noblest spirits quake at
the thought of want, and a prospective reverse of fortune is enough to
make the bravest quail.
Yet are there cases on record in which men and women, for some worthy
principle, have cheerfully welcomed absolute privation, or patiently
endured the destitution of all things. The fear of God, the love of
truth, devotion to duty, domestic affection, patriotic sentiment,
disinterested philanthropy--have not some of these again and again led
the dwellers in palaces to the hovel and the hermitage, substituting
for the downy couch a pallet of straw, for the purple and fine linen a
suit of sack-cloth, and for the daily sumptuous banquet a crust of
bread and a cup of water? While we recognize in such cases only a
conscientious service rendered to God or a life of superior charity to
his rational and immortal creatures, we can but admire and honor the
noble principle that thus renounces the conveniences and advantages of
high birth and ample fortune for the lowest conditions of civilized
humanity. The impulse is divine; the spirit is that of Christ. Some
become poor through misfortune, some through improvidence, some through
criminal indulgence, these through stanch adherence to duty. If they
had not relinquished their riches, they must have repudiated the
authority of conscience and let go their hold on virtue. Poverty has
saved its thousands, where wealth has ruined its tens of thousands.
Here we are reminded of One who was originally rich beyond all human
conception, but became poorer than the poorest that ever trod the
earth--not because he desired the change, nor because he could not help
it, nor because it was his bounden duty, nor because a superior bade
him, nor because the perishing implored him, but because he loved us
with an infinite love--beyond all imagination of men or angels.
"'Twas mercy moved his heavenly mind,
And pity brought him down."
First, then, we must think of the poverty of Christ as the
manifestation of his grace. What was it but purest goodness, gratuitous
favor, unmerited compassion, that moved him to forsake his glory and
become the brother of worms and the Man of sorrows? What saw he in this
revolted province of his boundless empire, that he should come to seek
and save the self-destroyed? Among all the myriads of Adam's children,
what one quality was there worthy of his love? Who solicited his aid,
or repented of his own sin? What obligation pressed or necessity
impelled the Saviour? Had he remained indifferent to our helpless woes
in the heavenly mansions, who could have impeached one of his
perfections? Had he smitten this guilty planet from its orbit, and sent
it staggering among the stars--a reprobate world--a warning to the
universe of the ruin wrought by sin--might not the minstrelsy of heaven
have chanted over its catastrophe--"Just and true are thy ways, thou
King of saints!" Perfectly he foreknew all that awaited him in his
mission of mercy; yet with what divine alacrity did he vacate his
throne, leave the bosom of his Father, and retire from the adoring host
of heaven--as if a loftier throne, a more loving bosom, and a worthier
concourse of worshippers, were ready to greet him in the world to which
he came!
"O love that passeth knowledge! words are vain!
Language is lost in wonder so divine!"
Secondly, we must consider the poverty of Christ in contrast with his
previous riches. How much we commiserate the poor who have seen better
days! His better days what human art shall depict or finite mind
conceive? Lift up your thoughts to the glorious state of the Eternal
Son in the bosom of God the Father. As yet the worlds are not; no star
reflects his smile, nor seraph chants his praise; but, possessed of
every divine excellence in the most transcendent degree, he has within
himself an infinite source of happiness. Now he arises to the work of
creation, and myriads of self-luminous suns, each with his retinue of
rejoicing planets, begin their eternal march around his throne. All are
his, created by him and for him; and all their countless billions of
rational and immortal beings own him as their supreme Lord, and adore
him as the sole giver of every good and perfect gift. Down from all
this glory he descended into one of the poorest provinces of his
illimitable realm, assuming the frail and suffering nature of its
fallen people,
"And God with God was man with men."
