II. Corinthians, v., 8, 9.
We are confident and willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord. Wherefore we labour, that, whether present or absent, we may be accepted of Him.
The apostle had been speaking, in the preceding chapter, of the troubles and persecutions which he daily endured, and of the hopes and consolations—the life by faith rather than by right—which made their endurance easy. Having touched upon the theme, he could not but enlarge upon it; and doing so, his ardent expectations carried him out of the present, and made him covet and attempt to grasp the future. Before his enlightened eye and spiritualised heart, his affliction was light and its continuance brief; the present state was but as a tent, quickly to be taken down, and then in its place should be digged the deep foundation and reared the abiding edifice of a building of God eternal in the heavens. Outstretched, then, were his thoughts, and desires, and earnest were his prayers, not so much to get rid of what he had, as to attain what he hoped for and was promised. He knew indeed that the tabernacle must be removed; that his present state must cease—either by actual death or by a change, which the quick at Christ’s coming must undergo, much the same as death; he felt the burthen which was upon him; he yearned and groaned to be rid of it; but looking to the end he disregarded the way; dwelling, not upon the change but what was to come after it, he sought not death, but life. He longed, not to be unclothed, but clothed upon. Nay, recognising the good, and so the desirableness of this life, shrinking too naturally from the thought of dissolution, he would keep the present till he had the future, he would have what he wanted added to what he possessed, rather than substituted for it. Present life was in many respects dear to him; he would that the evil were purged away from it, and the good left; and then that the good were augmented, enfolded, absorbed by the transcendent, satisfying perfect blessedness which God had promised, and for the attaining whereof He had bestowed His effectually working Spirit.
At this point he seems to have sobered himself, or perhaps rather to have designedly exhibited the latent soberness and contentedness which had guided him all along. “We are confident,” he says, that is, of good cheer, well comforted, easily bearing what is, patiently waiting for the future; preferring, indeed (if a preference be allowed), to be absent from the body and fully present with the Lord; but still chiefly animated, not by a selfish yearning for the quickest attainment of peace and glory, but by the noble, God-adoring ambition, of being and doing that which is divinely approved. “Wherefore, in view of all that is and shall be, we make it our chief aim, we devote ourselves, not so much to reach heaven, to gratify self, as whether on earth or in heaven, to enjoy the approval and favour of God.” “Be silent,” he would say, “ye groans for deliverance; check yourselves, ye eager aspirations for glory; let principle rule rather than desire, and let the principle be, whether we live let us live unto the Lord, whether we die let us die unto the Lord. Let not dying or living be the engrossing thought, but that whether we live or die we may be the Lord’s.”
In this, as in so many other respects, our bright exemplar, Paul, shows us both what we may allow and what we should aim at.
And first he shows us that even the saint—the approved of God—may shrink from the thought of dissolution. “We groan, being burthened, because” (this is the right translation) “we would not be unclothed,” we would not die. I envy not the man—there is something unnatural, yea, and unspiritual, too, in him—who does not shrink from the first thought of death coming to himself or to those whom he loves. For death, in its best form, is a remembrancer of the wrath of God against the sinner, and it is in a sense a triumph—no matter that it is short—it is a defiling and withering touch—no matter that it shall soon be wiped away, and its blasting undone—of the foul and fierce enemy of God and holy man. It is that, too, which cuts asunder the ties which we are allowed and encouraged to fasten here between ourselves and loved friends and delightful pursuits and pleasing possessions. It is that, too, which abruptly closes the period of probation and preparation for heaven; which stays all cleansing and perfecting, which says imperatively to us, “No more shall you remove, no more shall you acquire—as you are shall you face God—stereotyped are you for eternity.” It is that, too, which enthrals and deadens the one half of us, though it liberates and quickens the other, which separates the body from God, while it joins the spirit to Him, which, while it exalts the latter to Paradise, consigns the former to the grave, to corruption, to temporary annihilation. Terrible is death to many, awful to all—undesirable even to the saint—and only tolerable because not so much of the soul’s immediate gain as of the body’s future hope. For if it were proposed to us to choose for eternity between perfect disembodied bliss, and very imperfect bliss in the body, there is no one, I conceive, who knows the capabilities of the body, both of rendering to God and receiving of Him, who would not prefer, and I think rightly, life in the flesh to life out of it.
The words of St. Paul exhibit in himself, and seem to allow in others, this shrinking from dissolution, this desire to keep the body, albeit changed, perfected, caught up into the heavens; to be spared the pulling down of the earthly tabernacle, even to make way for the heavenly eternal building.
