Title: Plain Sermons, preached at Archbishop Tenison's Chapel, Regent Street. Second Series
Author: James Galloway Cowan
Release date: December 29, 2021 [eBook #67036]
Most recently updated: October 18, 2024
Language: English
Credits: Transcribed from the 1860 William Skeffington edition by David Price. Many thanks to the British Library for making their copy available
Transcribed from the 1860 William Skeffington edition by David Price. Many thanks to the British Library for making their copy available.
PREACHED AT
ARCHBISHOP TENISON’S CHAPEL,
REGENT STREET.
BY
JAMES GALLOWAY COWAN,
MINISTER.
Second Series.
LONDON:
WILLIAM SKEFFINGTON, 163, PICCADILLY
1860.
Plain Sermons, preached at Archbishop Tenison’s Chapel, Regent Street. Fcap. cloth, price 3s. 6d.
Philippians, iv., 5, 6.
The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.
“The Lord is at hand.” It is doubtful whether this admonition is designed to recommend the foregoing precept, “Let your moderation be known unto all men,” or whether it introduces and enforces the injunction, “Be careful for nothing.” It may well do both: on the one hand, exhorting the disciples to lead (and that manifestly) an unworldly life, seeing they were so shortly to be taken out of the world; and, on the other hand, cheering them in their sorrows, suppressing their anxieties and quickening their faith, by the remembrance, that comfort, and peace, and perfect bliss would soon be theirs—“The Lord is at hand.”
The second advent of our Lord was always in the mind of the apostles. It is thought that they even counted upon its literal occurrence in their lifetime, as though the prophecies of it were among the things to be fulfilled before that generation passed away. Without subscribing to this view, against which many objections may be taken, it may be readily admitted that, as they were uncertain how soon it might happen, as they had no ground for concluding that it would not be in their time, so they rightly laboured to impress upon the disciples its possible, if you will its probable nearness. Besides, they knew that, virtually, it would be soon: for if Christ came not speedily in the flesh, speedily they would be called out of the flesh to Him, and then would cease the pleasures and cares of this world, and then would begin the possession and enjoyment of things eternal. How necessary then, that they who were but pilgrims and strangers here, living a life that was soon to be ended and accounted for, should be warned against excess of worldliness, against building houses where they were but permitted to pitch tents, against turning aside out of the path of pilgrimage, and wasting or abusing the time for journeying! How cheering, too, for those who were perplexed, or burthened, or afflicted, to be reminded that perplexity, and toil, and grief were only passing clouds, and mere inconveniences by the way—that soon they should be rid of them altogether, and should only be allowed to remember them to magnify their appreciation of attained rest and glory! And here let me observe, that the admonition “Be careful for nothing,” is not in this place a reproof of the worldling, coming across him in the path of mammon worship, of earthly aggrandisement, of forgetfulness of eternity, of God, of heaven, but is rather a consolation, an encouragement, for those, who while walking, or endeavouring to walk, in the right way, are depressed and hindered by trials, and perplexities, and afflictions. There are cares which man makes for himself, for which he is to be blamed, whereof he deserves to eat the bitter fruit. There are other cares which he suffers involuntarily, which God imposes upon him as discipline, which Satan thrusts upon him as temptations. With regard to the last, the Christian’s cares, St. Paul offers advice and consolation, saying in effect—Sink not beneath them, poor pilgrim; groan not on account of them; let them not distract your aims and desires from the right object of solicitude and hope. Weigh them in the right scales against the glories that are coming, and they will surely be found light. Measure them beside the joys of eternity, and they will be seen to be brief and transitory. “The Lord is at hand” to relieve you of them all, at His second advent, by the unclothing of death, by carrying you to Paradise. Be comforted, rejoice, rouse ye, and, without distraction, pursue your hopeful course. “Be careful for nothing.”
We know the force of such an exhortation in earthly things. We know by experience how light is the labour which leads to rest, how possible it is to smile through present tears at the prospect of coming joy; what pains, and self-denials, and dangers, and encounters, are readily embraced by those whom ambition prompts, and approval cheers, and reward awaits. Nothing is too hard to bear, nothing too dear to relinquish, nothing too formidable to meet, nothing too much to do; the hands that hung down are lifted up, the sorrow is banished, the toil becomes pleasure, we rush to the fight, we delight in the race, forgetting the past, disregarding the present, hastening onward to the future, the rest, the victory, the prize, the glory. It is easy, then—not altogether, but comparatively—to obey the precept, “Be careful for nothing” in view of the prospect, “The Lord is at hand.”
