1 Thess., iv., 17.
“So shall we ever be with the Lord.”
We read in the third chapter of Genesis of the introduction of death into our world—how sin alienated God from man and man from God, how those who had been endowed with the best faculties of enjoying bliss, who were surrounded by all desirable blessings, who dwelt beneath the bright sun of God’s favour, were by an act of unbelief and wilfulness, suggested by the evil one, driven angrily into the outer world, where toil, and pain, and manifold misery were thenceforth to be their lot.
We are sometimes tempted to think, that the actual punishment of our first parents was less than that they had been threatened with. “In the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die,” was God’s assurance; but when they ate they did not die,—as we account dying; they were but banished from the Garden of Eden, and prevented from returning, by cherubims who kept the entrance, and a flaming sword which turned every way. It was indeed a sad reverse—a wilderness instead of a garden—sorrow instead of joy—toil instead of rest—curses instead of blessings: but it was not the threatened death. They did not die.
So we are wont to think: but we err therein; they did die, brethren. This reverse was death. Death (what God means by death) is not annihilation—not ceasing to be; it is protracted existence apart from God, and the blessings of His right hand, and the light of His countenance. More truly did they die when they entered upon this state of existence, than when, hundreds of years afterwards, their bodies stiffened, and their breath ceased, and their flesh turned to corruption in the grave. It is a misconception—a practical unbelief of immortality, which makes us think otherwise. The soul does not perish—does not slumber; living once, it lives ever, and ever knows and feels its existence. The separation of it from the body alters its circumstances, uncasing it—depriving it of one of its appendages—breaking off its connexion with a material and natural world; but not destroying it. No; it lives on, and lives on (in its spiritual relations) as it did before, save that the withdrawal of bodily senses enables and obliges the spiritual senses to exercise themselves to the full, and so intensifies the feelings, and completes the realisation of the spiritual state.
Suppose that in the moment that Adam was driven out of Paradise, he had actually died, that his soul had been immediately separated from the body; what would have been the state of that soul? The same, really, as it was while he lived—banishment from the presence of God, with the consequent absence of what was desirable, and presence of what was hateful. He would have felt it more. Having nothing else to gaze on, the blankness of the spiritual world around him, save where evil spirits stood revealed, would have been more terrible. The desires would have been more intolerable when there was nothing to divert attention from them, and the constrained employments more distasteful. Hopelessness, too, of remedy in that fixed state, which is to have no change but that of increase throughout eternity, would have caused his death to appear a greater reality, but it would not have made it a greater reality. The continuance of bodily existence palliated death; a natural world spread before his eyes diverted his gaze from the spiritual “void”; natural pain even, and sorrow, and toil, beguiled his thoughts and feelings, in a measure, from spiritual miseries; but still he was dead, though he knew it not fully. His state was like to that of the child who sleeps calmly in the dark; but when it wakes, cries and starts in terror. There was darkness all along; but only when the eyes were opened was it fully perceived—felt.
Now, natural death is like this waking; it does not so much transfer us to another state, as show us clearly in what state we are; whether in the presence of God, or banished from Him. To be in outer darkness, where hope never comes, where the sun of heaven sends forth no rays; to be punished with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of His power, this is death completed. Surely, then, to be without God in the world; to be removed from His favouring, and comforting, and guiding presence; to live only in such unconscious dependence on Him as the beasts that perish; to have but the good things of our own finding; this is death begun: this is to have a name to live, and yet be dead, to be as really dead as are the spirits of the doomed-departed, except that we know not fully (which is part of death) the misery of our condition; and (blessed be God!) that we may as yet live again, and be restored to His presence, because Christ has opened the gates of Paradise, and bids His angels gently drive us in, if we will; yea, calls to us Himself, and entreats us to enter; to have again the condition—spiritualised, exalted, perfected—of unfallen Adam.
My brethren, thus think of death, and of life. Do not make so much of the heaving of the last sigh; the drawing of the last breath; as though the battle of life were fought, and the victory achieved on a death-bed; as though the soul began its banishment when it quits the body. Many, whose flesh has long since mouldered into dust, have never really died; and many, who still walk the earth, full of energy, and vigour, and what man calls life, are really dead. To live, is to be with God: to live for ever, is to be with God for ever. To die, is to be without God: to die for ever, is to be without God for ever. “If,” says Christ, “a man keep my sayings, he shall never see death.” “Whosoever liveth and believeth on me, shall never die.” “He that hath the Son hath life, and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life.”
I have said thus much to suggest to your consideration a very important, life-directing truth, viz.: that the heavenly life and the second death, both have their beginning on this side the grave; that God, for Christ’s sake, vouchsafes His presence, to those who seek and honour it, to guide, and comfort, and strengthen, and sanctify them; and where He is there is real life: on the other hand, that God withdraws Himself from those who disregard, or slight Him; and where He is not, there is death, the second death—capable, as yet, of being overcome, and put to an end; but more likely to prevail permanently in proportion as it is not felt; and even now working many of its miserable effects on all, not excepting the most hardened and apathetic who are subject to it. Try, dear brethren, to impress yourselves with this truth. Do not merely hope for eternal life, or fear the second death beyond the grave, after you die. Try to secure the one (the actual possession of it, I mean), and to avoid the other, in this life, by earnestly seeking and sustaining the real, the proffered presence with you, and in you, of the life-giving and upholding God.