But St. Paul goes on to show that this desire was secondary to that of exchanging faith for sight, imperfection for perfection. He would not on any account remain earthy: he longed for the fullest and most glorious presence of God, and if it needs must be that the desired change and attainment could only be brought about by dissolution, oh, then he was ready, he was willing rather to be absent from the body. He returned from the shrinking; he rallied from the fear; he was confident, well content, and desirous to die.
And herein he is the pattern of a true Christian. He is not so in love with death that he can see nothing in it to shrink from or fear, nothing to disturb him. He does not so hate this life as to hurry to be quit of it. With all its trials, and disappointments, and hindrances, and miseries, there is much in it which is dear to him, in which he finds delight, from which he is loth to part. God, too, is felt here, and seen by faith, and bestows appreciable blessings; here God’s work is to be done, here God’s glory to be promoted. Therefore “to live is Christ.” But still there are greater and better things beyond. There is a place where trouble never comes, where happiness is perfect, whose company, and possessions, and pleasures, are such, that nought on earth is worth having or thinking of in comparison of them. There is a state in which God’s work may be done as angels do it, without hindrance from within or without; in which glory to God is easily, and fully, and delightfully rendered. There is a presence of God which is visible and palpable, where His voice is clearly heard, where He is beheld face to face, where the everlasting arms are substantially felt as they embrace and uphold, where His love is perfectly realised and enjoyed, and perfectly reciprocated.
What can be valued, or can interest in comparison of all this? What can content that is short of this? What can deter from the seeking of this? what valley seem dark and uninviting at the end of which this glory shines? what way be dreary and lonely, along which God’s rod and staff are offered as supporters and comforters? This being the end and the aim, if to attain it death must be passed through, then welcome death! We are confident, full of cheer at the prospect, eager to set out—“To die is gain.”
But the best feature of the Christian, as exhibited in St. Paul, remains for us to gaze on. After all, it is not the holiest ambition to aspire to heaven; it is not the highest vocation to enrich and perfect self. God has made us capable of heavenly bliss. He offers it to us. He would have us seek it; He blesses and will reward the seeking. But still He did not make and redeem us, He does not sanctify us only or chiefly for this. The Christian’s vocation is the service of God. The end of his being is the glory of God. And so our chief thoughts, and aspirations, and endeavours, are not to be deliverance from troubles, perfection in joy, getting out of the present into the future, exchanging earth for heaven; but, being and doing what God approves, wherever, in whatever circumstances, God appoints. “Wherefore we labour, that whether present or absent we may be accepted of Him;” that whether it pleases God to come to us while we are in the body, or to call us to Him out of the body, He may find us prepared for what in either case awaits us; “for we must all appear before the judgment-seat of Christ, that every one may receive according to the things done in the body.”
The Christian may shrink from the first thought of death, and wish not to be unclothed. He ought to aspire to heaven, and that he may reach it, be well content, willing rather, to be absent from the body. But above all he must labour in whatever state he is, therein so to be serving God, as to have His present acceptance and always to be prepared for His coming judgment.
We want to feel this and to act upon it. To put self with even its most innocent instincts and best interests and noblest aspirations somewhat aside, that God may be more nearly all in all; to be less filled with groaning and coveting on our own account and more occupied in serving and glorifying Christ. It is well not to love this world, to have realised its vanity and misery, to have broken the links that would bind us to it, to refuse to find our perfect joy in aught that belongs to it. It is well to yearn for deliverance from all that vexes and hinders and hurts; to desire ardently—even to pray earnestly and continually for—presence with the Lord, and all that that presence implies, in Paradise, in Heaven. But when by God’s grace we have come to this state, we are not perfect, we have not begun to be perfect. No! we have only qualified ourselves in mind and heart for the commencement of that which is demanded of us in life, the single, contented, glad, immediate, and constant service of God in the state and circumstances in which He has placed us.
Brethren, we are all dwelling in tabernacles, tents that have no firm foundation; which are to be taken down and soon. The general judgment may tarry, Christ may not come in His glorious majesty, and meet us while in the body: but if not then death will surely come, and out of the body we must go to meet Christ. How soon shall that be? How soon shall we meet Him? Do you ever give these things a serious thought? Do you ever consider that the apparently capricious last enemy is wont to take the young and strong as often as the old and feeble, and, as he chooses, sometimes to sound the warning note from afar off, sometimes to come silently, suddenly as a thief in the night? Do you feel—I single out each man, each woman, each child that hears me, and in God’s name I ask that individual—Do you feel that you may be Death’s next victim, that ere the day is over you may be gone to your account, or at least the seeds of mortal disease may be beginning to grow in you? Oh, do not resist this appeal by persuading yourselves that the thing is improbable. Let it be enough that you know (and you do know) that it is possible, and, if possible, that you ought to entertain the possibility.
