power when blessed by the Lord! How mysterious the faculty of stirring
souls to their very depths, of sending forth words like arrows, which
God Himself guides to the hearers' hearts! St. Peter, the illiterate
fisherman, must have marvelled at the effect of his first recorded
sermon. Three thousand souls gathered in at once, a number far larger
than appears to have been drawn in during all the years of Christ's
sojourn upon earth by the ministry of Him who spake as never man spake!
What were the emotions of the apostle when his preaching, by the might
of the Spirit, brought into the Church such a harvest of souls? We know
that the miraculous draught made him fall on his knees, humbled and
overpowered under a sense of his own unworthiness, and exclaiming to
the Divine Being who had wrought the miracle, "Depart from me, for I am
a sinful man, O Lord!" May we not believe that St. Peter was far more
humbled by the miraculous draught of souls, the mighty success granted
to one who had, but a few weeks before, so sinned against light and
love!
"What is this honour vouchsafed to me!" Such may have been the
apostle's thought ere he laid down his head to rest that night, with
his soul overflowing with thankful joy: "Have these lips, so lately
polluted with cursing and swearing, these lips that have thrice denied
my Lord, been permitted so to preach the gospel, that thousands are
gathered into the Church! What am I that I should be chosen to enjoy a
privilege so glorious!"
But though on that occasion the confession, "I am a sinful man, O
Lord!" may have been uttered with far deeper consciousness of guilt
than it was in the boat on Gennesaret; the "depart from me!" would
never more be heard from the contrite Peter. His sense of sin would but
make him cling the more closely to Him who taketh away sin; the greater
his guilt, the greater his need that the Saviour should not depart, but
abide with Him for ever!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XXXIX.
The Bed of the Paralytic.
WHEN was a burden ever lifted more joyfully than this was, when at the
Saviour's command the light bed was raised by the strong arms that had,
but a few moments previously, rested in helpless weakness upon it!
How joyfully did the restored paralytic make his way on his own feet
through that crowd whose presence had rendered it impossible for his
friends to bear him in on his bed! We know not of a single word spoken
by the rejoicing pardoned believer in that hour of intense happiness,
but surely the utterance of his heart must have been like that of the
psalmist.
"Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits! Who
forgiveth all thine iniquities, who healeth all thy diseases;
who redeemeth thy life from destruction, who crowneth thee with
lovingkindness and tender mercies, . . . so that thy youth is renewed
like the eagle's!"
We would gladly follow the restored sufferer to his home, and hear him
recounting to eager listeners there what great things the Lord had done
for him; describing his feelings of hope as—borne on that bed—he had
approached the house in which the Master was teaching, then the fear,
the anxiety, the difficulty which had followed when it was found to be
useless to attempt to carry the invalid in. How grateful must he have
felt to those friends whom difficulties would not daunt, especially to
whoever first offered the suggestion to let him down through the roof!
The sufferer could not help his friends in their labour of love, but
how anxiously he had watched it, and, when gently lowered down by kind
hands, with what a trembling hope had he found himself in the immediate
presence of the Redeemer! To hear such scenes described by those who
were the immediate actors in them, may probably be one of the joys
reserved for God's children in Heaven.
How would the restored paralytic in the course of his after-life regard
that bed on which he had lain perhaps for weary year after year! Would
the associations connected with it be those of pain or of pleasure?
Would he dwell on the long wearisome days, the dreary nights which he
had spent on that bed when he had no power to lift himself from it?
Would he sigh when he looked on it from the recollection of all that he
had had to endure? We cannot think this, however long, or painful, or
trying, his illness may have been; it is far more likely that the sight
of that bed would bring to his mind recollections on which memory would
dwell with rapture.
"It was when stretched on that bed that I first looked on my Lord, and
met His glance of ineffable love and compassion! It was when stretched
on that bed that I heard those accents which will thrill delight
through my soul to my dying day, yea, and through all eternity,—'Son,
be of good cheer, thy sins be forgiven thee!' Oh, God be praised that
I ever was sick! I thank, I bless, I adore Him for the weakness, the
helplessness, the disease which brought me so close to my Lord, and
made me a monument thus of His everlasting mercy and grace!"