But, after all, I cannot but think that something better than a prospect is hinted at in the text. The apostle goes on to urge, “In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.” He does not say, “Make light of present cases, on account of coming consolation.” He does not bid the downcast lift up their eyes to the hills, whence by and by cometh their help. It is not “Bear, endure, encounter in hope,” but, “Get rid of what burthens you, by laying it upon Him, Who is near, by your side now, to take it. Be careful for nothing; put every care upon God (the Lord who is at hand to take it), by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving.” I say this is something better than a prospect; better, because of its superior influence, and better, because of the immediate relief. The teaching of Advent, all important as it is, too often affects but little such poor creatures of the present as we are. We are exhorted to look back to the first coming of Christ, to see what He suffered and did for us, what a foundation He laid for us to build on. We are exhorted to look forward to the second advent, to consider what Christ will do, to anticipate the glorious completion of us in Him as the building of God. We obey, and we are moved to faint gratitude for the one, to faint hope of the other. The retrospect and the prospect considered, we both see from what rock we were hewn, and into how beautiful a fabric we shall be fashioned; and, unless we are very incapable of feeling, in the view of past and future, we strive to accept thankfully and to sanctify duly the present. But, oh! how little constraining is the influence of a Saviour who once visited the earth, of a Judge who shall by and by visit it! How dim is the remembrance of long past mercies! how distant is the prospect of heavenly consolations! Earth is now present with all its attractions and rewards. The world, the flesh, and the devil are now assailing and afflicting us with their many temptations. How can we resist the seen, and heard, and felt fascinations? How can we fill up the present void, and lull the present pain, and endure the pressing trial, by proposing to ourselves the hopes of the future? Does the promise of food to-morrow fill the hungry to-day? Does the sight of the physician’s prescription on the instant stay the pain and progress of inflammation? Will a drowning man float till by and by a rope is brought and thrown to him? Will a discomfited army rally and conquer, because reinforcements at some future time will reach the field? In each of these cases, the prospect will have some influence, but will it be adequate to the occasion? Must not the present be met by the present? Do we not need, besides a Saviour of the past, and a Judge of the future, a Lord of the present? Yes, verily, and we are assured that we have Him in the words, “The Lord is at hand,” and advised how to avail ourselves of Him in what follows, “Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.”
We are too apt to have but a religion of the future; to forget that there is at hand a Lord and Helper; to act as though the first opportunity of serving God were in the hour of death, as though the blessings of reward and favour were only to be had in heaven; to treat God, in short, as if He were only the God of a future world. Such teaching as that of the text reproves and corrects us. As other passages of Holy Writ instruct us to make God the aim of this present life, using life as an apprentice-time to the profession of Christianity, as a season wherein to prove ourselves and be proved, and to set forth His glory; “Whether we live, we live unto the Lord.” “Whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God;” so the text bids us make God the guide and supporter of this life. “In everything by prayer, with supplication, and thanksgiving, let your requests be made known as to God. And the peace of God, which passeth all understanding, shall keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.”
This is what we want to feel and act upon, that God is a God at hand, and not a God afar off; that we may now cast all our care upon Him, knowing that He careth for us; that if we lay our burthen upon the Lord, He will now sustain us: that if we commit our way unto Him, He will bring it to pass; that He waits to be gracious, not till this life is over, but only till we make known our requests, till we pray and supplicate, and give thanks. In proportion as we do not realise and act upon these assurances, we are blind to many of the charms, and insensible to many of the helps and comforts of our holy religion: we frustrate, too, the fulfilment in ourselves of the truth, that godliness has the promise of the life that now is: we run the risk of becoming earthly-minded, of being swallowed up of overmuch sorrow, of being cumbered with many cares, of being snared away and taken captive by the devil, of making shipwreck of our faith.
O brethren, do not suppose that God only dwells on the margin of the haven, that we are left to steer our course, to buffet with the waves, to struggle against the storm, to repair the shivered mast, to stop the leakages, to sail into the harbour, and let down the anchor, and disembark upon the shore before He meets us. With Him as our Captain we are to set out. He as our pilot must guide us. He must rule the waves and bring us through them. The way is His, as the haven is His; unless He is with us throughout the first, we shall never reach the last. Grace is no reserved blessing. Heaven is no distant home. Grace is ever to be had if we will seek it. Heaven is everywhere, if we will but realise it, for where God is, is heaven.
But God is not manifest to all. His help is not given unsought. The eye of faith alone can see Him, the cry of faith alone be heard. As He will be served for reward, so will He be asked for grace: we must be alert to see what help we want; we must be prompt to seek it. We must acknowledge Him, or He will not guide us. We must cast our care upon Him, or He will not take it. Unless we are careful for nothing, because we have committed our cares to Him, we must be full of cares, harassed by them, troubled, afflicted, distressed; or, being careless, we shall be deemed worthless, and left to drift upon shoals and into quicksands, and to sink in the gulf of destruction.