Well now, let me farther ask, Are you prepared, are you preparing to die? Are you going to leave the vast concerns of an eternal state to the consideration of a moment, a moment too which may be denied you, if not by the instant cutting of life’s thread, by mortal fears and lingerings, and recoilings, by the engrossing pains of the body, by the locking up of the senses in stupor or delirium? Are you putting off concern; heedless of thought and preparation for meeting God? Are you calculating upon being able to think and feel aright when you will, to ask and obtain pardon for all that is wrong, to be excused for all deficiencies in a moment, to do the work of life on a sick-bed, to satisfy God with the dregs of the cup of life, to become a passive recipient of the necessary holiness which God bids all acquire actively? Do you suppose it will suffice to think of these things when the doctor tells you you cannot recover; to send for the clergyman to teach and move you when the faculty of heeding is well nigh gone, to pray for you, if you are unable to pray for yourself, to sigh over your body, if, alas! the soul has fled? Or are you now more or less possessed with religious thought and feeling, sitting loose to this world, weaning yourselves more and more from it, nerving yourselves for the last hour, sighing over and confessing your sins, trusting to Christ’s mercy, aspiring to heaven, praying for acceptance? Whether you are indifferent to or merely postponing concern, for self’s best interests, or whether you are already absorbed by self’s best interests, let me remind you—without presuming to set any bounds to God’s mercy, without disputing that God has sometimes received those who first turned to Him on a death-bed, without caring to satisfy those who want to know how little religion will save a man—let me remind you, I say, and do not be weary of the repetition, that to be truly acceptable to God, it is not enough that you entertain some religious thoughts, and go through some religious forms at the last, or even that you are filled with religious thoughts and feelings all your life long, you must be serving God now, in the day of your ability, at the call of every opportunity, in whatever state and circumstances you are placed, doing it as so much work set you to do and presently to be scrutinised and accounted for, rendering it as the faithful, grateful homage of a pardoned and sanctified and loving sinner. Let this be your rule, a rule to be observed not only in theory but in practice also; not only in the rendering of obedience, but in the treating of all that you have, and the accepting of all that happens to you, as from the Lord—“Whether we live, we live unto the Lord, or whether we die, we die unto the Lord.”
II. Kings, x., 16.
Come with me, and see my zeal for the Lord.
Jehu, the son of Nimshi, one of the captains of Israel, had been selected and anointed by Divine command, to supplant King Joram, to smite the whole house of Ahab, and to avenge the poured-out blood of God’s servants, the prophets. It is easy to account for the choice of such an agent. God, we believe, performs no miracle unnecessarily. When what He wants exists already, He searches it out and uses it; instead of making a new creation, or changing and converting what, so to speak, comes first to hand. At this time He had need, for His purposes respecting Israel, of a man bold, impetuous, full of vigour, prompt to undertake, resolute, courageous, uncompromising to perform. Such an one pre-eminently, was Jehu; and therefore, said the Lord, “I have anointed thee king over the people of the Lord, even over Israel, and thou shalt smite the house of Ahab thy master, that I may avenge the blood of My servants the prophets, and the blood of all the servants of the Lord, at the hand of Jezebel.”
We know with what alacrity Jehu assumed his office, and set about the discharge of its stern and bloody duties; how he drove furiously to slay Joram, assailing him the while with loud reproaches for tolerating the wicked doings of Jezebel; how he caused Ahaziah, king of Judah, to be slain; how he commanded Jezebel to be thrown from the window, and trod her under foot; how he effected the wholesale slaughter of seventy persons of King Ahab’s sons, of all his great men, and his kinsfolks, and his priests, until he left him none remaining; and how, too, returning from this destruction, he met forty-two of the brethren of King Ahaziah, and caused them all to be slain at the pit of the shearing house. The words of the text introduce us to his last recorded deed of this kind, namely, the destruction by subtlety of all the followers of Baal, and the suppression of his worship throughout the land of Israel.
In reading this narrative, the questions naturally arise, How far were the deeds of Jehu a performance of the Divine will? Was Jehu in any respect, and if so, in what, a holy character? Under what influence did he act, and forbear to act? May we consider these questions rightly, and learn from them lessons of wisdom by God’s grace to be carried out into holy practice!