And thus will many a dear Christian brother or sister, long afflicted
by sickness, look back on the couch of suffering when the Lord has
restored health to the feeble frame, or when—through what man calls
death—He has bidden the pardoned believer "arise," never more to lie
down in pain. Many will doubtless have cause to say, "It was in love
and mercy that sickness and suffering were permitted to chain me down
to my bed; it was from thence that I first looked through faith on
my Saviour—there first I knew that my sins were indeed forgiven. My
weakness made me rest in Christ's strength—my sufferings brought me
to His feet. I would not exchange the lessons learned, the privileges
enjoyed on that sick-bed, for all the wealth of the world!"
The story of the paralytic man is fraught with comfort also to those
in sorrow for loved ones afflicted either in body or in mind. It is
terrible to watch sufferings which we cannot relieve, to seek aid from
physicians but to find that their utmost skill is exerted in vain.
Which of us has not known the wearing anxiety, the sickening suspense,
when a precious life is at stake? Oh! Let us not then rest on earth,
and put down our loved burden in despair. We must "go up higher," we
must carry our friend upwards on the strong arms of prayer, we must lay
him at the feet of the Saviour. The Son of Man hath still power to say,
"Arise, take up thy bed and walk."
Still more earnest should be our efforts when the sickness of him for
whom we pray is that of the soul—the sickness of sin. Bodily health
and strength and beauty may be united with deadly spiritual paralysis.
Some seem as if they would not—could not—come to the Saviour; they have
no power to rise, they are chained down by the cares or pleasures and
follies of the world; when others are pressing in to hear God's Word,
they remain in peril without.
Let us, as it were, carry those who will not or cannot walk, let
us bear the burden on our hearts. God is trying our faith and our
patience. Have we clambered the outward stair, have we toiled to
uncover the roof—to remove as far as we can the obstacles which divide
the paralyzed soul from the Lord? And then, using the bands of love,
the "cords of a man," have we gently placed our burden even at the feet
of our Heavenly Master? He has still power to say to the diseased and
paralyzed soul, "Thy sins be forgiven thee," and to bid it arise to
walk in newness of life, to tread in the paths of holiness, to run with
vigour that blessed race of which Heaven itself is the goal!
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XL.
The Cross.
IN the olden times when legends and traditions, like parasites mantling
a tree and hindering its healthy growth, had appeared well-nigh to
choke gospel-truth while meant to adorn it, the day of the supposed
discovery of the true cross was made a festival; * its name was given
to province and city; and fragments, however small, of what was deemed
so inexpressibly sacred, were esteemed amongst the greatest treasures
of princes. Satan would be well pleased to see adoration paid to
pieces of wood, if he could so draw away the minds of the pious from
contemplation of the true cross, as it is preserved for believers in
the Bible alone, to be touched only by Faith as she repeats the words
of St. Paul, "God forbid that I should glory save in the cross of our
Lord Jesus Christ."
* "'Invention of the Cross,' an annual feast solemnized on the 3rd of
May, in memory of Helena's (the mother of Constantine) finding the
(supposed) true Cross of Christ deep in the ground on Mount Calvary,
where she erected a church for the preservation of part of it."
_English Encyclopædia._
With the deepest, most solemn reverence, let us now draw nigh in
spirit to this altar, on which was offered the one "full, perfect, and
sufficient sacrifice, oblation, and satisfaction, for the sins of the
whole world." Let all worldly thoughts be put off; it is on holy ground
that we tread, as the cross—stained with that most precious blood which
alone cleanseth from all sin—draws our contemplation to Him who upon it
agonized and died for mankind.
That Christ "could" suffer proves that He was human; that He could
"so" suffer, proves that He was divine, for Deity alone could so hold
the tortured frame in subjection as to keep it suspended for six hours
in agony upon the cross. A mere man, by the force of strong will,
may give himself up to death—may so overcome the shrinking of nature
as to spring down the chasm, or throw himself into the waves. Many
martyrs have yielded up their lives willingly and cheerfully, "but
who could die as Jesus died?" His was no single effort of will, but
a prolonged exercise of it, hour after hour, amidst sufferings more
excruciating than the mind can conceive. We cannot doubt that He who
is "the mighty God" could at any moment have ended those sufferings;
no nails could have fixed Him to the cross; not the united powers of a
thousand peopled worlds could have kept Him there for an instant! The
unutterable pangs which the Saviour endured were His own deliberate
choice, and it was His own infinite love which made Him sustain them
even to the end. We know this from the Lord's declaration:
"I lay down My life . . . No man taketh it from Me, but I lay it
down of Myself. I have power to lay it down, and I have power to take
it again."