Do I speak to those who are careful for many things? I do not mean those who are concerning themselves about worldly schemes, who would increase their wealth, their power, or their pleasure, who, regarding earth as their home, and resolving to make the most of it, are laying themselves out for many days, proposing to pull down their barns and build greater, to make to themselves a name, who are intent upon what they shall eat and drink, and wherewithal they shall be clothed, how they shall get their full of pleasure, how they shall cull all the advantages, and avoid all the disagreeables of life. As the minister of God, I have nothing to do with these, further than to cry out upon their folly and their sin, and to warn them that unless they repent and relinquish their cares, they shall be consumed by them. But do I speak to those who setting before them as the business of life, the service of God, as the end of life, the glory of heaven, are yet, by personal infirmity, by peculiar exigencies, and difficulties, and anxieties, by a frowning or fascinating world, by the wiles of Satan or by any other means, so troubled, so distracted, so drawn off from the pursuit of their object, and the entertaining of their hopes, that they find themselves carnal when they would be spiritual, standing still when they would be moving on, clinging to earth when they would be rising to heaven, waging war when they would be enjoying peace? Do I speak to those whose weak and carnal nature will not be enlisted in the hearty pursuit of godliness; whose crying temporal wants distract, and deafen, and deaden the yearnings of their better nature; whose occupation in the world seems to contend, and too successfully, for the best of their thoughts and aims, whose natural losses and deprivations sadden and absorb them, creating a void which they cannot fill, taking away a guide whom they used to look to, a support upon which they were wont to lean; whose patient labours in well-doing have failed of success; whose good is evil spoken of; whose many cares to train aright the children whom God gave them, have been repaid by waywardness; whose conscientious well-doing has brought upon them what should rather be the reward of ungodliness; who, in short, have not found in religion what they hoped for and honestly sought, and who cannot render to religion what they would? Do I speak to these? Well! I ask, Have you sought to get rid of care, by casting it upon the Lord? or have you rather asked human counsel, and leant upon human support, and hewn out for yourselves cisterns, and built for yourselves a refuge, instead of running into the refuge of God? Have you animated yourselves only by the thought of distant help, of future peace? Have you lost sight of the Lord at hand, the God of Providence, knowing, causing or assenting to, and waiting to guide, as you ask or ask not, the circumstances which try you? Have you realised that nothing happens but by His consent, and that His consent is given or withheld, not by what He sees of you, but by what He hears from you? Do you pray—not simply uttering certain words put into your mouths in Church formularies, or books of private devotion, not framing acts of general adoration, of vague acknowledgments of dependence and prayer for blessings, but presenting yourselves, in the utterance of your own feelings, as in all things the servants of His will, the dependents and petitioners of His grace? Do you supplicate? Is each ascertained want laid before Him in all its detail? Is every hindrance, every difficulty, every desire made known to Him as soon as perceived by yourselves? Is your care cast upon Him? Is He besought to take it, to relieve you of it, to tell you what to do respecting it? Can you say of all that now tries you, that nothing is uncommunicated to Him, no relief, no guidance unsought? And do you in everything give thanks. Ah, here, brethren, is the test! Here doubtless will many of you, who are clear hitherto, be obliged to plead guilty. You do not give thanks. You recognise God as Him from whom you may seek all. You do not sufficiently acknowledge what you have received. Of many special gifts, of power to bear with many trials, of guidance in various difficulties, of blessings continued and troubles not made worse (an important item), you make no acknowledgment. You know of many blessings for which you ought to be grateful: you may guess at many more, and besides there are many which you do not know, and cannot guess at, which yet doubtless have been poured out upon you, or at least have not been taken away from you. What of these? What of everything good in itself, or capable of being made good? What of the temptations, what of the afflicting providences of which you are the objects? You do not think, perhaps, that these are things to be grateful for: but, remember, the command is, “In everything with thanksgiving.” Yes, the prayer, without the thanksgiving, is not prayer. It is only part dependence. It asks, it does not acknowledge. It does not rejoice that God is yet operating; that He is chastening if He is not rewarding; that therefore, you are still the creatures of His providence, and may hope for blessing if you do not frustrate it.
O mend all that is amiss, quicken all that is slow, revive all that is ready to perish. The Lord is at hand. Cast all your care upon Him. Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not to your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He shall direct your paths. In everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. See Him by faith Who is invisible to natural eye. Lean on Him Whom the arm of flesh cannot touch. Speak to Him in all your circumstances of weal or woe, of trial or blessing. Pray to Him for what you want, and acknowledge all that you receive, of whatever kind, and ask Him what use to make of it. So rid yourselves of your cares, and then—I do not say that you shall be left without trials, for God does not promise that, rather does He lead us to expect trials as the signs and pledges of His love, but I do say that He will give you nothing, and leave you nothing, but what is good for your personal happiness and your eternal interest, and that in every trial, whether sent by Him, or allowed to be inflicted by the agents of evil, He will give you support, and guidance, and ardent hope, and abundant consolation; yea, He will bestow on you His peace which passeth understanding, and which, whatever your circumstances, shall assuredly keep your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus, unto eternal salvation.
Malachi, ii., 17.
Where is the God of Judgment?
The prophet had been complaining of the priests for neglecting to inform and correct the people, and of the people for disregarding God’s teaching. Reasoning and remonstrating with them, and supposing them to attempt self-justification, he tells them at last that they have wearied the Lord with their words—by which he means their acted and thought words rather than what they spoke—and in answer to the question, which he knows they would put, “Wherein have we wearied Him?” he says, By presuming licentiously that God is indifferent alike to good and evil, and has no moral likings or dislikings—“When ye say every one that doeth evil is good in the sight of the Lord, and He delighteth in them,”—or, if it were otherwise, that at least He does not act upon His feeling—“Where is the God of Judgment?” the manifestation of the discriminating, the rewarding, or punishing Lord. I do not propose to enlarge upon the text in its historic relation to the Jews, but, applying it to ourselves, to show, first, that the question, “Where is the God of Judgment?” is one which we Christians often ask in perverse unbelief, or in sad infirmity; and, secondly, that the question is one which in a better sense we should often ask (as we do not), in order to discern His operations, to become acquainted and impressed with the truth, that there is a judgment of all, here and hereafter.