But, there is a better presence, a more perfect life, spoken of in the text. To this I would refer, as furnishing truest consolation, exciting liveliest hopes, and stimulating to holiest exertions,—“eternal abode with God in heaven.” When the minister of Christ would comfort the mourning relatives of a departed saint, and, as the phrase is, improve the occasion to their good, he does not forbid them to feel and express sorrow, for he remembers that Christ wept at the tomb of Lazarus, but only charges them to set bounds to their sorrow, and prepare to stay it presently; because, it is merely a natural, and not a Christian feeling; because, if continued, it becomes a selfish, inconsiderate bemoaning of their personal loss; a virtual denial that the departed is at rest, and in bliss; a rejection of the hope that they shall meet again, in a better and abiding home. “So shall we ever be with the Lord.” What mean these words? We know in theory (many of us, let me hope, experimentally), what it is to be with God, or to have Him with us here. It is not simply to dwell in the same world with Him, near Him, close to Him, by His permission, under His observance and government, as the omnipresent God. No! it is not the necessary, but a special presence which we mean. A presence like that which accompanied the Israelites through the wilderness; which actually went with them, guided them, fed them, helped them in difficulties, reproved them in transgressions, interested Itself specially in their circumstances, and manifested that interest, not only by its doings, but by a sight of Itself in a pillar of fire, or a pillar of a cloud.
Again, like that presence, it is not constant; the pillar is sometimes withdrawn. There is, occasionally, no answer given by Urim and Thummim; we are left to fight, now and then, in our own strength only, and then we fail; we hunger, we thirst, and no Divine supply comes; we mourn, and there is no spiritual comfort; we murmur, and there is no reproof; we sin, and there is no chastisement: God, for the time, is absent from our camp.
Again, like that presence, it does not secure us from trials. We have long marches, and powerful adversaries; we journey on in perils in the wilderness, in perils of waters, in perils of robbers, in perils of our own countrymen (our fellow Christians), in perils by the heathen; in weariness and painfulness; in watchings often; in hunger and thirst; in fastings often; in cold and nakedness; in deaths oft. God, peradventure, is with us all the while; but it is through the world of tribulation He leads us, not by a miraculously smooth and safe path. His presence is manifested in occasional glimpses. His voice is heard in disjoined words. His arm is felt in intermittent upholdings. I cannot well picture this presence to those who have no experience of it; I need not do so to those who have realised it: but all may see that, in this lower world, we are not ever with the Lord in the fullest manifestation of His presence; in the constant upholding of His arm; in entire exemption from trials; in perfect fruition of blessings. That may not be on earth. The sun may lighten up our dark hovel; but it is a hovel still. Divine help may lessen our labour; but we must labour still. Divine consolation may soothe us in our losses; but we are to suffer losses still. Howsoever God be with us; whatsoever He does for us; the wilderness is still a wilderness.
But the wilderness has a limit; its limit is what we call death. To the faithful, that bourne is like the Jordan,—when they have crossed it, they shall be in the promised land, the land that floweth with milk and honey, where God’s abiding, glorious temple is set up; wherein there remaineth rest and joy for the people of God. Whoso entereth that land, shall be ever with the Lord, enjoying His most complete and satisfying presence. “Father, I will that those whom thou hast given me may be with me where I am, that they may behold my glory.” This prayer shall then be realised. They shall see the King in His beauty, and the land that is now afar off. There shall be no more curse; but the throne of God and of the Lamb shall be in their dwelling: they shall serve Him, and they shall see His face: with what feelings and emotions, at present we can form no adequate conceptions; but we know that it shall be with joy: that they shall love and praise Him; that it shall be their untiring, unalloyed delight to gaze upon His glory, to sing His praises, to share His love.
And they shall be like Him. As, in this world, they have borne the image of the earthly Adam, so, in that, they shall bear the image of the heavenly. That image, lost in the fall, must indeed begin to be resumed here in regeneration, and be more and more put on in life-long conversion to God. By contemplating Christ, and watching His countenance, as we are allowed to see it here, we must gradually assume His features, and be changed into His image. But we must see Him, not in faint resemblances, and bare outline, but as He is, before we can be wholly like Him. Then, but not before, shall we be transfigured, and glorified, and changed from glory to glory; body and spirit advancing in excellence, and intelligence, and love, and bliss, till they become what and as Christ is,—reaching unto the full stature of a man in Christ Jesus, satisfied with the perfect assumption of His likeness.
Yes, and as they gaze ever on Him, so shall He on them. No sin shall cause the Lord to hide His face from them; no discipline shall require His occasional withdrawal; no cloud shall obscure heaven’s sky; no frown shall be seen; no reproof heard. He shall not try them. Evil shall not approach to tempt them. A Saviour’s love shall surround them; not to carry them through a wilderness, not to keep them in tribulations, but to lead them beside the clear fountains of peace; to plant them all around His throne, where with eyes wiped of all tears, they shall feast on His presence, and, with adoring souls and bodies, rest in His love.
And shall not the sharing of this presence with others augment their bliss? We (they and us) shall be ever with the Lord. All the sons of God shall there meet together, and dwell with the Lord. Man, I need not tell you, is a social being: he is formed for company; he cannot be fully happy alone. It is by sharing his good things that he comes to enjoy them; it is by speaking of them, that he comes to feel them. (Would that Christians could be brought to act on this admitted truth, as Christians!) In this world there is no greater enjoyment than to associate with a band of fellow-countrymen, journeying towards the same place, with kindred tastes, and tempers, and hopes. Oh! what then shall be the blessedness of association in heaven with the whole body of the saints? Think of being associated in the presence, and favour, and adoration of God, with holy angels; with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob; with David, and Daniel, and Mary, and John, and Paul; and all the others whose praise is in the Gospel! Think of meeting, in heaven, with all the primitive Christians and martyrs; with all the perfected saints who once walked on earth with us; with our relatives, our parents, our brothers and sisters, our children, our bosom friends: to be re-united with them in bonds that shall never be broken; where all are happy; where every eye looks to Jesus, where every heart leaps to Him; each mouth is opened in His praise; each knee is bent in His adoration; where God is the centre and the circumference, and heaven the roof and the floor! And all this for ever—uninterrupted, unending, growing fresher, intensified, better appreciated by the rolling on of eternity. So shall we ever be with the Lord.