Christ had but to will it, and the cross of shame would instantly have
been exchanged for the throne of glory, and the mocking crowds have
been stretched blackened, blasted corpses before Him! We speak of our
Lord's temptation in the wilderness—what must have been His temptation
"on the cross"? Such as none but Deity could have resisted—none but
God have overcome. A Paul might have consented to be crucified for the
sake of his brethren—but could even a Paul have remained long on the
cross had it needed but an act of volition to release him? Human nature
must have failed under the trial. The fondest of mothers clinging by
her hands to the edge of a precipice, with her infant fastened to her
shoulders, must let go ere long, though conscious that her child as
well as herself will be dashed in pieces by her fall.
The weight of a world's salvation hung on the Redeemer, and He "would
not let go."
"Come down from the cross!" shouted the rabble.
"Come down from the cross!" urged the tempter.
"Come down from the cross!" cried out agonized human nature,—Christ
could, but He would not come down. This was constancy beyond that of
humanity; this was the endurance not of a man but of a God!
There appears to be a mysterious analogy between the great act of
the Creation and that of the Redemption of the world. After the six
days in which the Lord made earth and the things within it, He "did
rest the seventh day from all His works;" and so, after the six hours
of anguish, the Saviour rested in death from the more awful work of
redemption. Another analogy arises in the mind, though it is mentioned
with some hesitation, as Scripture warrant cannot be brought forward
to support it. It is an ancient well-known tradition that the world
will endure six thousand years under our present dispensation, and that
then will come the long Sabbath of rest. If it be so, is it impossible
that each hour on the cross may have had a mysterious relation to each
thousand years—that the two first hours of agony may have expiated
the guilt of the antediluvian race; the succeeding, that of its
successors; the increasing numbers of sinners corresponding with the
tortures which, towards the close of the awful time of sacrifice, would
naturally most fearfully increase?
If such a suggestion be admitted, what a peculiar interest have we, who
live in these latter times, in the dying thirst—the agonized cry, which
appears to have marked the climax in the sufferings of our blessed
Redeemer! The idea links itself on to another. Is it impossible that
before Him who knoweth all things may have passed in prophetic vision
every human being who should enter Heaven through the merit of those
pangs which He at that moment was enduring? That the Lord "waited,"
with arms outstretched, strained muscles and bleeding hands, until the
last, the very last, should be safe; and till—knowing that none, not
the least of His flock should perish—Christ could at length exclaim,
"It is finished", and so bow the head and yield up the ghost?
There is something inexpressibly touching in this thought, especially
if we regard the possibility that some one now breathing on this globe
may have been the last one for whom the Lord waited on the cross!
Perhaps some prodigal for whose soul a mother is now wrestling in
prayer; perhaps some poor heathen slave in a distant land; perhaps
some despised one brought up in haunts of vice, the answer to whose
first cry of faith and repentance, "God be merciful to me a sinner,"
will be the sound of the trumpet announcing that the world's great
suffering-time is ended, and that the last saved soul being gathered
in, the glorious Sabbath shall commence!
Let us pause for a few moments, and with closed eyes and bended knees
attempt to realize the thought,—"the Saviour waited on the cross for
me!" For "me" was that awful thirst, for "me" that intolerable pain.
Christ would not save Himself from a death of torture, because—with all
my coldness, selfishness, sinfulness—He could not, would not, suffer me
to perish!
A few words inscribed under a picture of the Crucifixion were once made
the means of converting a soul; they were as a question from Him who
hung on the cross, these touching words are addressed to us all—what
reply dare we return? "I suffered this for thee; what dost thou for Me?"
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
XLI.
The Stone at the Sepulchre.
