"And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be
called the way of holiness; the unclean shall not pass over
it; but it shall be for those: the wayfaring men, though
fools, shall not err therein. No lion shall be there, nor any
ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall not be found
there; but the redeemed shall walk there; and the ransomed of
the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and
everlasting joy upon their heads: they shall obtain joy and
gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away."--ISAIAH
xxxv: 8-10.
There are hundreds of people in this house this morning who want to
find the right road. You sometimes see a person halting at cross
roads, and you can tell by his looks that he wishes to ask a question
as to what direction he had better take. And I stand in your presence
this morning conscious of the fact that there are many of you here who
realize that there are a thousand wrong roads, but only one right one;
and I take it for granted that you have come in to ask which one it
is. Here is one road that opens widely, but I have not much faith in
it. There are a great many expensive toll-gates scattered all along
that way. Indeed at every road you must pay in tears, or pay in
genuflexions, or pay in flagellations. On that road, if you get
through it at all, you have to pay your own way; and since this
differs so much from what I have heard in regard to the right way, I
believe it is the wrong way.
Here is another road. On either side of it are houses of sinful
entertainment, and invitations to come in, and dine and rest; but,
from the looks of the people who stand on the piazza I am very certain
that it is the wrong house and the wrong way. Here is another road. It
is very beautiful and macadamized. The horses' hoofs clatter and ring,
and they who ride over it spin along the highway, until suddenly they
find that the road breaks over an embankment, and they try to halt,
and they saw the bit in the mouth of the fiery steed, and cry "Ho!
ho!" But it is too late, and--crash!--they go over the embankment. We
shall turn, this morning, and see if we can not find a different kind
of a road.
You have heard of the Appian Way. It was three hundred and fifty miles
long. It was twenty-four feet wide, and on either side the road was a
path for foot passengers. It was made out of rocks cut in hexagonal
shape and fitted together. What a road it must have been! Made of
smooth, hard rock, three hundred and fifty miles long. No wonder that
in the construction of it the treasures of a whole empire were
exhausted. Because of invaders, and the elements, and time--the old
conqueror who tears up a road as he goes over it--there is nothing
left of that structure excepting a ruin. But I have this morning to
tell you of a road built before the Appian Way, and yet it is as good
as when first constructed. Millions of souls have gone over it.
Millions more will come.
"The prophets and apostles, too,
Pursued this road while here below;
We therefore will, without dismay
Still walk in Christ, the good old way."
"An highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called the way
of holiness; the unclean shall not pass over it; but it shall be for
those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. No lion
shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall
not be found there; but the redeemed shall walk there; and the
ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with songs and
everlasting joy upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness,
and sorrow and sighing shall flee away!"
I. First, this road of the text is the King's highway. In the
diligence you dash over the Bernard pass of the Alps, mile after mile,
and there is not so much as a pebble to jar the wheels. You go over
bridges which cross chasms that make you hold your breath; under
projecting rock; along by dangerous precipices; through tunnels adrip
with the meltings of the glaciers; and, perhaps for the first time,
learn the majesty of a road built and supported by government
authority. Well, my Lord the King decided to build a highway from
earth to heaven. It should span all the chasms of human wretchedness;
it should tunnel all the mountains of earthly difficulty; it should be
wide enough and strong enough to hold fifty thousand millions of the
human race, if so many of them should ever be born. It should be
blasted out of the "Rock of Ages," and cemented with the blood of the
Cross, and be lifted amid the shouting of angels and the execration of
devils.
The King sent His Son to build that road. He put head and hand and
heart to it, and, after the road was completed, waved His blistered
hand over the way, crying, "It is finished!" Napoleon paid fifteen
million francs for the building of the Simplon Road, that his cannon
might go over for the devastation of Italy; but our King, at a greater
expense, has built a road for a different purpose, that the banners of
heavenly dominion might come down over it, and all the redeemed of
earth travel up over it.
Being a King's highway, of course it is well built. Bridges splendidly
arched and buttressed have given way and crushed the passengers who
attempted to cross them. But Christ, the King, would build no such
thing as that. The work done, He mounts the chariot of His love, and
multitudes mount with Him, and He drives on and up the steep of heaven
amid the plaudits of gazing worlds! The work is done--well
done--gloriously done--magnificently done.