Bereaved Christian, as you gaze upon the vacant place of one who is in Paradise, advancing to this heaven, will you dare to sigh that the old armchair, or the little cradle, is unoccupied? Would you prefer for your loved one, as a better condition, that he or she should come back and share your sorrows, and difficulties, and perplexities, and be exposed to toil and contamination? Will your ingratitude think lightly of what God has done, and is doing, for the removed one? Will your selfishness (oh, if the dead should know of this!) demand—“Let me have my loved one’s company, though thereby that loved one lose God’s?” Oh! there is no religion, there is no human love, in the mourner who does not smile away the tears of worldly sorrow with the joy of this blessed consolation; who does not turn each thought of the righteous dead into a theme of praise for their deliverance; into a prayer, that he, too, may soon be added to the number of those who are ever with the Lord!
Christian pilgrim, journeying through the wilderness, footsore, beleaguered, stumbling, smitten, losing sight ever and anon of the guiding pillar, wandering out of the path, too often unsustained, uncomforted, do you fear death? Do you shudder at and flee from the sight of the Jordan through which angels wait to guide you; whose other bank is in heaven? Oh! how little do you think of God’s abiding presence! What a mere name is your love of Christ! How unreal was your professed affection for those who have gone before! How foolishly blind are you to your own best interests! What a sham is your so-called pilgrimage, your journey to a shrine which you fear to reach! What shall I say to those who wilfully linger in the wilderness, while the host passes on, and the night, with all its howling terrors, is at hand; to those who would turn back, and would cross again the Red Sea into Egypt, while the waves are prepared to overwhelm the Egyptians—in plain terms, to those who live not in God’s presence here, and seek not to have it hereafter? Shall I describe to you the positive horrors of hell; its gnawing worms, its devouring flames, its malignant frenzied spirits? No; I will but warn you, that you are fast approaching an outer darkness, where there is no enjoyment, no hope, no heaven, no Saviour, no God. Ye shall be for ever without the Lord.
Brethren, one and all, what shall we do to inherit the glorious, abiding presence of God? Oh! let us make much of the partial presence which is now within our reach. “Abide in me, and I in you,” says Christ. Let us live near to Him; let us live much in Him; let us live as He tells us. Contemplate we Him in His holy Word; pore over it day after day, till we see Him as in a glass; till His glory is reflected on us, and we shine with the glorious light. Watch we for Him in all our ways, listen for His voice, lean on His arm, fight in His strength. Feed we our desires with heavenly food; not the quails of our own lust, but the manna from heaven, and the water out of the rock; the bread and wine, which are meat indeed and drink indeed. Having this hope—desiring, that is, to be ever with Him—let us purify ourselves, even as He is pure, and study day by day to conform ourselves more and more to His pattern.
Yes; believe in heaven, desire heaven, live for heaven. As St. Peter says, “Add to your faith, virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity. For if these things be in you and abound, they make you that ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ; and so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly, into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”
I. Cor., xiii., 9
“We know in part.”
In one sense, the words of our text have been ever true, and ever shall be. Even in the Garden of Eden, when man possessed knowledge of such a kind, and to such a degree, as to be a feature of the moral likeness of God, there were still many things which he could not grasp, nor fathom, nor measure, and there were many others which the Divine will purposely kept unrevealed from him. And so too, hereafter, in heaven itself, the perfected finite being must necessarily fail to comprehend and scrutinize thoroughly the great infinite, and doubtless will be left uninformed of much that he could grasp, because the knowledge thereof will not concern his duty or his interest.
But, in another sense, man did once know, and shall again know, perfectly. In his unfallen state, God talked to him plainly, made His presence to be realised, in a way showed Himself as He is, that is, as He is in His relation to obedient and holy man, taught clearly the duty, and revealed the destiny and hopes of His creature. And, again, in heaven, though still dwelling in light which no one can approach to, though still the Invisible, Whom no man hath seen or can see, God shall yet be plainly reflected in His Son, the visible Deity with Whom the redeemed shall stand face to face, Whom they shall see and know even as now they are known by Him. And man, too, though still not omniscient, shall know thoroughly with whom he has to do; shall trace with easy clearness the path along which he has been led; shall realise his position and appropriate his privileges, and see even to the utmost his eternal future. This has been already, in a measure. This shall be hereafter entirely; but this is not now. “We know in part.”
When man sinned, the lamp of knowledge grew dim, and well nigh went out. God put a thick cloud between Him and His creature, and between that creature and the future; and around him and above him, for light He gave obscurity. But yet straightway of His compassion and love in Christ, He began to give back as with a slow hand, what He had suddenly withdrawn with a swift hand. A tiny spark was kindled, which was very gradually to be fanned into a little flame, and finally to burst out into a blaze, which should make all visible again. Yea, and more visible than at the first. You know how the grace of God—which made man at the first innocent, upright, and happy, with great power of understanding and free will—having been forfeited, was withdrawn, but yet began at once to be recommunicated—not immediately in its former perfection, but by little and little, and at slow paces; first, externally by the Spirit in the world; then, internally, by the Spirit of regeneration planted as a seed in each Christian’s heart, to be gradually developed into the blade, the ear, and, finally, the ripe corn in the ear, at the resurrection, the restoration to the full favour and realised presence of God.
This may explain to you how knowledge was reimparted. At first it was but a spark for the whole world; then it became a tiny flame, by which those near at hand might dimly see. Then a spark from it was struck into each Christian mind, which may be, and is to be gradually fanned up in him, revealing more and more what is in him, and about him, and before him, till in heaven it bursts out into a full flame, showing all things clearly. Into each of us this spark has been struck; in each of us it is to be fostered, and fed, and developed; to exhibit more and more what God is, and does; what we are, and have, and hope for, till we come unto perfect knowledge, and see all clearly. Men of the patriarchal age had but the one spark among them. The Jews had this spark become a little flame; and some of them, as David, Solomon, and Daniel, had each a torch lighted from it, and held near at hand to them, as by a guardian angel. We Christians, I say, have each in us a spark kindled. If we feed and fan it, it becomes a flame; and according as we feed and fan it, grows brighter and larger, and extends nearer and nearer to that point, where it shall unite with others, and light up heaven with an eternal blaze. Thus do we know, all of us in part, but not all equally, some less, some more, according to our measure, and according as we guard and tend it, and all imperfectly, because the time and place of perfection are not yet.
