'Salvation shall God appoint for walls.'--Isaiah.
John Bunyan's autobiography, _Grace Abounding to the Chief of Sinners_,
is the best of all our commentaries on _The Pilgrim's Progress_, and
again to-night I shall have to fall back on that incomparable book. 'Now,
I saw in my dream that the highway up which Christian was to go was
fenced on either side with a wall, and that wall is called Salvation. Up
this way, therefore, did burdened Christian run, but not without great
difficulty, because of the load on his back.' In the corresponding
paragraph in _Grace Abounding_, our author says, speaking about himself:
'But forasmuch as the passage was wonderful narrow, even so narrow that I
could not but with great difficulty enter in thereat, it showed me that
none could enter into life but those that were in downright earnest, and
unless also they left this wicked world behind them; for here was only
room for body and soul, but not for body and soul and sin.' 'He ran thus
till he came to a place somewhat ascending, and upon that place stood a
cross, and a little below in the bottom a sepulchre. So I saw in my
dream, that just as Christian came up with this cross, his burden loosed
from off his shoulders and fell from off his back, and began to tumble,
and so continued to do till it came to the mouth of the sepulchre, where
it fell in, and I saw it no more.' Turning again to the _Grace
Abounding_, we read in the 115th paragraph: 'I remember that one day as I
was travelling into the country and musing on the wickedness and
blasphemy of my heart, and considering of the enmity that was in me to
God, that scripture came into my mind, He hath made peace by the blood of
His Cross. By which I was made to see both again and again and again
that day that God and my soul were friends by that blood: yea, I saw that
the justice of God and my sinful soul could embrace and kiss each other
through that blood. That was a good day to me; I hope I shall not forget
it. I thought I could have spoken of His love and of His mercy to me
that day to the very crows that sat upon the ploughed lands before me had
they been capable to have understood me. Wherefore I said in my soul
with much gladness, Well, I would I had a pen and ink here and I would
write this down before I go any farther, for surely I will not forget
this forty years hence.'
From all this we learn that the way to the Celestial City lies within
high and close fencing walls. There is not room for many pilgrims to
walk abreast in that way; indeed, there is seldom room for two. There
are some parts of the way where two or even three pilgrims can for a time
walk and converse together, but for the most part the path is
distressingly lonely. The way is so fenced up also that a pilgrim cannot
so much as look either to the right hand or the left. Indeed, it is one
of the laws of that road that no man is to attempt to look except
straight on before him. But then there is this compensation for the
solitude and stringency of the way that the wall that so encloses it is
Salvation. And Salvation is such a wall that it is companionship and
prospect enough of itself. Dante saw a long reach of this same wall
running round the bottom of the mount that cleanses him who climbs it,--a
long stretch of such sculptured beauty, that it arrested him and
instructed him and delighted him beyond his power sufficiently to praise
it. And thus, that being so, burdened and bowed down to the earth as our
pilgrim was, he was on the sure way, sooner or later, to deliverance.
Somewhere and sometime and somehow on that steep and high fenced way
deliverance was sure to come. And, then, as to the burdened man himself.
His name was once Graceless, but his name is Graceless no longer. No
graceless man runs long between these close and cramping-up walls; and,
especially, no graceless man has that burden long on his back. That is
not Graceless any longer who is leaving the Interpreter's House for the
fenced way; that is Christian, and as long as he remains Christian, the
closeness of the fence and the weight of his burden are a small matter.
But long-looked-for comes at last. And so, still carrying his burden and
keeping close within the fenced-up way, our pilgrim came at last to a
cross. And a perfect miracle immediately took place in that somewhat
ascending ground. For scarcely had Christian set his eyes on the cross,
when, without his pulling at it, or pushing it, or even at that moment
thinking of it, ere ever he was aware, he saw his burden begin to tumble,
and so it continued to do till it fell fairly out of his sight into an
open sepulchre.
The application of all that is surely self-evident. For our way in a
holy life is always closely fenced up. It is far oftener a lonely way
than otherwise. And the steepness, sternness, and loneliness of our way
are all aggravated by the remembrance of our past sins and follies. They
still, and more and more, lie upon our hearts a heart-crushing burden.
But if we, like Christian, know how to keep our back to our former house
and our face to heaven, sooner or later we too shall surely come to the
cross. And then, either suddenly, or after a long agony, our burden also
shall be taken off our back and shut down into Christ's sepulchre. And I
saw it no more, says the dreamer. He does not say that its owner saw it
no more. He was too wise and too true a dreamer to say that.