“Where is the God of Judgment?” I say that this question is often asked in perverse unbelief, or in sad infirmity. Practically, we too often ignore the idea of judgment altogether. Our reason suggests to us, that if there is a moral governor of the world, then surely good will be approved by reward, and evil marked by punishment. The Bible plainly and most positively assures us, that, as rational and responsible creatures of God’s hand, we are subject to a judgment which His goodness, His truth, His justice, His holiness, cannot omit to pass on our every act, and word, and thought; that as purchased servants of Christ, we are set a certain work to do, with the express understanding that we shall be faithfully dealt with according to our treatment of that work, and are put upon a probation whereof at the end Christ must take account, for He has been made Lord and Judge for that very end, and has received a commission from the Father, which He may in no single instance depart from. Yea, more than that, it tells us that the immediate effect on us, of all our good and evil, is itself a judgment, contributing to the formation of the character which shall adapt us, and so consign us, to heaven or to hell. I say reason and the Bible so instructs us; and yet we practically ignore the judgment. Of course I do not mean that we strike it out of our creed, that we do otherwise than assent to it in theory, that we altogether forget it in practice, but that we do not make it the ruling principle of our lives—the impelling or restraining influence of every thought and deed. Am I not right? Reflect, dear brethren, how many wrong things you do or desire, with little hesitation, with no compunction, with no fear of judgment! Reflect, too, how many good things you pass over or forego, or will take no trouble to attain, through want of consideration of the reward that belongs to them, and which therefore you are losing! How ready are you to taste each cup of pleasure, to be engrossed with the pursuits of this world, to withhold what you should part with, to do what is wrong, to omit what is enjoined, in forgetfulness of the fact that for all these things God will bring you unto judgment! How impatient, too, under trials, how slow in spiritual work, how little interested in the love and attainment of godliness; as though these things were all loss, and suffering, and uninviting toil; as though there were no recompense of reward! Yes, there is something in the best of us, and much in the most of us, of practical disregard of judgment. Of course we know (and are in a measure influenced by the knowledge) that by and by we shall stand before God, to be blessed or cursed—that it is necessary, therefore, to secure a good hope of acceptance, and to make our peace with God through Jesus Christ, and that this is to be done by keeping all the ordinances of religion, and obeying in spirit the whole moral code, and striving to love and serve the Lord now; or at least by repenting of all that is amiss, and praying earnestly for pardon and quickening of our faith, before we die. But still, it is not a judgment that we contemplate—a real scrutiny of our life’s ways—an actual weighing of us in the heavenly balance, that we may be rewarded or punished for those ways, and accepted or rejected according to our actual state. We are wont to consider God as an arbitrary Being, not absolutely bound by any laws, or promises, or threats, but free to treat us as He will, and disposed, for Christ’s sake, to be favourable to us—if we ask Him—without any regard to what we have been doing, and what we actually are. I am not sure that you will admit this. But, brethren, to help you to do so, consider how general is a vague trust to Christ’s merits—and God’s goodness on account of those merits—to cover all excesses and defects of duty, to accept any kind of character, as though there were no rule of reward, and no necessary qualification for heaven! How rare is the conviction, that while Christ’s merits are indeed the only ground of our acceptance, and God’s mercy is exercised on account of those merits, yet the merits and the mercy are applied to us on condition that we do certain works, and attain to a certain character in the strength of the Holy Spirit given to incline and enable us; that we are to be rewarded or punished, accepted or rejected, strictly according to the terms of that condition, and that the inquiry into its observance, in the scrutiny of our past lives and of our present state, in the pronouncing of them such as they were appointed to be, or the opposite, and the bestowal of the reward or punishment, is a strict judgment, in the passing of which the Judge has no room for arbitrary favour, no option, if I may so speak, to do otherwise than, in view of the evidence, to apply the fixed law—life for those whom it approves, death for those whom it condemns.
Oh! there is a God of Judgment, and to us Christians there is no other God. Christ is full of merits. God accepts those merits, and is full of mercy on account of them. We cannot magnify the merits too much, nor rejoice too much in the mercy; provided (but provided only) that we remember that they are applied by rule, and that we must observe the rule, and be sure that God will in no wise, and in no case, depart from it. Trust to Christ’s merits; hope for God’s mercy, but count most surely on judgment, as you are most surely the objects of it.
But, secondly, fully believing that there is a God of Judgment, the questions arise, Where is He? In what court does He sit? When does He judge? The common notion (and my remarks have hitherto fallen in with it) is, that He is only in a future world, and that He will not exercise His office till the last day. The notion is founded on a truth. Christ sits on the throne of God now, to send down grace, to intercede with the Father, to rule the Church. At the last day, and not before, He will leave that throne, and come forth in His glorious majesty to judge the quick and the dead, and to dispose of them in their appointed eternal abodes. We have a work to do, and a day set us to do it in, and account will not be taken of it, and the hire given us, till the day is over. There is a character to be formed ere we can enter heaven, and space, and opportunity, and power, are vouchsafed us for forming it. Respecting these, then, judgment tarrieth. And even when our individual time is over, when our work ceases, and our probation closes, there are others