“We know in part.” Now, one of the most important thoughts which this text suggests is, that we Christians all have to some extent the privilege of spiritual knowledge, and consequently, we all have resting upon us, the responsibility of maintaining and increasing knowledge. You all, brethren, know in part. I do not mean merely that you have the instinct and intelligence which certain sagacious animals of the lower creation have, nor yet that by natural conscience, the embers of the primeval spiritual fire, you are enabled dimly to discern between right and wrong, to perceive that there is a power above you, and an immortal future before you: I mean, that you all as Christians are partakers of a new gift of knowledge—that you have within you, as one of the ordinary graces of the Spirit of regeneration in Christ, that Spirit which was given to guide men unto all truth, to convince of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment; the faculty of knowing spiritual things—a faculty to be sustained in appointed ways, and to be exercised upon the revelations of knowledge contained in the Word of God.
I shall not stay to prove this; you know that since in Christ all is quickened, which died in Adam, knowledge must be revived. You know that the Spirit of Christ is frequently spoken of as the Imparter of light to all whom He visits; that the coming of Christ to men, externally even, as a teacher, took away all cloak and excuse for ignorance and sin; that to sin after receiving the Spirit, is to sin against the knowledge of the truth, knowledge attainable, if not attained; that under the Gospel dispensation, the servant who knows not his Master’s will, is nevertheless to be beaten if he transgresses it, because he might and should have known it; that to remain ignorant is to bring upon us judicial ignorance; that from him that hath not (that acts, i.e., as though he had not), from him shall be taken away even that he hath; that the light within us, if treated as darkness, will become the greatest and most terrible darkness. You know, too, that we are commanded to increase and improve this gift, to grow in knowledge, to walk in the light; and you know how to do it, by asking wisdom of God, by heeding what the Spirit says, and by searching the Scriptures, the source of spiritual knowledge. We all know—that is, we all have the power of knowing—we all are required to know, we shall all be judged as those who know, and we shall all be rewarded according to our use or abuse, our growth, or falling off in knowledge.
Now, is not this a solemn thought? Does not it exhibit to us a great responsibility? Does not it speak stern reproof to our frequent and willing ignorance? How little are many of us acquainted with God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. What little knowledge have we, and do we seek to have, of Providence, of grace, of moral discipline, of duty, of prospects, hopes and fears, of spiritual succour and spiritual assaults of time and eternity, of probation and judgment, of heaven and hell. Is there any other subject of which the vast majority of us are so ignorant, and so contentedly or carelessly ignorant, as of that which God has made so easy to learn, and has so imperatively required us to learn, the knowledge of Him, of ourselves, and of His dealings with us, revealed to us in the Bible, to be discerned by the Spirit within us?
Year after year passes away, and we realise no more, and feel no more what God is, what we are, what we have to do, and why, and what awaits us. Chapter after chapter of the Bible is read, or heard again and again, and what we did not understand at first, we still do not understand; what we did not feel at first, we still do not feel. Sermon after sermon is preached, and our stock of knowledge after all is just as much (is it always this?) as was forced upon us at school, or in preparation for confirmation and first communion. Restless and ever on the move in all other respects, we are content to stand still here; ay, and if the preacher strives to lead us on, by unfolding some great spiritual truth as far as he can, by exhibiting and explaining some difficult doctrine more fully than usual, too often we withhold the attention which we usually give him, and after he has done, not unfrequently condemn his pains, and exclaim against his learned and abstruse sermon.
Is not it so? Are not there many who cannot recollect a time when they had less spiritual perception than they have now, and who therefore are witnesses to themselves that they have not grown in knowledge? Are not there many who are less acquainted with the Bible than with any other book that has come into their hands? Are not there many who, while they may have familiarised themselves with the history, the geography, the anecdotes so to speak of Holy Scripture, and the fanciful, often daring, interpretations of unfulfilled prophecy, yet know comparatively nothing of what God is to them, what they are to God, what is required of them, and what is promised or threatened?
Oh! brethren, how and why is this? How is it that the Object of supreme love and fear is to us but a shadowy and unintelligible name? How is it that we have no perception of the ever-present, ever-speaking, ever-acting, all-important Spirit? How is it that we have no intelligent or inquiring thought of the heaven which we are bidden to seek, and of the hell which we have to avoid; of the Master we are bound to serve; of the business to which life is an apprenticeship; of the race in which we are runners; of the warfare which we are enlisted to wage; the weapons to be used; the mode of fighting; the field of battle; the foes we are opposed to; the punishment of desertion: the reward of constancy; the prospects of victory; the perils of defeat? Is not it that we are not impressed with the responsibility of having this gift of knowledge? with the peril of folding up in a napkin a precious talent given us to use and improve? Is not it that we do not think seriously of the existence of God, of the possession of His Spirit, of the reality of heaven and hell, of the obligations of Christian service, of spiritual helps, and difficulties, and perils? Is not it that we have not (which means that we do not seek) that faith which is the substance of things hoped for, and the evidence of things not seen, enabling us to realise and grasp, as though it were a substance, that which is as yet but future; and to behold plainly, with the eye of faith, that which to natural sense is not perceptible?
