The Jewish ritual, and that of many other nations, as I have remarked,
provided for a festal meal following on, and consisting of the material
of, the sacrifice. A generation which studies comparative mythology, and
spares no pains to get at the meaning underlying the barbarous worship
of the rudest nations, ought to be interested in the question of the
ideas that formed and were expressed by that elaborate Jewish ritual. In
the present case, the signification is plain enough. That which, in one
aspect, is a peace-offering reconciling to God, in another aspect is the
nourishment and the joy of the hearts that accept it. And so the work of
Jesus Christ has two distinct phases of application, according as we
think of it as being offered to God or appropriated by men. In the one
case it is our peace; in the other it is our food and our life. If we
glance for a moment at the marvellous picture of suffering and
desolation in the previous portion of this psalm, which sounds the very
depths of both, we shall understand more touchingly what it is on which
Christian hearts are to feed. The desolation that spoke in 'Why hast
Thou forsaken Me?' the consciousness of rejection and reproach, of
mockery and contempt, which wailed, 'All that see Me laugh Me to scorn;
they shoot out the lip; they shake the head, saying, "He trusted on the
Lord that He would deliver Him; let Him deliver Him, seeing He
delighteth in Him"'; the physical sufferings which are the very picture
of crucifixion, so as that the whole reads liker history than prophecy,
in 'All My bones are out of joint; My strength is dried up like a
potsherd; and My tongue cleaveth to My jaws'; the actual passing into
the darkness of the grave, which is expressed in 'Thou hast brought Me
into the dust of death'; and even the minute correspondence, so
inexplicable upon any hypothesis except that it is direct prophecy,
which is found in 'They part My garments among them, and cast lots upon
My vesture'--these be the viands, not without bitter herbs, that are
laid on the table which Christ spreads for us. They are parts of the
sacrifice that reconciles to God. Offered to Him they make our peace.
They are parts and elements of the food of our spirits. Appropriated and
partaken of by us they make our strength and our life.
Brethren! there is little food, there is little impulse, little strength
for obedience, little gladness or peace of heart to be got from a Christ
who is _not_ a Sacrifice. If we would know how much He may be to us, as
the nourishment of our best life, and as the source of our purest and
permanent gladness, we must, first of all, look upon Him as the Offering
for the world's sin, and then as the very Life and Bread of our souls.
The Christ that feeds the world is the Christ that died for the world.
Hence our Lord Himself, most eminently in one great and profound
discourse, has set forth, not only that He is the Bread of God which
'came down from heaven,' but that His flesh and His blood are such, and
the separation between the two in the discourse, as in the memorial
rite, indicates that there has come the violent separation of death, and
that thereby He becomes the life of humanity.
So my text, and the whole series of Old Testament representations in
which the blessings of the Kingdom are set forth as a feast, and the
parables of the New Testament in which a similar representation is
contained, do all converge upon, and receive their deepest meaning from,
that one central thought that the peace-offering for the world is the
food of the world.
We see, hence, the connection between these great spiritual ideas and
the central act of Christian worship. The Lord's Supper simply says by
act what my text says in words. I know no difference between the rite
and the parable, except that the one is addressed to the eye and the
other to the ear. The rite is an acted parable; the parable is a spoken
rite. And when Jesus Christ, in the great discourse to which I have
referred, dilates at length upon the 'eating of His flesh and the
drinking of His blood' as being the condition of spiritual life, He is
not referring to the Lord's Supper, but the discourse and the rite refer
both to the same spiritual truth. One is a symbol; the other is a
saying; and symbol and saying mean just the same thing. The saying does
not refer to the symbol, but to that to which the symbol refers. It
seems to me that one of the greatest dangers which now threaten
Evangelical Christianity is the strange and almost inexplicable
recrudescence of Sacramentarianism in this generation to which those
Christian communities are contributing, however reluctantly and
unconsciously, who say there is something more than commemorative
symbols in the bread and wine of the Lord's table. If once you admit
that, it seems, in my humble judgment, that you open the door to the
whole flood of evils which the history of the Church declares have come
with the Sacramentarian hypothesis. And we must take our stand, as I
believe, upon the plain, intelligible thoughts--Baptism is a declaratory
symbol, and nothing more; the Lord's Supper is a commemorative symbol,
and nothing more; except that both are acts of obedience to the
enjoining Lord. When we stand there we can face all priestly
superstitions, and say, 'Jesus I know; and Paul I know; but who are ye?'
'The meek shall eat and be satisfied,' and the food of the world is the
suffering Messiah.