WHO has not known the pang of bereavement,—
"When sorrowing o'er the stone we bend,
Which covers what was once a friend,
And from his hand—his voice—his smile,
Divides us for a little while?"
Let the mourner draw nigh to this stone which closed the sepulchre of
the Lord, and beneath its quiet shadow meditate on the solemn and most
blessed doctrine of the resurrection.
With aching hearts, with drooping heads, the disciples of the crucified
Saviour turned from the sepulchre in which they had seen His sacred
body laid. For Him, indeed, the awful trial was over; He was beyond
reach of the cruelty of soldier, or the malice of priest. Those holy
eyes were clothed in death, no cry of anguish would ever more burst
from those pallid lips, the blood had ceased to flow from the pierced
hands and side. For the Master indeed there was rest, but for the
disciples desolation, for none in that hour of anguish appears to have
believed or understood the re-iterated promise,—
"After three days I will rise again."
What was the world, then, to the followers of Christ, without Him who
had been their Friend and their Guide, the Life and Light of their
souls! That tombstone seemed to shut them out from all that remained to
them of One so deeply reverenced, so tenderly beloved.
And when early in the twilight which preceded the Easter morn, women
drew near to the grave to pay the last honour to the body of the Lord,
this same stone, heavy, sealed and guarded, appeared to their anxious
minds as a barrier between them and Him.
"Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre?"
was the perplexed enquiry of those whose love was stronger than their
faith. But the stone had been rolled away by an angel's hand, and had
become the seat of a messenger from Heaven, whose countenance was like
lightning, and his raiment white as snow; at the sight of whose glory
the guards had trembled, and become even as the dead!
The Lord of Life had risen indeed, the first-fruits of them that
sleep; the sepulchre had yielded up its heavenly guest; Christ had
led captivity captive, and by dying abolished death! Thenceforth all
believers could exclaim, "O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where
is thy victory? Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through
our Lord Jesus Christ!"
This stone stands as a representative of all that shuts out from the
eye of love, from the sunshine of Heaven, the mortal forms that once
held souls that Christ hath redeemed. The little grassy mound in the
churchyard over some babe whose brief span of life—
"Left no trace behind,—save in a parent's breast;"
the heavy monument in the cemetery, the solid walls of the vault, the
earth-covering in the deep pit on the battlefield, the unfathomable sea
which rolls over the dead,—all, all shall yield up their trust!
Again shall an angel of God descend from heaven; again shall the
solid earth tremble and shake; again shall rocks be rent and graves
be opened; and as Christ, the Head, arose, so shall the body—the
Church—arise! Hear the glorious words of Isaiah's prophecy, omitting
the italics which are not in the original text, and which seem to
obscure its meaning:
"Thy dead shall live, My dead body shall they arise. Awake and sing,
ye that dwell in dust: for thy dew the dew of herbs, and the earth shall
cast out the dead."
Oh, joyful Easter morn, for which Faith is watching and waiting! When
the first dawn of its coming light is around us, and the shadows of
night are beginning to flee, well may our Lord address to mourners for
departed saints the question, "Why weepest thou?"
Christ when He rose from the dead was again restored to His loving
followers, but, as regarded visible presence, for only a little space;
but when the graves of His saints shall be opened, when from countless
sepulchres the heavy stones shall be rolled back, it is to no transient
glimpses of the Lord, to no brief moments of blissful intercourse that
they will then be admitted.
"I know that my Redeemer liveth, and that He shall stand at the latter
day upon the earth: and though after my skin worms destroy this body,
yet in my flesh shall I see God: whom I shall see for myself, and mine
eyes shall behold, and not a stranger—" (marginal reading).
No, NOT A STRANGER! When Mary first beheld her risen Lord, her eyes
were holden that she should not know Him, and as a stranger she
addressed Him! But the saints as they burst from the sod in the morn of
the resurrection shall at once recognize Him, whom not having seen they
have loved! They will know the voice of the Good Shepherd who has led
them through the wilderness of life, and the valley of the shadow of
death!
"And it shall be said in that day, Lo, this is our God; we have waited
for Him, and He will save us: this is the Lord; we have waited for Him,
we will be glad and rejoice in His salvation."