left to work and fashion themselves for eternity; and God has appointed that we, without them, shall not be made perfect. There is to be but one glorious descent from the throne, one general resurrection, one great assize, one gathering of the saints into the highest heaven, one opening, and then one shutting for ever of the lowest hell. When our day is over, we must, probably, as others do, sleep a night in the grave, and then on the morning of the Resurrection shall appear the God of Judgment. But surely, after all, there must be an earlier judgment! When the body is laid down, and begins its sleep, the soul does not lie down and sleep with it. “The body returns to the dust,” we are told, “but the spirit goes back to God who gave it;” and lest we should imagine that this is but a figurative way of describing a suspension of the spirit’s life, we are informed in many places not only that it continues greatly alive and awake, requiring a place of conscious abode, but that it is at once disposed of by God, and in a manner which shows an immediate judgment of it. As soon as Lazarus died, he was carried to Abraham’s bosom, and there was comforted: as soon as Dives died, in hell (a place of misery of some kind) he lift up his eyes, being in torments. “This day shalt thou be with Me in Paradise,” was the promise of Him, Who could not promise idly. To be absent from the body is, for the saint, to be present with the Lord, and a vision showed St. John the souls of the martyrs living and pleading beneath the altar. What does all this teach us, but that the God of Judgment meets us at the gate of death, and there and then judges and disposes of us? It is somewhat speculative to inquire what is the nature of the judgment. It is beyond us to understand how an immediate judgment is compatible with a future one. We know not whether God at first privately intimates what He will at last publicly pronounce; whether this is the actual, that only the formal decision; whether the scrutiny is now made, or only rehearsed; whether the soul is actually tried, or only committed for trial, and in the mean time so dealt with by immediate imprisonment, or liberation on pledge to appear, as to hint, rather than plainly declare what shall be its ultimate fate; whether it enters at once into a state of actual, though partial, experience of joy or misery, companying with God, with Christ, with holy angels, or with Satan and evil spirits; or whether it is left in an antechamber where it but anticipates the future reward, and actually receives none of it. All this is mystery. But certain we are, brethren, that death, is in some sense the time of judgment, and consequently that in some way, at the very moment of departure from this life we are confronted with the God of Judgment. Oh, that we could feel this! What a precious time and talent it would make our life; what an awful antechamber of God’s presence! How we should be deterred from doing evil; how stirred to do good! How should we be watching, staff in hand; how resolutely should we do our work, how patiently should we suffer! Could we then be at home in the world, prone to sinful pleasures, distracted or engrossed by worldly cares, indifferent to sin and holiness? No, it would be impossible! Could we be idle, if we knew that our work would so soon be scrutinised? Could we delay the cultivation of a grace necessary for heaven, if we knew that the time for acquiring it might so soon be over? Could we hazard the interests of eternity, if we knew that we were separated from them, not by a wide and lasting world, not by many, many years of forgetfulness in the grave, but only by a thin veil, through which they might even now be albut heard and seen, which the next moment might be rent in twain, which at the most, in a few short years, will be wholly taken away! Oh! brethren, we can risk our eternal hopes when they seem distant—we dare not, we could not, if we felt them close! Behold, the judge is at the door! Watch, lest it open and reveal Him! Behold the messenger is coming; be ready, for He may be sent to summon you to the presence of the God of Judgment!
But we have not yet the full answer to our text. God is everywhere. He fills heaven and earth with His presence. And He is the same everywhere, and at all times; the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever; and so He is the God of Judgment, exercising judgment even in this life. It cannot be otherwise. It belongs to His very essence to love righteousness and hate iniquity. When He wills, it is done; when He feels, He acts; what He hates, He shrinks from—and if He shrinks, is it not judgment? What He loves, He clings to—and is not His presence favour, and support, and blessing? Brethren, I have often exhorted you not to shut God out of this present world as if He belonged only to the future. Live in the world to Him. “Wherever we live, we live unto the Lord.” Live in the world by Him. “The Lord is at hand. Be careful for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made unto God.” And live in the world, under Him: for “The eyes of the Lord are over the righteous, and the face of the Lord is against them that do evil.” Yes, the God of Judgment is here. You know it was so in Old Testament times. The deed of righteousness then brought its immediate reward; the deed of sin its punishment. Murmur or disregard drove away the pillar of fire, repentance and prayer brought it back. You think it otherwise now perhaps, but “I am the Lord, I change not.” The children of Israel were carnal babes, God therefore showed Himself to their natural eye. We are men in Christ, and the vision, therefore, is to our faith. It was with perishable toys that they were pleased: He, therefore, rewarded or punished them with temporal things. It is differently, in a measure, that He deals with us; but not altogether differently. It is a mistake to suppose that God’s favour was always testified to the Jews by prosperity, His displeasure by adversity. Think of Abraham, of Job, of Moses, of Joseph, of the ungodly in great prosperity, and you will see the mistake. Temporal circumstances were more often, then, the tokens of spiritual, but the spiritual has always been the reality; and in comparison with it, the token, not always afforded, is immaterial. Oh! do not suppose that when the Man Christ Jesus came on earth as the messenger of grace, the God of Providence departed. More real and constant is His presence now, and more invariable His