But what have we to say about the act expressed in the text? 'The meek
shall eat.' I do not desire to dwell at any length upon the thought of
the process by which this food of the world becomes ours, in this
sermon. But there are two points which perhaps may be regarded as
various aspects of one, on which I would like to say just a sentence or
two. Of course, the translation of the 'eating' of my text into
spiritual reality is simply that we partake of the food of our spirits
by the act of faith in Jesus Christ. But whilst that is so, let me put
emphasis, in a sentence, upon the thought that personal appropriation,
and making the world's food mine, by my own individual act, is the
condition on which alone I get any good from it. It is possible to die
of starvation at the door of a granary. It is possible to have a table
spread with all that is needful, and yet to set one's teeth, and lock
one's lips, and receive no strength and no gladness from the rich
provision. 'Eat' means, at any rate, incorporate with myself, take into
my very own lips, masticate with my very own teeth, swallow down by my
very own act, and so make part of my physical frame. And that is what we
have to do with Jesus Christ, or He is nothing to us. 'Eat'; claim your
part in the universal blessing; see that it becomes yours by your own
taking of it into the very depths of your heart. And then, and then
only, will it become your food.
And how are we to do that if, day in and day out, and week in and week
out, and year in and year out, with some of us, there be scarce a
thought turned to Him; scarce a desire winging its way to Him; scarce
one moment of quiet contemplation of these great truths. We have to
ruminate, we have to meditate; we have to make conscious and frequent
efforts to bring before the mind, in the first place, and then before
the heart and all the sensitive, emotional, and voluntary nature, the
great truths on which our salvation rests. In so far as we do that we
get good out of them; in so far as we fail to do it, we may call
ourselves Christians, and attend to religious observances, and be
members of churches, and diligent in good works, and all the rest of it,
but nothing passes from Him to us, and we starve even whilst we call
ourselves guests at His table.
Oh! the average Christian life of this day is a strange thing; very,
very little of it has the depth that comes from quiet communion with
Jesus Christ; and very little of it has the joyful consciousness of
strength that comes from habitual reception into the heart of the grace
that He brings. What is the good of all your profession unless it brings
you to that? If a coroner's jury were to sit upon many of us--and we are
dead enough to deserve it--the verdict would be, 'Died of starvation.'
'The meek shall eat,' but what about the professing Christians that feed
their souls upon anything, everything rather than upon the Christ whom
they say they trust and serve?
II. And now let me say a word, in the second place, about the rich
fruition of this feast.
'The meek shall be satisfied.' 'Satisfied!' Who in the world is? And if
we are not, why are we not? Jesus Christ, in the facts of His death and
resurrection--for His resurrection as well as His death are included in
the psalm--brings to us all that our circumstances, relationships, and
inward condition can require.
Think of what that death, as the sacrifice for the world's sin, does. It
sets all right in regard to our relation to God. It reveals to us a God
of infinite love. It provides a motive, an impulse, and a Pattern for
all life. It abolishes death, and it gives ample scope for the loftiest
and most exuberant hopes that a man can cherish. And surely these are
enough to satisfy the seeking spirit.
But go to the other end, and think, not of what Christ's work does for
us, but of what we need to have done for us. What do you and I want to
be satisfied? It would take a long time to go over the catalogue; let me
briefly run through some of the salient points of it. We want, for the
intellect, which is the regal part of man, though it be not the highest,
truth which is certain, comprehensive, and inexhaustible; the first, to
provide anchorage; the second, to meet and regulate and unify all
thought and life; and the last, to allow room for endless research and
ceaseless progress. And in that fact that the Eternal Son of the Eternal
Father took upon Himself human nature, lived, died, rose, and reigns at
God's right hand, I believe there lie the seeds of all truth, except the
purely physical and material, which men need. Everything is there; every
truth about God, about man, about duty, about a future, about society;
everything that the world needs is laid up in germ in that great gospel
of our salvation. If a man will take it for the foundation of his
beliefs and the guide of his thinkings, he will find his understanding
is satisfied, because it grasps the personal Truth who liveth, and is
with us for ever.
Our hearts crave, however imperfect their love may be, a perfect love;
and a perfect love means one untinged by any dash of selfishness,
incapable of any variation or eclipse, all-knowing, all-pitying,
all-powerful. We have made experience of precious loves that die. We
know of loves that change, that grow cold, that misconstrue, that may
have tears but have no hands. We know of 'loves' that are only a fine
name for animal passions, and are twice cursed, cursing them that give
and them that take. The happiest will admit, and the lonely will
achingly feel, how we all want for satisfaction a love that cannot fail,
that can help, that beareth all things, and that can do all things. We
have it in Jesus Christ, and the Cross is the pledge thereof.
Conscience wants pacifying, cleansing, enlightening, directing, and we
get all these in the good news of One that has died for us, and that
lives to be our Lord. The will needs authority which is not force. And
where is there an authority so constraining in its sweetness and so
sweet in its constraint as in those silken bonds which are stronger than
iron fetters? Hope, imagination, and all other of our powers or
weaknesses, our gifts or needs, are satisfied when they feed on Christ.
If we feed upon anything else it turns to ashes that break our teeth and
make our palates gritty, and have no nourishment in them. We shall be
'for ever roaming with a hungry heart' unless we take our places at the
feast on the one sacrifice for the world's peace.