Have but this faith, and you will soon add to it knowledge. Concern yourselves about God only as much as you would about the man with whom you have most to do in life, and from whom you have most to expect or fear; treat religion as you would the business by which you are to sustain natural life, and to make or mar your temporal fortune; and then interest and desire (as much and more than duty) will impel you to use every effort to acquaint yourselves thoroughly with God; to understand the working and unravel the mysteries of religion; to ascertain all particulars about what you have to hope for or fear—heaven and hell—angels and demons—the Holy Ghost—and the spirit of evil. Deeper and deeper will you drink of the well of knowledge; and each deep and frequent draught will but quicken your thirst and impel you to drink again.
But take care not to err in the other extreme: we know in part, and are always to know in part only. Our knowledge of allowed and enjoined things, though ever increasing, shall never be perfect on this side of the grave. We are to augment it as much as we can, but we must stand really face to face with Christ, before we see Him as He is. Our grossness must be refined, our souls and minds wholly transformed, and our bodies glorified, before we can fully perceive and appreciate the Holy Spirit. We must be in heaven to know thoroughly what heaven is. We must have Christ for our audible teacher, and angels for our prompting fellow scholars, and the eternal records for our books, and all time spread out before us as a map, before we can learn perfectly, what we are to spend this life and exercise the Spirit of knowledge in acquiring in part. And even then, as I said before, there are things which we shall not be able to grasp, or fathom, or perceive thoroughly. We shall never see God the Father visibly; we shall never comprehend altogether a Being without beginning or end; we shall never be omniscient or omnipresent. God will treat us as trusty and privileged friends, and reveal to us much that is not revealed here, and give us new powers of understanding it. But He will not open to us all the workings of the Divine mind. He will not transform us into gods, nor even into angels. We shall still be finite human beings, of limited understanding and limited knowledge. The things which concern us we shall know fully; the things which concern us not, we shall not know; just as the angels desired once to look into, but were not able, the mysteries (which did not concern them) of our redemption.
Well, then, if there is to be holy ground in heaven, which we must not tread on with the shoes of idle curiosity; if there is to be there a bush behind which we must not look; if even then there shall be secret things which belong only to God, and which we must not pry into; how much more so here and now! How necessary to remember that we are to know only in part; that we are not to seek to be wise above what is written; that, respecting mysteries which concern not us, it is distinctly charged: “Draw not nigh hither”!
When God puts forth and reveals His arm, He proves to us, indeed, that there is more of Him that is not revealed; but it is profane to demand that it should be revealed. When He tells us, that the world was created so many thousand years ago, He proves that it was not before then; but He does not permit us to inquire, what was then? When He tells us, that He made all good, and that the devil introduced evil, He does it not that we should inquire subtilly into the origin of evil. We are to study what is revealed, and not what is hidden. Where did God exist before the worlds were made? What is existence without beginning? How was matter produced out of nothing—evil out of good? How is it possible for God to have His will, and man his? Why did not God prevent evil? Why does He now tolerate it? Why were fallen angels not redeemed? Why is man not perfected without trial? How can finite beings be infinitely rewarded or punished? These, and the thousand other curious questions, which perverse man is ever asking, are inquiries which He forbids and baffles—which we may be sure provoke His displeasure.
Check we, then, brethren, our wandering fancies, by the thought that we are to know only in part; and that the only part which we are to know is, that which concerns our duty, and hopes, and fears; and our intelligent service and worship of Him. There is no better sacrifice to God than that of curbed idle curiosity. There is no better discipline than that which requires us to trust in what we can only imperfectly comprehend. There is no surer test of our earnestness about salvation, than the ready renunciation of unnecessary inquiry, and the steady, concentrated effort to understand that which was revealed to be understood.
Proverbs, xxviii., 13.
“He that covereth his sins shall not prosper.”
Sin unconfessed is sin unforgiven. He who has not brought himself to the approved publican’s mind, and with that publican’s deep, heartfelt humiliation and self-abhorrence, poured out the contrite entreaty, “God be merciful to me a sinner;” he who, as he stands or kneels before the throne of grace, is not emptied of self-justification—is not convinced that mercy alone can save him—is not eager to embrace the only proffered propitiation of rebels and outcasts (that afforded by the Son of obedience and love), is still in the depths of iniquity—still under the condemnation of the law: “The soul that sinneth, it shall die.” Nor even if he has this general sense (and confesses it) of sinfulness and unworthiness, is he much nearer to pardon and justification unless, besides, by diligent self-searching he has found out wherein he is a sinner and unworthy, and, like penitent David, makes mention before God of every ascertained act, and word, and thought of offence; every omission, every transgression, and prays for power to know himself better, that he may confess himself the more fully.
I need not stay to prove to you that all this is required. There are many precepts and many examples in the Bible, which set forth clearly the necessity of both general acknowledgment of sinfulness, and also special confession of particular sins to God, as preliminary to pardon.
And we may easily see why it is so. All things are indeed naked and open unto the eyes of Him with whom we have to do; and He, therefore, needs no informing of our circumstances, our wants and feelings, our griefs and burthens. But, by a rule of His own establishing, He does not bless us in providence or grace, unless we ask for the blessing, and assure Him that we should appreciate it. When of His free love He had designed to bestow great things on the Israelites, and had even commissioned His prophets to make known the intention, He, nevertheless, restrained the flow of His bounty by the condition, “I will yet for this be inquired of by the house of Israel, to do it for them.” [65] He would have men realise that they wanted the blessing; and He would have them acknowledge their dependence on Him for the bestowal of it.
And if this feeling, this acknowledgment and supplication were required even when, if I may so speak, He longed to confer the gift, and was standing with it ready in His stretched out hand, how much more requisite must they be when His face is averted, and His heart displeased; when it is His wrath, rather than His love, which is made ready to reveal itself, and will presently reveal itself, unless it is deprecated and propitiated, and His love won back? Yes, surely, in such a case, we must arise and go to Him, like the prodigal, acknowledging that we are not worthy to be called His children. We must smite upon our breasts, like the publican, and cry out of our distress, “God be merciful to me a sinner.” We must win His general sympathy by the manifestation of our contrition; we must tell Him, one by one, of the items of offence which, of His mercy in Christ, we would have Him blot out of the great book of His remembrance; and not visit with His threatened vengeance.
