'Them that are without.'--COL. iv. 5.
That is, of course, an expression for the non-Christian world; the
outsiders who are beyond the pale of the Church. There was a very broad
line of distinction between it and the surrounding world in the early
Christian days, and the handful of Christians in a heathen country felt
a great gulf between them and the society in which they lived. That
distinction varies in form, and varies somewhat in apparent magnitude
according as Christianity has been rooted in a country for a longer or a
shorter time, but it remains, and is as real to-day as it ever was, and
there is neither wisdom nor kindness in ignoring the distinction.
The phrase of our text may sound harsh, and might be used, as it was by
the Jews, from whom it was borrowed, in a very narrow and bitter spirit.
Close corporations of any sort are apt to generate, not only a wholesome
_esprit de corps_, but a hostile contempt for outsiders, and
Christianity has too often been misrepresented by its professors, who
have looked down upon those that are without with supercilious and
unchristian self-complacency.
There is nothing of that sort in the words themselves; the very opposite
is in them. They sound to me like the expression of a man conscious of
the security and comfort and blessedness of the home where he sat, and
with his heart yearning for all the houseless wanderers that were
abiding the pelting of the pitiless storm out in the darkness there. The
spirit and attitude of Christianity to such is one of yearning pity and
urgent entreaty to come in and share in the blessings. There is deep
pathos in the words, as well as solemn earnestness, and in such a spirit
I wish to dwell upon them now for a short time.
I. I begin with the question: Who are they that are outside? And what is
it of which they are outside?
As I have already remarked, the phrase was apparently borrowed from
Judaism, where it meant, 'outside the Jewish congregation,' and its
primary application, as used here, is no doubt to those who are outside
the Christian Church. But do not let us suppose that that explanation
gets to the bottom of the meaning of the words. It may stand as a
partial answer, but only as partial. The evil tendency which attends all
externalising of truth in the concrete form of institutions works in
full force on the Church, and ever tempts us to substitute outward
connection with the institution for real possession of the truth of
which the institution is the outgrowth. Therefore I urge upon you very
emphatically--and all the more earnestly because of the superstitious
overestimate of outward connection with the outward institution of the
Church which is eagerly proclaimed all around us to-day--that connection
with any organised body of believing men is not 'being within,' and that
isolation from all these is not necessarily 'being without.' Many a man
who is within the organisation is not 'in the truth,' and, blessed be
God, a man may be outside all churches, and yet be one of God's hidden
ones, and may dwell safe and instructed in the very innermost shrine of
the secret place of the Most High. We hear from priestly lips, both
Roman Catholic and Anglican, that there is 'no safety outside the
Church.' The saying is true when rightly understood. If by the Church be
meant the whole company of those who are trusting to Jesus Christ, of
course there is no safety outside, because to trust in Jesus is the one
condition of safety, and unless we belong to those who so trust we shall
not possess the blessing. So understood, the phrase may pass, and is
only objectionable as a round-about and easily misunderstood way of
saying what is much better expressed by 'Whosoever shall call on the
name of the Lord shall be saved.'
But that is not the meaning of the phrase in the mouths of those who use
it most frequently. To them the Church is a visible corporation, and not
only so, but as one of the many organisations into which believers are
moulded, it is distinguished from the others by certain offices and
rites, bishops, priests, and sacraments, through whom and which certain
grace is supposed to flow, no drop of which can reach a community
otherwise shaped and officered!
Nor is it only Roman Catholics and Anglicans who are in danger of
externalising personal Christianity into a connection with a church. The
tendency has its roots deep in human nature, and may be found
flourishing quite as rankly in the least sacerdotal of the 'sects' as in
the Vatican itself. There is very special need at present for those who
understand that Christianity is an immensely deeper thing than
connection with any organised body of Christians, to speak out the truth
that is in them, and to protest against the vulgar and fleshly notion
which is forcing itself into prominence in this day when societies of
all sorts are gaining such undue power, and religion, like much else, is
being smothered under forms, as was the maiden in the old story, under
the weight of her ornaments. External relationships and rites cannot
determine spiritual conditions. It does not follow because you have
passed through certain forms, and stand in visible connection with any
visible community, that you are therefore within the pale and safe.