action. In respect of our service of Christ and candidateship for heaven, there is a sense in which He leaves us unjudged till the end. But, in another sense, as He must, from His very nature, be always judging, so are we Christians the special objects of His judgment. No winking at our ignorance, no long-suffering with our sin. Enlightened and enabled, we are responsible, and immediately made to answer, for all that is wrong; and, specially endeared to Him, we are immediately rewarded for all that He approves. And this judgment is visible, if we will but look for it even in our temporal circumstances. I do not say that the righteous are always what the world calls prosperous, and the wicked always what the world calls unfortunate, though that is not seldom the case, much more often than, in our rash judgment, we suppose; besides, any kinds of temporal circumstances may be made, and often are made, the sources of temporal reward or punishment; but temporal things are not the best or the worst that God can give. They are chiefly used by Him as means; and could I describe to you the blessings which poverty and bereavement and disappointment and affliction have produced, and the curses which have accompanied riches and success, and immunity from loss and trial, you would see what effectual means they are, and would readily exclaim, “Here is the God of Judgment!” But there is a better and a worse judgment. You know how God hardened Pharaoh’s heart, because it was not softened; how He made Saul’s perversity his punishment; how He stiffened Jeroboam’s arm that he could not draw it in from the deed of sin; what a sinful security He brought upon David for transgression; how Abraham grew rich by forsaking his home; how Job resigned much and therefore received more; how Joseph, fleeing from Potiphar’s wife, was made to prosper in all he did. These things are types of great realities—specimens of constant judgments. God stands over every man to watch what he does, and as soon as it is done, He judges and rewards it. Ah! let the wicked tremble at this, and let the righteous rejoice at it. A harassed or a calmed conscience may or may not be an accompaniment of the judgment, but a judgment there will surely be. Do you want an illustration? Why, then, should the man who commits a trivial sin to-day fall into a greater sin to-morrow? Why should a little resistance qualify for a great one? You say it is natural. If you mean by that that is spiritual, that it is the acting influence of God’s providence, I agree with you; but not otherwise. Man is not his own destroyer, nor his own saviour. It no more follows naturally that a man should fall into a great sin after a little one, or should conquer a strong temptation after overcoming a weak one, than that he should soil his garments or his flesh much to-day, because he soiled them a little yesterday, or that he should float in a flood because he has turned aside from a pool! It is a judgment that makes him sin again, and a judgment that enables him to resist again. In the one case, it is the angry withdrawal of grace, and the giving up to a reprobate mind, and the delivery to Satan; in the other it is the approving increase of grace, and the sending of angels to keep off the fiends. Where is the God of Judgment! Where, brethren, is He not, and when not acting? This world is the throne of judgment. Every moment is the trial time. Every act, every word, every thought, brings down upon it, on the instant, the sentence and the execution of the sentence! Think of this and act upon it. The eyes of the Lord are over the righteous. The face of the Lord is against them that do evil. Strive, then, each action to approve to His all-seeing eye. Know that it is always Advent; that the books are always open, and the judgment always set, and the sentence ever ready, “Blessed—or Cursed,” and angels and demons looking out and waiting for the signal of approach. The Last Judgment is the climax of the Death Judgment, the Death Judgment of the Life Judgment. Gain God’s approval here, and keep it here, and you shall not lose it hereafter. Forfeit it here, and obtain it not again here, and you can never have it. There is no condemnation for them that are in Christ Jesus. The rest are already condemned; though the God of Judgment gives them yet the chance—(oh! let them not trifle with it!)—that if they will appeal quickly, a fresh trial may be granted; and if they have made Christ their Advocate, the former sentence shall be reversed, and they, too, shall be blessed!
St. James, iv., 13, 14, 15.
Go to now, ye that say, To-day or to-morrow we will go into such a city, and continue there a year, and buy and sell, and get gain: Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow. For what is your life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away. For that ye ought to say, If the Lord will, we shall live, and do this, or that.
“Go to.” It is the language of rebuke, of remonstrance, and yet of exhortation. “Come, come, what are you doing? cease from it, for it is wrong. Come, let us reason together, ye that are forming worldly schemes, and laying out plans and works for the future, counting not only on some continuance, but even on a definite time of your own marking out, ‘We will continue there a year.’ Come, I say, be wise; consider what your life is, how brief, how fleeting, how easily taken away—how uncertain of continuance—and rule and consecrate every part of it, every work, every prospective thought, with the limitation, ‘If the Lord will.’”
Thus is the worldling reproved and exhorted—the man who is so foolish as to reckon surely upon what he knows is very uncertain, who is so sinful as to forget the providence of God, or at least not to submit himself to it. And, further on he is plainly told that this reckless confidence is sin:—“Therefore to him that knoweth to do good, and doeth it not, to him it is sin.”
Observe here, my brethren—and you will thereby see how directly this text is addressed, not to very gross and carnal offenders, but even to such as ourselves—that the Apostle does not cry out against the going into the city and proposing to buy and sell and get gain there, or even against the fixing of a particular period of sojourn; but against the doing of all this without reference and submission to, without dependence upon the will and providence of God; without remembrance that there is no certainty of life, and power, and opportunity. “What is our life” “If the Lord will?”