We can have little fear of His offended justice, if we do not thus guard against every particular exercise of it. We can have but little appreciation of His pardoning grace, if we will not be at the trouble of telling Him when and for what we want it. And we can have but little sense of His awful holiness, if—all unclean, and able only to be cleansed by Him in answer to our entreaty, and on the showing of our stains—we yet approach Him, and expect to be tolerated in His presence, unconcernedly defiled, and in filthy rags. “Ask, and ye shall have.” “He that covereth his sins shall not prosper.” “When I kept silence, my bones waxed old through my roaring all the day long. For day and night Thy hand was heavy upon me. . . . I acknowledged my sin unto Thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; and Thou forgavest the iniquity of my sin. For this shall every one that is godly pray unto Thee in a time when Thou mayest be found.” [67]
And there is a gracious purpose, a merciful regard for the sinner’s best interests, in this imposed law of general and particular confession. The offering of frequent confession will keep a man mindful of his state before God. It will lead him to consider what he has to confess; and so, through self-searching, he will come to self-knowledge: and the act of describing each sin to God will operate in representing that sin faithfully to the sinner; so that the very ordinance, which is properly the acknowledgment before God of sins realised, regretted, and forsaken, will often serve to show the sinner, for the first time, the sin which he has to repent of and forsake.
And one other benefit will surely arise from this exercise, namely, that the sinner will be deterred from a fresh commission of that confessed sin; that, having ascertained what are his evil propensities, what are the weak points in which Satan successfully assails him, he will be more on his guard against lapses, and wanderings, and defeats. He will nerve himself, and fight more certainly; “not as one that beateth the air.” He will seek to be better covered with the armour of God, and grasp more resolutely the sword of the Spirit. He will go forth conquering and to conquer.
To obtain pardon, then, for past sins, it is necessary (in accordance with God’s law) to confess them. To know ourselves, our difficulties, failures, trials from within and without; to shame ourselves out of sin, and to guide and encourage us to victory over it, it is expedient (and God has mercifully required it) that we should tell out before Him, ever and anon, all that we can rake up against ourselves; and not present even that as a total, but beg Him to add to it the secret things, in which we offend without knowing it. “Who can tell how oft he offendeth? O, cleanse Thou me from my secret faults.”
Alas! my brethren, how high is the standard! How far do many of us fall short of it! Where, among the frequenters of the temple, are the abashed, and humbled, and contrite penitents, proclaiming their sinfulness, and imploring pardon: “God be merciful to me a sinner”? Where, among professed Christians, are the imitators of David, communing with, searching out their spirit in the night season, rising early, to tell out with sighs and pangs each sin that they can discover; each renewal of it; each thought of it? But an hour since, we all joined, or professed to join, in words of general confession. Who felt and abashed themselves as sinners? Who really confessed any sin to God? Presently, some of us will take part in a more solemn form, and draw nearer still to a present God, seeking most intimate communion with Him. What sins are we going to confess, and pray to be relieved from? How much of self-abasement and contrition shall we take with us to the foot of the altar? No further back than yesterday each one of us sinned in thought, in word, or in deed; perhaps, in all three, How many of us brought those sins to remembrance, last night or this morning, by self-examination, and confessed them, and with contrition sought pardon of them? Which of us has done this, and is wont to do it, whenever wrong has been done, or right omitted? Remember, there is no forgiveness, there is no favour with God, nor hope of heaven without it. There is no knowledge of self, no perception of danger from without, no spiritual progress. He that covereth his sin shall not and cannot prosper. He walketh independently, ungratefully, rebelliously—in his own way; and the end of that way is death.
My brethren, think of these things; think of your imperative duty, and your sovereign interest; and let close self-examination, honest, heartfelt, contrite confession, be your frequent and diligent exercise. Every morning settle what you have to do and avoid; every evening consider what you have done and omitted, and lay the account religiously before God. Daily dress and undress your souls. Cleanse yourselves of what is amiss by confession and repentance. Prepare yourselves for future success, by the examination of past failures. You cannot approach God: He will not approach you (but for judgment), unless you have thus purified yourselves, and put off the things that defile holy ground.
Thus much by way of reminder and entreaty respecting confession to God, general and particular. But the question is asked in these days, and being asked should not be left unanswered, whether, in any case, and if so, in what, confession should also be made to any other than God?—whether it is ever needful, or expedient, to uncover our sins, and make known our spiritual burthens to our fellow man?
Now, any mindful reader of the Bible must be ready at once to answer that, on Divine authority, it is sometimes necessary, and often expedient. When we have injured another, by word or deed; when we have defrauded him, misled him, maligned him; provoked him to anger or displeasure, or only in some secret way harmed him; we must, as a foremost duty, go and acknowledge our fault, and obtain his forgiveness, or at least leave nothing undone to obtain it. The rash striker, the undutiful child, the dishonest tradesman, the unfaithful servant, the seducer into any sin, the scandalmonger, the slanderer, the base supplanter, the peacebreaker, may not atone for their offences, may not have remission from God, but by the consent, or at least after the sought consent, of the person offended against (which, of course, implies previous acknowledgment and confession of the offence). “If thou bring thy gift to the altar,”—i.e., if thou approachest God in any way, to serve Him, or to seek His blessing—“and there rememberest that thy brother hath aught against thee; Leave there thy gift before the altar,”—stop at the threshold of God’s presence—“and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift.” [71] And if the offence has been a public one, to the scandal, or detriment, or provocation of a community, the confession, too, must be public; so that St. Paul, writing to the Corinthians, commands that such an offender should be publicly censured, and put away from among them; and implies, that he is not to be considered restored to the privileges of a Christian, until the community, satisfied that he is penitent, shall pronounce his forgiveness, and confirm their love towards him.