[Illustration]
The Queen and the Twelve Names.
WE find in the seventh chapter of the book of Revelation a description
of the sealed ones, the spiritual Israel, under the names of the
tribes to whom was granted the promised inheritance of Canaan. If
it be, as many believe, that we here behold Christ's Church under
a different symbol, yet identical with her of whom we read in the
forty-fifth Psalm, the twelve names in Revelation beautifully fill
up the description of "the King's daughter, the Queen," who is "all
glorious within," for all these names have meanings. The virgins,
her companions, that shall be brought into the King's palace with
gladness and rejoicings, may be regarded as representing "the multitude
which no man could number, of all nations and kindreds, and peoples
and tongues," who appear to be distinct from, and yet in some degree
sharers in the blessedness of the sealed ones, "the hundred and
forty-four thousand." Let us examine the meaning of the names mentioned
in Revelation vii., and see if they are not as twelve stars in the
crown of the "Church of the firstborn," * placed on her head by Him
whom she worships, because He is the Lord her God.
* Heb. xii. 23.
And, first, we mark what name is "omitted." DAN had a place amongst the
twelve tribes of Israel under the Law, but none amongst the spiritual
Israel. The signification of the word may throw light upon what is
otherwise dark and mysterious. Dan signifies judgment. There was
judgment stern and terrible under the Law, but in the Gospel "mercy
rejoiceth against judgment." The curse has been removed, the penalty
endured by another; Dan is, as it were, absorbed and disappears. It is
remarkable that when Jacob on his death-bed blessed his sons, after
speaking of Dan, "judgment," then, and then alone, he burst forth into
the exclamation, "I have waited for thy salvation, O Lord!"
Following the order in which the names of the tribes are given by St.
John, the first of which we read is:
JUDA, "the praise of the Lord." And so praise unto Him who hath chosen
and redeemed her is, as it were, the first gem, the central star in the
crown of the Church, the spiritual Bride.
REUBEN, "see the Son, or who sees the Son," a name of deep meaning if
we may take it as descriptive of the precious privilege of her whose
"eyes shall see the King in His beauty, the pure in heart" who shall
look upon God.
GAD, "a band," or "happy," or "armed and prepared." * The
interpretation seems to speak for itself. The Church is a chosen "band"
of those who are "happy" in the love of their Lord; who have been
"armed" to fight the good fight, and "prepared" for the coming of Him
whom, not having seen, they have loved. Of such is the spiritual Israel.
* See Cruden's Concordance.
ASER, "blessedness," or "happiness." The Church, when she enters the
palace of her Lord, will shine in blessedness for ever. Immortal
happiness will beam from her countenance, the reflection of the light
of Him in whose presence is the fulness of joy, and at whose right hand
there are pleasures for evermore.
NEPTHALIM, "my wrestling, or one that struggles." Here we are reminded
that they who bear the palms of victory are they that have endured the
conflict. A reference may also be made to earnest wrestling in prayer.
Esther, ere the hour of triumph, might be said to have earned the
name of Naphtali. The Church who will wear the garment of praise, now
appears in the spirit of heaviness, wrestling, struggling, till He with
whom she pleads grant her more than she dares to ask for, or to desire.
MANASSEH, "forgetfulness." This name was given by Joseph to his
firstborn in Egypt; "for God," said he, "hath made me to forget all
my toil, and all my father's house." The patriarch's words sound
like a response to the exhortation addressed to the bride in the
psalm,—"Hearken, O daughter, and consider . . . forget also thine
own people, and thy father's house." The vanities of earth, with its
sorrows and sins, put away and forgotten for ever!
SIMEON, "that hears or obeys." In this word is described a special
attribute of the Church of Christ, the obedience of faith. "He that
hath My commandments and keepeth them, He it is that loveth Me," saith
the Heavenly King. It is the Church that listens to His voice, that
seeks to follow wherever He leads. Of Reuben, the patriarch, it was
said, "unstable as water thou shalt not excel;" but Reuben's name
taken in its hidden meaning may remind us that "even water, hearing
and obeying" the Lord, became as a well at His bidding, or firm as a
pavement under His feet.