Churches are appointed by Christ. Men who believe and love naturally
draw together. The life of Christ is in them. Many spiritual blessings
are received through believing association with His people. Illumination
and stimulus, succour and sympathy pass from one to another, each in
turn experiencing the blessedness of receiving, and the greater
blessedness of giving. No wise man who has learned of Christ will
undervalue the blessings which come through union with the outward body
which is a consequence of union with the unseen Head. But men may be in
the Church and out of Christ. Not connection with it, but connection
with Him, brings us 'within.' 'Those that are without' may be either in
or out of the pale of any church.
We may put the answer to this question in another form, and going deeper
than the idea of being within a visible church, we may say, 'those that
are without' are they who are outside the Kingdom of Christ.
The Kingdom of Christ is not a visible external community. The Kingdom
of Christ, or of God, or of Heaven, is found wherever human wills obey
the Law of Christ, which is the will of God, the decrees of Heaven; as
Christ himself put it, in profound words--profound in all their
simplicity--when He said, 'Not every man that saith unto Me Lord! Lord!
shall enter into the Kingdom of Heaven, but he that doeth the will of My
Father, which is in Heaven.' 'Them that are without' are they whose
wills are not bent in loving obedience to the Lord of their spirit.
But we must go deeper than that. In the Church? Yes! In the Kingdom?
Yes! But I venture to take another Scripture phrase as being the one
satisfactory fundamental answer to the question: What is it that these
people are outside of? and I say Christ, Christ. If you will take your
New Testament as your guide, you will find that the one question upon
which all is suspended is the, Am I, or Am I not, in Jesus Christ? Am I
in Him, or Am I outside of Him? And the answer to that question is the
answer to this other: Who are they that are without?
They that are outside are not the 'non-Christian world' who are not
church members; they that are inside are not the 'Christian world' who
make an outward profession of being in the Kingdom. It is not going down
to the foundation to explain the antithesis so; but 'those that are
within' are those who have simple trust upon Jesus Christ as the sole
and all-sufficient Saviour of their sinful spirits and the life of their
life, and having entered into that great love, have plunged themselves,
as it were, into the very heart of Jesus; have found in Him
righteousness and peace, forgiveness and love, joy and salvation. Are
you in Christ because you love Him and trust your soul to Him? If not,
if not, you are amongst those 'that are without,' though you be ever so
much joined to the visible Church of the living God.
And then there is one more remark that I must drop in here before I go
on, namely, that whilst I thankfully admit, and joyfully preach, that
the most imperfect, rudimentary faith knits a man to Jesus Christ, even
if in this life it may be found covered over with a great deal that is
contradictory and inconsistent; on the other hand there are some people
who stand like the angel in the Apocalypse, with one foot on the solid
land and one upon the restless sea, half in and half out, undecided,
halting--that is, 'limping'--between two opinions. Some people of that
sort are listening to me now, who have been like that for years. Now I
want them to remember this plain piece of common-sense--half in is
altogether out! So that is my answer to the first question: Who are they
that are outside, and what is it that they are outside of?
I cannot carry round these principles and lay them upon the conscience
of each hearer, but I pray you to listen to your own inmost voice
speaking, and I am mistaken if many will not hear it saying: 'Thou art
the man!' Do not stop your ears to that voice!
II. Notice next the force of this phrase as implying the woeful
condition of those without.
I have said that it is full of pathos. It is the language of a man whose
heart yearns as, in the midst of his own security, he thinks of the
houseless wanderers in the dark and the storm. He thinks pityingly of
what they lose, and of that to which they are exposed.
There are two or three ways in which I may illustrate that condition,
but perhaps the most graphic and impressive may be just to recall for a
moment three or four of the Scripture metaphors that fit into this
representation: 'Those that are without'; and thus to gain some
different pictures of what the inside and the outside means in these
varying figures.