There is, then, no doubt, because we may read the command for it, in plain words, that God willed the destruction of Ahab’s whole house and the extermination of the abominable idolatry of the Zidonians. Jehu seems, indeed, to have been unnaturally ready for the executioner’s office, to have discharged it savagely, and to have availed himself of what is never needed or allowed in God’s service, of subtlety, fraud, lying: but still, making allowance for excesses, arising from his natural disposition, from his professional familiarity with deeds of blood, and probably from a proud misconception of the authority under which he acted, it must be admitted that, in the main, Jehu so far did the will of the Lord.
Under what influence, prompted by what feelings, he did it, is a question less easy to answer decidedly. There are some—and not a few—who say that his animus was altogether bad; that carnage was his delight; and that he wickedly, and for his own pleasure and private ends, availed himself of the Divine commission, and served himself under the pretence of serving God. That Jehu was selfish there is great reason to believe, and something shall be said on that head presently; but that he was a hypocrite, that his principle, the motive under which he acted, was wholly bad, is proved not to be the case by the inspired commendation of him. God has made even the wicked for Himself, He uses them to accomplish His purposes (as He did the Assyrians to punish the Israelites, Satan to try Job, Judas to betray our Lord); but in such cases as they do of freely devised wickedness, what He overrules for His own good purposes, He condemns and punishes them for their offence, though He makes use of it. Now, in Jehu’s case, He praised and rewarded, and so there must have been something right in him: “And the Lord said unto Jehu, Because thou hast done well in executing that which is right in mine eyes and hast done unto the house of Ahab according to all that was in mine heart, thy children of the fourth generation shall sit on the throne of Israel.” And the promise was fully realised.
It seems clear, then, that Jehu’s deeds not only accomplished the Divine will, but that they were done with that design; in obedience and in zeal. They were a soldier’s exact observance of orders, they were the fruits of a servant’s devotion to his master.
We should be able to leave this statement without qualification were it not for two passages in the chapter of the text: the one, that in which Jehu makes such boastful mention of his doings, “Come with me, and see my zeal for the Lord;” the other, that in which the inspired writer records, “Howbeit from the sins of Jeroboam the son of Nebat, who made Israel to sin, Jehu departed not from after them, to wit, the golden calves that were in Bethel, and that were in Dan.” From the first of these we are compelled to infer that there was an evil leaven pervading his best obedience; and from the last, that other feelings often influenced him beside zeal for God, and other lords had dominion over him; so that he wilfully desisted or was deterred from doing all that was required of him. Hence it is plain that we must revise our estimate of his character, to account both for his zeal and want of zeal.
The most satisfactory way of viewing him, to make him at all consistent, is to suppose that, after all he was not a changed and converted man, and did not act from spiritual feelings; but that he was hitherto employed in pursuits congenial to his natural taste, and so found his own pleasure in doing the Lord’s. In the destruction of Ahab’s race and the overthrow of Baal, the soldier exercised the profession which he had chosen and loved. In daring exploits and deeds of blood, he found a carnal gratification. Moreover, he was all the while strengthening and advancing his own cause. His throne was unsafe while any of Ahab’s posterity survived to dispute it with him, his people’s allegiance was not sure while there was any link with the Zidonians remaining; and the Lord’s displeasure at the idolatry of Israel, he well knew, would show itself again, as it had done before, in the withholding of prosperity from them, and allowing them to be harassed by their enemies. It was, then, a congenial and politic course which he had hitherto followed. It may have been done with greater ardour and satisfaction, because it was the Lord’s will; Jehu may not at the time have had any distinct perception of the workings of a lower motive, but still he would, doubtless, have done all, and done it as readily and effectually had he owned no allegiance to God, and received no Divine command. This view of Jehu seems to be corroborated by the fact, that when the time was come for him to serve God in comparative quietness, he served Him not; and when the performance of the Divine will in rooting out schism, threatened to break up the separation of Israel from Judah, by restoring the worship at Jerusalem, then he not only desisted from the work of reformation, but gave his countenance to the old error, and encouraged the people to go after the golden calves, that were in Bethel and that were in Dan. And so that which he would have others consider, and which, perhaps, he even believed himself, was zeal for God, was chiefly the indulgence of his own passions and the service of self; and it came to pass, that he who had done well, even according to all that was in God’s heart, henceforth took no heed to walk in the law of the Lord God of Israel.
Such was Jehu’s zeal—a natural, or mixed, is not wholly selfish zeal, the zeal of Saul who sought to slay the Gibeonites, but spared Agag alive; the zeal of the chief priests and Pharisees who put Christ to death, and demanded Barabbas to be released; not the zeal of Phinehas, of Josiah, of Him who was always straitened till He did His Father’s will; zeal not so much immoderate or blind, as blemished and partial; not being always zealously affected in a good work.