Having a body and a soul like ours, he was liable to all our
temptations and infirmities; and suffering--the just for the
unjust--that he might bring us to God, he became poorer than the
poorest of those whom by his poverty he sought to redeem. Surely, had
he so chosen, with all the pomp and splendor of royal state he might
have made his advent; but see! he comes as the first-born of an obscure
family--a stable his birthplace--a manger his cradle; through all the
years of his youth, subject to his parents, and toiling at Joseph's
side with the carpenter's saw and plane; and when at the age of thirty
he enters upon his Messianic mission, having no home but such as a poor
fisherman can offer him at Capernaum; often hungering and thirsting
over the fields and fountains of his own creation, everywhere hated for
his love and persecuted for his purity; and at last basely betrayed
into the hands of his enemies, abandoned and denied by his disciples,
falsely accused of blasphemy, and cruelly condemned to the cross; while
the powers of hell, in all their might and their malice, co-operate
with the murderers of the Lord's Anointed; and the loving Father,
laying on him the iniquities of us all, withdraws from the scene of
infamous horrors, and leaves the immaculate victim to die alone in the
darkness.
"O Lamb of God! was ever pain--
Was ever love--like thine?"
Thirdly, we must contemplate the poverty of Christ in relation to the
enrichment of his people. For our sake it was--for our benefit--as our
substitute--he became poor, that we through his poverty might be rich.
"What are a million of human lives," said the great Napoleon, "to the
scheme of a man like me?" Infinitely more sublime was the scheme of
Jesus Christ, sacrificing no human interest to his own ambition, but
enriching all his followers with the durable riches of righteousness.
Benevolence, not ambition, was the grand impulse of his action. To save
mankind from sin and Satan--to quicken dead souls with the power of an
endless life--he came forth from the Father, sojourned in voluntary
exile among rebels, and joyfully laid down his life for their
redemption. How much the apostles write of "the riches of his grace"!
How sweetly they assure us that he "hath chosen the poor of this world,
rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which he hath promised to them
that love him"! He became poorer than we, to make us as rich as
himself--joint-heirs with him to an inheritance incorruptible,
undefiled, that fadeth not away, reserved for us in heaven. Already,
indeed, the believer is rich in faith, rich in love, rich in peace,
rich in joy, and rich in hope; but when the dear Lord shall return to
consummate in glory the salvation thus begun by grace, the saints shall
enter with him the everlasting kingdom, satisfied with his likeness and
radiant with his joy. Rejoice then, O my brother! in the unsearchable
riches of Christ. Is the culprit enriched by pardon on the scaffold? So
Christ hath pardoned thee. Is the exile enriched by the edict that
calls him home? So Christ hath recalled the banished. Is the leper
enriched by the cure of his foul disease? So Christ cleanses the soul
that comes to him. Is the disinherited enriched by the restoration of
his lost estate? Jesus has bought back for us our forfeited
possessions, and made them ours by an everlasting covenant. Is the
prisoner enriched by the power that gives him freedom? If the Son makes
us free, we are free indeed, and hell cannot enslave the ransomed soul.
Is the alien child enriched by adoption into the royal household,
making him heir to the crown? Brought nigh by redeeming blood, I become
interested in all that belongs to my Lord, and whatever he receives
from the Father I am to share with him in the kingdom of his glory. His
voluntary poverty in my behalf makes him my Brother and associates me
with him upon the throne. Taking my earthly station, he raises me to
his heavenly honors. Bearing my manifold infirmities, he assures me of
a share in his infinite blessedness. Emptying himself of his glory for
me, he fills me with all the fulness of God! Thus we know the grace of
our Lord Jesus Christ--not, indeed, in all the amplitude of its
extension, nor in all the plenitude of its comprehension; but
adequately to our necessity as sinners, and adequately to our duty and
privilege as Christians--we know it, and rejoice in it with unspeakable
joy. What returns shall we make, or how express our gratitude? Shall we
be like him who, having promised Mercury part of his nuts, ate the
kernels himself, and gave the god the shells? Shall we not imitate the
Macedonian churches, that first gave their own selves to the Lord, and
then sent their liberal collections to the poor saints at Jerusalem?
When we have given ourselves, what else can we withhold from him who
gave all his wealth to enrich us, and has enriched us most by giving us
himself?
"The mite my willing hand can give,
At Jesus' feet I lay;
His grace the tribute will receive,
And Heaven at large repay."
[1] Written in the last days of September, 1883, but never preached.
THE REV. DR. JOSEPH CROSS'S WORKS.
+_KNIGHT BANNERET._+ Sermons. By the Rev. Joseph
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