God does not forbid, rather He requires us to engage in worldly occupations. He has sent us into the world in need of food and raiment, which the majority of us can only get by working for them, and has endowed us with faculties and powers which have their legitimate exercise in worldly pursuits. There can be no question that by God’s appointment man is to labour and trade, or employ himself in some way in worldly things, for sustenance and for exercise of many of his powers. And if this is so, then neither can there be any question, that it must be lawful to think in some way of the morrow, to provide what we shall need in it, to consider and plan for our employment and gain in it. It would be quite impossible to carry on many callings—more especially those which have distinctly the approval of God, as husbandry, for instance—if we might not forecast, anticipate, provide, propose, and plan. And if all this may be done, then we may and must mark out particular works and places, and specific periods of time, wherein to perform what we propose. If a husbandman may not think of the harvest, how shall he do the duties of the seed time? If the merchant may not fix on a mart nor make arrangements for sojourning there till he has disposed of his goods, nor count the number of days which the ship will require for transporting them, then how shall he know what wares to purchase? how shall he persuade himself to have anything to do with merchandise? Surely, he must take for granted—or at least he must act as if he took for granted—some certainty of time and opportunity, and so he must in one sense presume upon the future. Still, brethren, the very illustrations I have chosen tell against counting on actual certainty. The husbandman ploughs in hope and sows in hope; but knows all the time that the fowls of the air may rob him of his crop, that the needful rain or sun may be withholden from it, that the worm, and the mildew, and the blast may destroy it. The merchant freights his vessel with full knowledge—(not always without fear)—that fire or storm may cause it to be lost in the sea, or that if it reaches the place of sale, there may then be no demand for it. Each is obliged to admit contingencies; to prepare and act as if all power and all time and circumstances were in his own hands, while he knows and feels that it is far otherwise; that much may be uncontrollably against him; that he may be disappointed of all his hope. Nor does he omit altogether to provide for the contingency. He asks, “What if I should be disappointed, if my plans should fail, if the time should be prolonged or shortened against my expectation? What is to be done with the gain, if anything happens to me?” So he insures his vessel, and gives directions whither to carry, or what to do with his merchandise if aught should render it unsaleable at the proposed mart, and he makes his will! Wisely he takes into account what he calls “chance,” and therefore sobers his expectations and rules his plans by the consideration of what may happen to frustrate them! A like consideration—not of “chance,” for he does not believe in chance, but of the possible unexpected operations of God’s providence—is to sanctify the Christian’s plans and appointments, and to prevent him from becoming a worldling. He may think and say, what he will do on the morrow; he may set out on a long journey, or propose to himself a week, a month’s, a year’s, a ten years’ sojourn in some distant city; he may make ample and long preparations for buying and selling, and getting gain; he may pull down his barns (if they are not large enough) and build greater; he may entertain some thoughts of possibly enjoying, after years of toil and care, an old age of ease and happiness, and so may make provision for that happiness. He need not, and should not, be ever saying to himself, “It is of no use my undertaking this business, I may not live to carry it out.” “If I were sure of life, I would remove this and alter that, but let it be now, it must do for my poor uncertain days.” (The world would stand still, if men were to act, or refuse to act, upon such arguments as these, arguments not suggested by God.) No, brethren, whatever your calling, follow it honestly and heartily; whatever your possessions, use them, and use them so as to get the most legitimate good out of them, and do not despise the opportunities and the goods which God has given you. But consider when you propose to yourselves anything which draws by anticipation on the future, consider, I say, “What is my life? It is even a vapour that appeareth for a little time and then vanisheth away,” and qualify your scheme by saying to yourselves, “If the Lord will, I should live and do this or that.” Yes! and provide, as far as you can, lest the Lord should not will. And here, brethren, we have suggested to us another reason for admitting an “if” into our counsels, and for allowing it to have its say, and for heeding well what it suggests. The Christian is allowed, and even required to follow a worldly calling, but still he has a higher calling, which he must not neglect, which he must most regard. Life was not given him only that he might eat and drink, and take his pleasure, and grow rich, and build palaces, and be filled with knowledge, and perfected in accomplishments. These are but the lower employments of life, or its intermittent pastimes. Its business is religion—the laying hold on salvation, and following the holy service to which we are bound, wherein we are apprentices and probationers for eternal glory, and whereby we are allowed and enabled to lay up treasure in heaven—the dedication of ourselves to Christ our Saviour, to live under His rule, and by His grace; to set forth His glory in all we do; to become qualified by unlearning and renouncing what is amiss, and acquiring new tastes, and inclinations, and powers, and fashioning ourselves after His glorious image for the state to which He will call us when this life is over. “If the Lord will I should live and do this or that.” How does such a suggestion break in upon and check the presuming worldliness of the called of God! “Here am I,” it makes him exclaim, “actually laying myself out for the engrossing and long-continued pursuit of worldly ends. Yet God may cut short my life in the midst of it, and if He does, without giving me time to resume my higher calling, to repair what is out of order, to fill up what is wanting, to make my peace with Him, to become fit for death—oh, to what in that case will my folly and my sin bring me! How shall I stand before Him at His awful Advent? What account shall I render of my neglected stewardship? What will justify my presumption in His delay? What excuse my want of the wedding garment? Surely He will deal with me as with one who knew his Master’s will, yet did it not; who refused the glory which he was created, and redeemed, and sanctified to render; who has preferred Mammon to God, earth to heaven; who has contracted the worldliness from which God shrinks, and despised the holiness which alone He will accept!” It is an awakening, a sobering, a solemn suggestion. It reveals to him the anomaly, the folly, the sin, the peril of his condition, whatever the kind of worldliness which engrosses him. He a servant of Christ, a votary of religion, a worker for eternity, an heir of glory, forgetting his calling, neglecting his best hopes and interests, perverting his time and powers, and opportunities from their highest and most necessary use, to gratify self with childish pleasures, to heap up gold, to make to himself a name among the pigmies of the earth; to become admired or stared at for his appearance or accomplishments; to excel in knowledge of languages, or sciences, or history, or for any other earthly end; when not only what he seeks must soon be yielded up (even if he succeeds in getting it), but also through the seeking he must neglect all that God requires of him, and forfeit all that God offers! Oh, how silly, how sinful, how awfully hazardous the course he is pursuing!