In obedience to this Scripture rule, the ministers of our Church are ordered to admit no notorious evil liver, nor any that has done wrong to his neighbour in word or deed, to holy communion; until, if he be an open offender, he has openly declared himself to have truly repented (in some such form as that of the Commination Service); or, if he be a private injurer, until he has recompensed the parties to whom he has done wrong. This discipline is not indeed enforced (as it should be) by man. Sinners and saints mingle together in the Lord’s house, and alike partake outwardly of the tokens of spiritual approval and blessing: but, assuredly, God, who is true, maintains jealously what man neglects; and refuses with displeasure the offerings of the violators and despisers of His law. Ay, and moreover places a firm and impassable barrier of excommunication between Him and them, which shall not be removed till the appointed reconciliation with man has been made. In such cases, then, confession to man, to the injured or offended, is necessary by the ordinance of God.
In many other cases it is expedient, we might even say enjoined, since inspired precepts recommend it. When, for instance, the burthened conscience needs the sympathy, the advice, the prayers of others to lighten it. “Confess your faults one to another, and pray one for another, that ye may be healed.” [72a] Or when, again, the present consequences of a past sin can only be removed by the active assistance of others, as when Achan was bidden by Joshua—“My son, give, I pray thee, glory to the Lord God of Israel, and make confession unto Him; and tell me now what thou hast done; hide it not from me.” [72b] In this latter case, God had signified that Achan was the offender who had provoked His wrath against Israel; and Joshua, the ruler of Israel, rightly demanded what was the offence, that he might know how to do away with it.
Whenever, then, you feel spiritual perplexity, heaviness of soul which you cannot relieve, faintness of heart, need of consolation or help in prayer, you may and should make known your circumstances to some pious and wise Christian or Christians, able and willing to advise, to succour, to intercede for you. And whenever you cannot undo the consequences of your sin without the active assistance of others, you are bound to take to you partners in the work, and to communicate freely to them what you have done, and wish undone.
It is not easy for me to say—your own feelings will guide you best in such a matter—what confessor you should choose. In some cases a parent would be the most fitting, or a bosom friend; in others, a stranger, or slight acquaintance; in some cases, again, a person of your own age and circumstances; in others, a senior, or a superior. But if these fail to serve and relieve you, then, in all cases, should you avail yourselves of the ordinance of God, and choose out your spiritual guide from among those whom He has specially appointed to teach, and to console, and to intercede. First, be sure that you cannot help yourselves, because God has imposed upon you an individual responsibility, and entrusted to you powers of soul and mind which you may not neglect to exercise. Then, if you fail, go, call to yourselves that aid which seems best in itself, and can be secured with least violence to your natural feelings, and least injury to your social character and position. If that does not avail, then betake yourselves to the ministers of religion, in the hope, nay, with the assurance, that even if their learning, their habitual examination of human nature’s wants and failings, their experience and interest in soul-work, should, after all, leave them insufficient guides and helpers, still God, to Whom in the person of His representatives you have thus come, will not let you depart without a blessing, but will send down from heaven itself His light, and comfort, and effectual strength.
One of two objections to this teaching may present itself to some of those who hear me. Some of you, my brethren, may be ready to assert, that human aid is not wanted in such circumstances; and others, that to seek it of the clergy is to draw near to the error and corrupt superstition of the Romanists.
To the first, I would simply answer, that they cannot really know much of spiritual life, if they suppose that he who would lead such a life can always get on without external help, and that they are little acquainted with God’s mysterious ways, if they do not know that He ever works by agents, in the religious and the moral, as well as in the physical world. For their enlightenment, let them inquire of the eminently spiritual, or the marvellously reformed, and they will assuredly find, that human helps and sympathies have formed many steps of the ladder by which these have climbed so high towards heaven.
The other objectors merit a longer answer, because the charge they make is a serious one; not only affecting individuals, but casting a blot upon the good fame of our Church itself, which unmistakeably teaches and recommends, in special cases, the use of human and clerical confessors.
My dear brethren, let me ask you to bear with me patiently. I have no party motives to serve, nor party prejudices to indulge; God is my witness I reluctantly speak to you on this subject. I am only induced to do so by the consideration that, when a religious question is agitated out of doors, it is the minister of God’s bounden duty to take it up in the pulpit, and exhibit it, as far as he can, in scriptural light, keeping aloof alike from prejudging approval, and from capricious and worldly condemnation of the thing maintained. “The priest’s lips should keep knowledge, and they should seek the law at his mouth.” [75]
What, then, first, is the Romish use of confession? Every lay member of the Church of Rome is obliged, at stated times, to make a full and particular confession to a priest, of every sin, of every kind, that he or she can call to remembrance. No matter, that they are repented of and confessed to God; no matter, that the way of escape from them is plain; that they have been escaped from; out they must come, with all their preceding, accompanying, and following circumstances; without reserve of any kind. If but a thought of sin be kept back; if the priest but fancy that something is kept back; excommunication is pronounced, and the offender, or supposed offender, is cut off from all means of grace. [76] And the doctrine which guides this practice is, that no sin is ever forgiven by God, unless it has first been confessed to a priest; and that, even then, though its eternal punishment is remitted by their giving of absolution, works of penance must be performed on its account, or a longer or shorter period of suffering in purgatory will have to be endured.
Such is Rome’s course. I need scarcely tell you, that our Church, in condemning the “sacrament” of penance, and denying the existence of a purgatory, has swept away the only pretences on which such a prying, unscriptural, and most mischievous confessional could be maintained.