It will be remembered that the first time we saw this man, with whose
progress to the Celestial City we are at present occupied, he was
standing in a certain place clothed with rags and with a burden on his
back. After a long journey with him, we have just seen his burden taken
off his back, and it is only after his burden is off and a Shining One
has said to him, Thy sins be forgiven, that a second Shining One comes
and strips him of his rags and clothes him with change of raiment. Now,
why, it may be asked, has Christian had to carry his burden so long, and
why is he still kept so ragged and so miserable and he so far on in the
pilgrim's path? Surely, it will be said, John Bunyan was dreaming indeed
when he kept a truly converted man, a confessedly true and sincere
Christian, so long in bonds and in rags. Well, as to his rags: filthy
rags are only once spoken of in the Bible, and it is the prophet Isaiah,
whose experience and whose language John Bunyan had so entirely by heart,
who puts them on. And that evangelist among the prophets not only calls
his own and Israel's sins filthy rags, but Isaiah is very bold, and calls
their very righteousnesses by that opprobrious name. Had that bold
prophet said that all his and all his people's _un_righteousnesses were
filthy rags, all Israel would have subscribed to that. There was no man
so brutish as not to admit that. But as long as they had any sense of
truth and any self-respect, multitudes of Isaiah's first hearers and
readers would resent what he so rudely said of their righteousnesses. On
the other hand, the prophet's terrible discovery and comparison, just
like our dreamer's dramatic distribution of Christian experience, was, to
a certainty, an immense consolation to many men in Israel in his day.
They gathered round Isaiah because, but for him and his evangelical
ministry, they would have been alone in their despair. To them Isaiah's
ministry was a house of refuge, and the prophet himself a veritable tower
of strength. They felt they were not alone so long as Isaiah dwelt in
the same city with them. And thus, whatever he might be to others, he
was God's very prophet to them as his daily prayers in the temple both
cast them down and lifted them up. 'Oh that Thou wouldst rend the
heavens and come down . . . But we are all as an unclean thing, and all
our righteousnesses are as filthy rags, and our iniquities like the wind
have taken us away.' Thousands in Israel found in these terrible words a
door of hope, a sense of fellowship, and a call to trust and
thanksgiving. And tens of thousands have found the same help and
consolation out of what have seemed to others the very darkest and most
perplexing pages of the _Pilgrim's Progress_ and the _Grace Abounding_.
'It made me greatly ashamed,' says Hopeful, 'of the vileness of my former
life, and confounded me with the sense of mine own ignorance, for there
never came into mine heart before now that showed me so by contrast the
beauty of the Lord Jesus. My own vileness and nakedness made me love a
holy life. Yea, I thought that had I now a thousand gallons of blood in
my body, I could spill it all for the sake of the Lord Jesus.' And if
you, my brother, far on in the way of Salvation, still think sometimes
that, after all, you must be a reprobate because of your filthy rags,
read what David Brainerd wrote with his half-dead hand on the last page
of his seraphic journal: 'How sweet it is to love God and to have a heart
all for God! Yes; but a voice answered me, You are not all for God, you
are not an angel. To which my whole soul replied, I as sincerely desire
to love and glorify God as any angel in heaven. But you are filthy, and
not fit for heaven. When hereupon there instantly appeared above me and
spread over me the blessed robes of Christ's righteousness which I could
not but exult and triumph in. And then I knew that I should be as active
as an angel in heaven, and should then be for ever stripped of my filthy
garments and clothed with spotless raiment.' Let me die the death of
David Brainerd, and let my latter end be like his!
The third Shining One then came forward and set a mark on the forehead of
this happy man. And it was a most ancient and a most honourable mark.