First, then, there is a figure drawn from the Old Testament which is
often applied, and correctly applied, to this subject--Noah's Ark.
Think of that safe abode floating across the waters, whilst all without
it was a dreary waste. Without were death and despair, but those that
were within sat warm and dry and safe and fed and living. The men that
were without, high as they might climb upon rocks and hills, strong as
they might be--when the dreary rainstorm wept itself dry, 'they were all
dead corpses.' To be in was life, to be out was death.
That is the first metaphor. Take another. That singular institution of
the old Mosaic system, in which the man who inadvertently, and therefore
without any guilt or crime of his own, had been the cause of death to
his brother, had provided for him, half on one side Jordan and half on
the other, and dotted over the land, so that it should not be too far to
run to one of them, Cities of Refuge. And when the wild vendetta of
those days stirred up the next of kin to pursue at his heels, if he
could get inside the nearest of these he was secure. They that were
within could stand at the city gates and look out upon the plain, and
see the pursuer with his hate glaring from his eyes, and almost feel his
hot breath on their cheeks, and know that though but a yard from him,
his arm durst not touch them. To be inside was to be safe, to be outside
was certain bloody death.
That is the second figure; take a third; one which our Lord Himself has
given us. Here is the picture--a palace, a table abundantly spread,
lights and music, delight and banqueting, gladness and fulness, society
and sustenance. The guests sit close and all partake. To be within means
food, shelter, warmth, festivity, society; to be without, like Lear on
the moor, is to stand the pelting of the storm, weary, stumbling in the
dark, starving, solitary, and sad. Within is brightness and good cheer;
without is darkness, hunger, death.
That is the third figure. Take a fourth, another of our Master's.
Picture a little rude, stone-built enclosure with the rough walls piled
high, and a narrow aperture at one point, big enough for one creature to
pass through at a time. Within, huddled together, are the innocent
sheep; without, the lion and the bear. Above, the vault of night with
all its stars, and watching all, the shepherd, with unslumbering eye. In
the fold is rest for the weary limbs that have been plodding through
valleys of the shadow of death, and dusty ways; peace for the panting
hearts that are trembling at every danger, real and imaginary. Inside
the fold is tranquillity, repose for the wearied frame, safety, and the
companionship of the Shepherd; and without, ravening foes and a dreary
wilderness, and flinty paths and sparse herbage and muddy pools. Inside
is life; without is death. That is the fourth figure.
In the Ark no Deluge can touch; in the City of Refuge no avenger can
smite; in the banqueting-hall no thirst nor hunger but can be satisfied;
in the fold no enemy can come and no terror can live.
Brethren! are you amongst 'them that are without,' or are you within?
III. Lastly--why is anybody outside? Why? It is no one's fault but their
own. It is not God's. He can appeal with clean hands and ask us to judge
what more could have been done for His vineyard that He has not done for
it. The great parable which represents Him as sending out His summons to
the feast in His palace puts the wonderful words in the mouth of the
master of the house, after his call by his servants had been refused.
'Go out into the highways and hedges,' beneath which the beggars squat,
'and compel them to come in, that my house may be full.' 'Nature abhors
a vacuum,' the old natural philosophers used to say. So does grace; so
does God's love. It hates to have His house empty and His provisions
unconsumed. And so He has done all that He could do to bring you and me
inside. He has sent His Son, He beckons us, He draws us by countless
mercies day by day. He appeals to our hearts, and would have us gathered
into the fold. And if we are outside it is not because He has neglected
to do anything which He can do in order to bring us in.
But why is it that any of us resist such drawing, and make the wretched
choice of perishing without, rather than find safety within? The deepest
reason is an alienated heart, a rebellious will. But the reason for
alienation and rebellion lie among the inscrutable mysteries of our
awful being. All sin is irrational. The fact is plain, the temptations
are obvious; excuses there are in plenty, but reasons there are none.