But, still, the Church of England has a doctrine and a practice of confession. In the exhortation to holy communion, it is enjoined, “If there be any of you, who by this means,” (self-examination) “cannot quiet his own conscience herein, but requireth further comfort or counsel, let him come to me, or to some other discreet and learned minister of God’s word, and open his grief, that by the ministry of God’s holy word, he may receive the benefit of absolution, together with ghostly counsel and advice, to the quieting of his conscience, and avoiding of all scruple and doubtfulness.” And in the Order of the Visitation of the Sick it is directed: “Here shall the sick person be moved to make a special confession of his sins, if he feel his conscience troubled with any weighty matter.” And let it not be said, that these are Romish elements in a “tesselated ritual.” The exhortation is a Protestant composition; and the words that make it imperative on us to move every sick person we visit to a special confession, if he needs it, were added at the last review of the Prayer-Book.
What, then, is the sum of Church teaching? Men are to confess their sins to God alone, with a view to pardon and religious homage. (In certain cases, they are advised to seek assurance of absolution from the clergy. I dwell not on this now, because I purpose, God willing, to give the subject full consideration on an early occasion. [77]) When they find this confession sufficient to procure spiritual peace and amendment of life, they need not, and ought not, to make known their faults to others. They are not to make their ministers partakers of the thoughts and secrets of their breasts; they are not to look to them for pardon; they are not to get rid of their responsibility to God, by accepting penance at man’s hand; they are not to seek direction from a priest, in the ordinary ways of life; they are not to submit themselves to close catechisings, and prying investigations. But they are, when in doubt, in difficulty, in overwhelming grief, in all circumstances of spiritual helplessness, so to reveal their lives and open their thoughts to a spiritual officer, that he may, out of the treasure of his knowledge and experience, and by virtue of his commission as a minister of holy things, direct, and comfort, and strengthen them, more really and effectually than he can in public sermons, from mere guessing at their condition. When the public ministry suffices for them, let them seek no more; when they need, likewise, private ministry, by all means let them demand it: the Church binds us to render what they ask.
This kind of confession has the hearty approval of spiritual men of all ages, and all shades of theological opinion. All our reformers urged it. Luther said he would rather lose a thousand worlds than suffer private confession to be thrust out of the Church. Calvin exhorted all who thought they would be benefitted by it, to use it readily, and showed them, by precise rules, how to do so. Puritans of old, so-called evangelical ministers of our day—presbyterians, anabaptists, wesleyans, independents, all maintain and practise it now, though sometimes under other names—“consultation,” “history of conversion,” “detailing of experiences.” Richard Baxter’s characteristic words, exhibiting the true spirit of Church teaching, and showing how nonconformists cling to it in this case, are specially worthy of full recital.
“I know,” he writes, “some will say, that it is near to Popish auricular confession, which I here persuade Christians to; and it is to bring Christians under the tyranny of the priests, and make them acquainted with all men’s secrets, and masters of their consciences. To the last, I say—to the railing devil of this age—no more, but the Lord rebuke thee. If any minister have wicked ends, let the God of heaven convert him, or root him out of His Church, and cast him among the weeds and briers. But is it not the known yoke of sensuality to cast reproaches upon the way and ordinances of God? Who knoweth not, that it is the very office of the ministry, to be teachers and guides to men in matters of salvation, and overseers over them. . . . I am confident, many a thousand souls do long strive against anger, lust, blasphemy, worldliness, and trouble of conscience, to little purpose, who, if they would but have taken God’s way, and sought out for help, and opened all their case to their minister, they might have been delivered in a good measure long ago. And for Popish confession, I detest it: we would not persuade men that there is a necessity of confessing every sin to a minister before it can be pardoned. Nor do we it in a perplexed formality only at one time of the year, nor in order to Popish pardons or satisfactions; but we would have men go for physic to their souls, as they do for their bodies, when they feel they have need. And let me advise all Christian congregations to practise this excellent duty more. See that you knock oftener at your pastor’s door, and ask his advice in all your pressing necessities. Do not let him sit quiet in his study for you: make him know by experience, that the tenth part of a minister’s labour is not in the pulpit.”
One more quotation: it will be heard with respect when I tell you it is from the Bishop of Lincoln’s sermons on repentance: “As ministers should be, by their profession, usually the best advisers in cases of conscience, and are, or ought to be, every penitent’s ready and sympathising friends, so to them the stricken or perplexed soul will often have recourse. And thus, there is a sense in which those dreaded words, ‘confession to the priest,’ (in one sense, justly dreaded, for the iniquity of ages is upon them) may express an edifying practice, and even at times a duty.” [80]
Thus, my brethren, have I endeavoured to set before you, the true merits of the question, “Ought man to confess to man?” to remind you what is required, what is allowed and recommended, what is forbidden by Scripture, and the Witness and Keeper of Scripture, the Church. Endeavour, all of you, to learn from the subject, charity and wisdom. If you feel that you need not this use of confession, thank God for your easy circumstances; but, blame not, and, above all, dare not to ridicule, those who have need. If you want it, by all means seek it; we may not refuse it. To all of you, I would say, at all times regard your clergyman as indeed an appointed spiritual friend and adviser, and so make use of him; but, especially in sickness, when you call him to your bedside, so far, at least, admit him to your confidence, and enlighten him with respect to your spiritual state, that his instruction may be pointed, and his prayers appropriate; and so his visits blessed. Oh! look not upon us as mere Sunday lecturers, or mechanical readers of prayers, in whom you have no week-day interest, and from whom no benefit is to be derived, but what may be had in church. Degrade not our office, nor ignore our authority, nor slight our willingness to use both for your temporal and eternal good. Nor, on the other hand, exalt us to the false position of spiritual despots—lords of men’s consciences; idols occupying the place of God. Ministers we are; servants of Christ; and your servants for His sake. Make use of our ministry as a ministry, and doubt not but God will then make it profitable to you, and accomplish by it, all the ends for which He appointed it.