For it was the same redeeming mark that was set by Moses upon the
foreheads of the children of Israel when the Lord took them into covenant
with Himself at the Passover in the wilderness. It was the same
distinguishing mark also that the man with the slaughter-weapon in his
hand first set upon the foreheads of the men who sighed and cried for the
abominations that were done in the midst of Jerusalem. And it was the
same glorious mark that John saw in the foreheads of the hundred and
forty and four thousand who stood upon Mount Zion and sang a song that no
man knew but those men who had been redeemed from the earth by the blood
of the Lamb. The mark was set for propriety and for ornament and for
beauty. It was set upon his forehead so that all who looked on him ever
after might thus know to what company and what country he belonged, and
that this was not his rest, but that he had been called and chosen to a
heavenly inheritance. And, besides, it was no sooner set upon his
forehead than it greatly added to his dignity and his comeliness. He had
now the gravity and beauty of an angel; nay, the beauty in his measure
and the gravity of Goodwill at the gate himself. And, then, as if that
were not enough, the third Shining One also gave him a roll with a seal
upon it, which he was bidden look on as he ran, and which he was to give
in when he arrived at the Celestial Gate. Now, what was that sealed roll
but just the inward memory and record of all this pilgrim's experiences
of the grace of God from the day he set out on pilgrimage down to that
day when he stood unburdened of his guilt, unclothed of his rags, and
clothed upon with change of raiment? The roll contained his own secret
life, all sealed and shone in upon by the light of God's countenance. The
secret of the Lord with this pilgrim was written within that roll, a
secret that no man could read but he himself alone. It was the same roll
that this same Shining One gave to Abraham, the first pilgrim and the
father of all true pilgrims, after Melchizedek, the priest of the Most
High God, had brought forth bread and wine and had blessed that great
believer. 'Fear not, Abram: I am thy shield, and thy exceeding great
reward.' And, again, after Abram had lost his roll, like our pilgrim in
the arbour, when he recovered it he read thus in it: 'I am the Almighty
God: walk before Me, and be thou perfect. And I will make My covenant
between Me and thee.' And Abram fell on his face for joy. It was the
same roll out of which the Psalmist proposed to read a passage to all
those in his day who feared God. 'Come and hear, all ye that fear God,
and I will declare what He hath done for my soul.' It was the same roll
also that God sent to Israel in his sore captivity. 'Fear not, O Israel,
for I have redeemed thee; I have called thee by thy name, thou art Mine.
When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee.' The high
priest Joshua also had the same roll put into his hand, and that not only
for his own comfort, but to make him the comforter of God's afflicted
people. For after the Lord had plucked Joshua as a brand out of the
fire, and had made his iniquity to pass from him, and had clothed him
with change of raiment, and had set a fair mitre on his head, the Lord
gave to Joshua a sealed roll, the contents of which may be read to this
day in the book of the prophet Zechariah. Nay, more: 'Will you have me
to speak plainly?' says great Goodwin on this matter. 'Then, though our
Lord had the assurance of faith that He was the Son of God, for He knew
it out of the Scriptures by reading all the prophets, yet, to have it
sealed to Him with joy unspeakable and glorious,--this was deferred to
the time of His baptism. He was then anointed with the oil of assurance
and gladness in a more peculiar and transcendent manner.' 'In His
baptism,' says Bengel, 'our Lord was magnificently enlightened. He was
previously the Son of God, and yet the power of the Divine testimony to
His Sonship at His baptism long affected Him in a lively manner.' And we
see our Lord reading His roll to assure and sustain His heart when all
outward acceptance and sustenance failed Him. 'There is One who beareth
witness of Me, and His witness is true. I receive not witness from men.
I have a greater witness than even that of John. For the Father Himself
that hath sent Me, He beareth witness of Me.' No wonder that our heavy-
laden pilgrim of yesterday gave three leaps for joy and went on singing
with such a roll as that in his bosom. For, at that supreme moment he
had that inward illumination and assurance sealed on his heart that had
so gladdened and sustained so many prophets and psalmists and apostles
and saints before his day. And though, like Abraham and all the other
saints who ever had that noble roll put into their keeping, except Jesus
Christ, he often lost it, yet as often as he again recovered it, it
brought back again with it all his first joy and gladness.
But, as was said at the beginning, the _Grace Abounding_ is the best of
all our commentaries on _The Pilgrim's Progress_. As thus here also:
'Now had I an evidence, as I thought, of my salvation from heaven, with
many golden seals thereon, all hanging in my sight. Now could I remember
this manifestation and that other discovery of grace with comfort, and
should often long and desire that the last day were come, that I might be
for ever inflamed with the sight and joy of Him and communion with Him
whose head was crowned with thorns, whose face was spit on, and body
broken, and soul made an offering for my sins. For whereas, before, I
lay continually trembling at the mouth of hell, now, methought, I was got
so far therefrom that I could not, when I looked back, scarce discern it.
And oh! thought I, that I were fourscore years old now, that I might die
quickly, that my soul might be gone to rest.'
Then Christian gave three leaps for joy and went on singing:
'Thus far did I come laden with my sin,
Nor could ought ease the grief that I was in
Till I came hither: . . .
Blest Cross! blest Sepulchre! blest rather be
The Man that there was put to shame for me.'