Still we may touch for a moment on some of the causes which operate with
many hearers of God's merciful call to enter in, and keep them without.
Many remain outside because they do not really believe in the danger. No
doubt there was a great deal of brilliant sarcasm launched at Noah for
his folly in thinking that there was anything coming that needed an ark.
It seemed, no doubt, food for much laughter, and altogether impossible
to think of gravely, that this flood which he talked about should ever
come. So they had their laughter out as they saw him working away at his
ludicrous task 'until the day when the flood came and swept them all
away,' and the laughter ended in gurgling sobs of despair.
If a manslayer does not believe that the next of kin is on his track, he
will not flee to the City of Refuge. If the sheep has no fear of wolves,
it will choose to be outside the fold among the succulent herbage. Did
you ever see how, in a Welsh slate-quarry, before a blast, a horn is
blown, and at its sound all along the face of the quarry the miners run
to their shelters, where they stay until the explosion is over? What do
you suppose would become of one of them who stood there after the horn
had blown, and said: 'Nonsense! There is nothing coming! I will take my
chance where I am!' Very likely a bit of slate would end him before he
had finished his speech. At any rate, do not you, dear friend, trifle
with the warning that says: 'Flee for refuge to Christ and shelter
yourself in Him.'
There are some people, too, who stop outside because they do not much
care for the entertainment that they will get within. It does not strike
them as being very desirable. They have no appetite for it. We preachers
seek to draw hearts to Jesus by many motives--and among others by
setting forth the blessings which he bestows. But if a man does not care
about pardon, does not fear judgment, does not want to be good, has no
taste for righteousness, is not attracted by the pure and calm pleasures
which Christ offers, the invitation falls flat upon his ear. Wisdom
cries aloud and invites the sons of men to her feast, but the fare she
provides is not coarse and high spiced enough, and her table is left
unfilled, while the crowd runs to the strong-flavoured meats and foaming
drinks which her rival, Folly, offers. Many of us say, like the
Israelites 'Our souls loathe this light bread,' this manna, white and
sweet, and Heaven-descended, and angels' food though it be, and we
hanker after the reeking garlic and leeks and onions of Egypt.
Some of us again, would like well enough to be inside, if that would
keep us from dangers which we believe to be real, but we do not like the
doorway. You may see in some remote parts of the country strange,
half-subterranean structures which are supposed to have been the houses
of a vanished race. They have a long, narrow, low passage, through which
a man has to creep with his face very near the ground. He has to go low
and take to his knees to get through; and at the end the passage opens
out into ampler, loftier space, where the dwellers could sit safe from
wild weather and wilder beasts and wildest men. That is like the way
into the fortress home which we have in Jesus Christ. We must stoop very
low to enter there. And some of us do not like that. We do not like to
fall on our knees and say, I am a sinful man, O Lord. We do not like to
bow ourselves in penitence. And the passage is narrow as well as low. It
is broad enough for you, but not for what some of you would fain carry
in on your back. The pack which you bear, of earthly vanities and loves,
and sinful habits, will be brushed off your shoulders in that narrow
entrance, like the hay off a cart in a country lane bordered by high
hedges. And some of us do not like that. So, because the way is narrow,
and we have to stoop, our pride kicks at the idea of having to confess
ourselves sinners, and of having to owe all our hope and salvation to
God's undeserved mercy, therefore we stay outside. And because the way
is narrow, and we have to put off some of our treasures, our
earthward-looking desires shrink from laying these aside, and therefore
we stop outside. There was room in the boat for the last man who stood
on the deck, but he could not make up his mind to leave a bag of gold.
There was no room for that. Therefore he would not leap, and went down
with the ship.
The door is open. The Master calls. The feast is spread. Dangers
threaten. The flood comes. The avenger of blood makes haste. 'Why
standest thou without?' Enter in, before the door is shut. And if you
ask, How shall I pass within?--the answer is plain: 'They could not
enter in because of unbelief. We which have believed do enter into
rest.'