What, then? Shall he abandon it all in terror? Shall he hate the world and flee from it? Shall he become a hermit, refusing to receive good, and to do good in his generation? Shall he give up his earthly calling, foregoing the temporal advantages which are held out to him; not exercising the powers which are entrusted to him; supposing that the God who put him into this world, and qualified him to fill a place in it, and stimulated him by pressing necessities, or by indwelling desires to seek profit or pleasure, nevertheless meant him to have nothing to do with the world; that because presently he is to die, now he ought not to live; but to drag a sad, inactive, solitary, impatient existence. Surely not! His place now is in the world, his work is in the world; he refuses God service in not exercising his worldly calling; he gives up the means of probation, and the opportunities of development and improvement in the highest powers and best graces, and disqualifies himself for heaven, if he fulfils not his destiny on earth. Let him abide in his calling; let him discharge its obligations; let him pursue its advantages, and cull its pleasures, and perform all its bidding; but throughout all, let him remember, and act upon the remembrance that he is not a mere worldling; and to keep him from being absorbed in the world, or grovelling in its pursuits, to quicken him in concern for higher responsibilities and privileges, to impress upon him that all that is of the world is temporary and fleeting, that the world is passing away from him, and he from it, let him reflect frequently and seriously, “What is my life? It is even a vapour, that appeareth for a little time, and then vanisheth away;” and so let him temper the lower life (and raise himself above it), by piously resolving that its present occupations, its plans and hopes shall all be subject to the condition, “If the Lord will I should live, and do this or that.”
That we all want to be influenced by such thoughts is too evident to need proof. The very best of us are wont practically to regard this earth as our abiding home, or the only stage upon which we shall ever act a part, and earthly pursuits and pleasures as the only aims and rewards of our being. We may write “D. V.,” or say, “If the Lord will,” after every engagement, every proposed scheme. We may make our wills and set our houses in order, and purchase a burial place, and carry about a shroud, and yet forget that we have to die. Grey hairs, or enfeebled frames, and the perceptible growth within us of the seeds of mortal disease, and sick beds, and sudden deaths around us, may cause us momentary misgivings, may make us perhaps permanently a little uneasy: but still we live on, as though there were no end of life; we put off preparation for death, and for another state after death, as though we could not die till we chose to do so. Not for want of knowledge, of constant testimonies and reminders of the contrary are we thus confident (for we all know that our life is but a vapour which the heat may presently dispel, or the wind of the next moment cause to vanish), but because we do not feel ourselves to be so entirely in the hands of an Omnipotent and mysteriously exercised Providence, as to need to be constantly depending upon it, and asking of it, “If the Lord will;” and so presenting to ourselves, in all its force, the consideration that perhaps “The Lord may not will.” I speak to men, and women, and children, full of present occupations and future plans. I bid you consider your occupations and review your plans. Do you imagine that the first may be at any moment interrupted, and the last never begun to be carried out? Some of you are almost exclusively pleasure seekers; others, careless creatures of the present; others intent upon business, or profit, upon obtaining power, or knowledge, or fame; either reaping a worldly harvest now, or sowing for a future worldly harvest. Others are divided in care and desire between this life and the next. Others are in theory, and in much practice, living above this world, using it but not abusing it, in it but not of it. Put the question to yourselves, all and each of you. Do you feel your life to be such a vapour, that it is in momentary risk of vanishing away; that only if the Lord will, will it appear a little time; that possibly He may not will? You would say, “yes,” doubtless, if you were forced to answer aloud, as you sit in church, interrogated by the messenger of Christ out of the Bible, just as to a question out of the Church Catechism, you would give an answer out of the Church Catechism. But do you feel “yes”? Is it your sure and strong conviction? Do your lives say “yes”? I shall not be unjust to you, if I say that I stand in doubt of many of you; that, alas! I have no doubt of some; that your hearts do not thus respond; that your lives give a manifest contradiction.
Brethren, I am not here to accuse, but to admonish and help. Let me suggest, then, why you fail to realise such a palpable truth. It is, first, because you have an idea that the Advent is far off; and, secondly, because, as I have reminded you in so many ways lately, you shut God too much out of this present world. The first disciples, as you may see from St. Paul’s and St. Peter’s Epistles, were filled with the conviction that the Advent was very near, that the next moment might reveal it. This did not take them out of the world, for they believed that Christ would come to them in the world. Neither did it make them forsake their earthly calling, for they knew that it was in that calling that they were to serve God, and to prepare for His coming. But it caused them always to have regard to the end, and it sanctified every pursuit and plan with the thought, “The Lord may come,” and so constantly suggested the proviso, “If the Lord will.” We have no such conviction of Christ’s nearness, and therefore have little reference to it, and are faintly impressed with it. We argue, the Judgment has tarried so many years, it may therefore tarry many more. Death has so long spared us, he will not come to us yet. We shall have time to finish our present occupations, we can enter upon and execute many fresh plans. We need not raise a doubt, “If the Lord will.”
But, secondly, we shut God out of this present world. We forget that He is ever with us; that He is constantly exercising His providence over us; that He is not ignorant, or indifferent, much less distant, when we propose and proceed to execute; that it is by His exercised permission, by His actual letting us go in anger, that we fall into sin; by His inclining, and helping, and carrying us, that we think, and attempt, and perform what is good; that thus watching and caring for us, and surrounding us, He is at once the Witness, the Judge, the Rewarder of our every thought and way; that consequently, when He has tried us enough, or when we have long wearied Him, He is at hand to decide about us, and, deciding, to execute the decision. His forbearance and interference, the length of the probation, the numbers and kinds of trial, are different in different cases. He knows what is right and sufficient for each, and He applies it, and then He says, “It is enough. Thy righteousness is as length of days. Well done, good and faithful servant;” or, “It is of no use that thou shouldst be stricken any more. Thou wilt revolt more and more. The whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint. Depart from me!” And in either case the vapour is dispelled—it vanisheth away.