That bold metaphor of God's sleeping and waking is often found in
Scripture, and generally expresses the contrast between the long years
of patient forbearance, during which evil things and evil men go on
their rebellious road unchecked but by Love, and the dread moment when
some throne of iniquity, some Babylon cemented by blood, is smitten to
the dust. Such is the original application of the expression here. But
the contrast may fairly be widened beyond that specific form of it, and
taken to express any apparent variations in the forth-putting of His
power. The prophet carefully avoids seeming to suggest that there are
changes in God Himself. It is not He but His arm, that is to say. His
active energy, that is invoked to awake. The captive Church prays that
the dormant might which could so easily shiver her prison-house would
flame forth into action.
We may, then, see here implied the cause of these alternations, of
which we have been speaking, on its divine side, and then, in the
corresponding verse addressed to the Church, the cause on the human
side.
As to the former, it is true that God's arm sometimes slumbers, and is
not clothed with power. There are, as a fact, apparent variations in
the energy with which He works in the Church and in the world. And they
are real variations, not merely apparent. But we have to distinguish
between the power, and what Paul calls 'the might of the power.' The
one is final, constant, unchangeable. It does not necessarily follow
that the other is. The rate of operation, so to speak, and the amount
of energy actually brought into play may vary, though the force remains
the same.
It is clear from experience that there are these variations; and the
only question with which we are concerned is, are they mere arbitrary
jets and spurts of a divine power, sometimes gushing out in full flood,
sometimes trickling in painful drops, at the unknown will of the unseen
hand which controls the flow? Is the 'law of the Spirit of life' at all
revealed to us; or are the reasons occult, if there be any reasons at
all other than a mere will that it shall be so? Surely, whilst we never
can know all the depths of His counsels and all the solemn concourse of
reasons which, to speak in man's language, determine the energy of His
manifested power, He has left us in no doubt that this is the
weightiest part of the law which it follows--the might with which God
works on the world through His Church varies according to the Church's
receptiveness and faithfulness.
Our second text tells us that if God's arm seems to slumber and really
does so, it is because Zion sleeps. In itself that immortal energy
knows no variableness. 'He fainteth not, neither is weary.' 'The Lord's
arm is not shortened that He cannot save.' 'He that keepeth Israel
shall neither slumber nor sleep.' But He works through us; and we have
the solemn and awful power of checking the might which would flow
through us; of restraining and limiting the Holy One of Israel. It
avails nothing that the ocean stretches shoreless to the horizon; a jar
can hold only a jarful. The receiver's capacity determines the amount
received, and the receiver's desire determines his capacity. The law
has ever been, 'according to your faith be it unto you.' God gives as
much as we will, as much as we can hold, as much as we use, and far
more than we deserve. As long as we will bring our vessels the golden
oil will flow, and after the last is filled, there yet remains more
that we might have had, if we could have held it, and might have held
if we would. 'Ye are not straitened in Me, ye are straitened in
yourselves.'
So, dear brethren, if we have to lament times of torpor and small
success, let us be honest with ourselves, and recognise that all the
blame lies with us. If God's arm seems to slumber, it is because we are
asleep. His power is invariable, and the Gospel which is committed to
our trust has lost none of its ancient power, whatsoever men may say.
If there be variations, they cannot be traced to the divine element in
the Church, which in itself is constant, but altogether to the human,
which shifts and fluctuates, as we only too sadly know. The light in
the beacon-tower is steady, and the same; but the beam it throws across
the waters sometimes fades to a speck, and sometimes flames out clear
and far across the heaving waves, according to the position of the
glasses and shades around it. The sun pours out heat as profusely and
as long at midwinter as on midsummer-day, and all the difference
between the frost and darkness and glowing brightness and flowering
life, is simply owing to the earth's place in its orbit and the angle
at which the unalterable rays fall upon it. The changes are in the
terrestrial sphere; the heavenly is fixed for ever the same.
May I not venture to point an earnest and solemn appeal with these
truths? Has there not been poured over us the spirit of slumber? Does
it not seem as if an opium sky had been raining soporifics on our
heads? We have had but little experience of the might of God amongst us
of late years, and we need not wonder at it. There is no occasion to
look far for the reason. We have only to regard the low ebb to which
religious life has been reduced amongst us to have it all and more than
all accounted for. I fully admit that there has been plenty of
activity, perhaps more than the amount of real life warrants, not a
little liberality, and many virtues. But how languid and torpid the
true Christian life has been! how little enthusiasm! how little depth
of communion with God! how little unworldly elevation of soul! how
little glow of love! An improvement in social position and
circumstances, a freer blending with the national life, a full share of
civic and political honours, a higher culture in our pulpits, fine
chapels, and applauding congregations--are but poor substitutes for
what many of us have lost in racing after them. We have the departed
prophets' mantle, the outward resemblance to the fathers who have gone,
but their fiery zeal has passed to heaven with them; and softer, weaker
men, we stand timidly on the river's brink, invoking the Lord God of
Elijah, and too often the flood that obeyed them has no ear for our
feebler voice.
I speak to many who are in some sort representatives of the churches
throughout the land, and they can tell whether my words are on the
whole true or overstrained. We who labour in our great cities, what say
we? If one of the number may speak for the rest, we have to acknowledge
that commercial prosperity and business cares, the eagerness after
pleasure and the exigencies of political strife, diffused doubt and
widespread artistic and literary culture, are eating the very life out
of thousands in our churches, and lowering their fervour till, like
molten iron cooling in the air, what was once all glowing with ruddy
heat is crusted over with foul black scoriae ever encroaching on the
tiny central warmth. You from rural churches, what say you? Have you
not to speak of deepening torpor settling down on quiet corners, of the
passing away of grey heads which leave no successors, of growing
difficulties and lessened power to meet them, that make you sometimes
all but despair?
I am not flinging indiscriminate censures. I know that there are lights
as well as shades in the picture. I am not flinging censures at all.
But I am giving voice to the confessions of many hearts, that our
consciousness of our blame may be deepened, and we may hasten back to
that dear Lord whom we have left to serve alone, as His first disciples
left Him once to agonise alone under the gnarled olives in Gethsemane,
while they lay sleeping in the moonlight. Listen to His gentle rebuke,
full of pain and surprised love, 'What, could ye not watch with Me one
hour?' Listen to His warning call, loving as the kiss with which a
mother wakes her child, 'Arise, let us be going'--and let us shake the
spirit of slumber from our limbs, and serve Him as those unsleeping
spirits do, who rest not day nor night from vision and work and praise.