The review of such a character may be very profitable. How many of us, my brethren, are very warm, very exact in serving God, in the things to which we are naturally inclined? How many of us, if we bid not others (as we too often do), “Come with me, and see my zeal for the Lord,” at least flatter, and puff up ourselves, in the contemplation of the service which we are rendering to God? How many of us have only just as much zeal as squares with our own desires or interests; and in all else, either desist when God urges “Go on,” or persevere when He cries “Forbear!” The zealous man has been advised, by a great moralist, always to suspect that pride, or interest, or ill temper, is at the bottom of his zeal. Provided we guard against the grave error, so prevalent in the last century, of despising and condemning all religious zeal, it is well to entertain this suspicion—of ourselves, I mean—till we have proved it to be false, or by repentance and amendment have made it false. For who does not know how much a proud, carnal, selfish, ill-tempered man or woman may do in the service of self, which has the appearance of zeal for God? What pious labours men will undertake, if they happen to be in the path of their natural inclinations! What warfare they will wage against sins that they have no mind to! What platform speeches they will make, what pamphlets or letters publish, against the disciples of a religious school to which they do not belong! They are zealously affected; they come out and are separate; they are enthusiastic, energetic, noisy; they put forth all their own strength; they invoke the civil power; they would have authority from the synagogue, if it were to be had, to punish all who do not conform; they smite with the sharp sword of a bitter persecuting tongue or pen; they work, they speak, they give, they fight, they endure—all, they say, in zeal for the Lord; and yet, if you follow them into the quiet scenes of life, if you come upon them where self has nothing to gain or enjoy, or where it has anything to lose or fear losing, to all appearance they take no heed to walk in the law of the Lord God. It is very likely that they are not communicants; that they are irregular in their attendance at Church, or greatly wanting in proper demeanour and devotion when there; that they aid but seldom, and slenderly, in the spread of religion around them, and the relief of God’s poor; that they are rarely seen to open the Bible; not men of prayer; exhibiting tempers, and following ways which belong not to the holily zealous; tolerating beneath their own roof, or within the reach of their influence, something as hateful in the sight of God as the calves that were in Bethel and that were in Dan.
O how many who are zealous at one time, are without zeal at another! How many who make a great show of religion, and talk much about it, and contend in public for it, are utter strangers to its real influence, are wholly without love for it! How many, too, who honestly consider themselves zealous for God, are only serving Him in the bent of their natural inclinations, and taking no heed to Him, where self must be denied; like men of cold temperament, despising bodily indulgence, yet making a god of mammon; prodigals, inveighing against covetousness; destroyers of the temple of Baal, restorers of the calves of Bethel and Dan; saints in some things, devils in others!
O ye who boast of zeal, or claim to have it, take care that ye have it towards God, and that ye are constant in it! Distrust the energy which works only at times, and in some directions. Suspect the feeling which excites and fills with ardour to-day, but is listless and dead to-morrow; which chooses for itself what to do for God, what to think of God, what truth to meditate on chiefly, what practice alone to follow. Zeal for God is entire, regular, consistent devotion to Him. It fills the whole man with all spiritual desires and feelings; it works out in the whole life; albeit, it is generally calm, and sober, and quiet, not boasting nor thrusting itself forward, not making much ado.
Do not suppose, brethren, that in speaking thus on the subject of zeal, I would discourage, in any degree, the entertaining of a fervent spirit, or would allow, for a moment, that strong feeling and strong expression of it, and manifested earnest activity, are, in the slightest degree, incompatible with real religion. On the contrary, I would maintain that there is no religion at all in the man or woman who is not—allowing for the differences of temperament—stirred within by it, and impelled to speak of and act upon it; who is afraid, or unwilling, or negligent, to show it. Zeal, I maintain, is good—nay, is necessary; zeal, which makes one burn with the glowing thought of immortality, which rouses one to ardent work and holy contention; which finds, and must have, its vent in the speech; which shows itself designedly, that it may impress others, and set forth the glory of God. Only, I would have you judge of that zeal in others, and find it in yourselves; not in what Jehu did, but in what he omitted, and ought to have done; not in that which indulges natural desires, but in that which crosses them; not in that which secures worldly advantages, but in that which disregards, and even sacrifices them; not in that which exists, or is quickened only in times and places of excitement, but which burns brightest and highest, and spreads farthest, in solitude and silence; not where there is immediate praise, or glory, or notoriety, in the sight of men, but in that which is seen alone by God. Seek to be zealous, rest not till you are zealous, for there is no service of God, no acceptance with Him but through zeal: but expect to find your zeal, know that there only God will find it, in your deep conviction of sin, in the fervour of your penitence, in the uncompromising persecution of your own lusts, in the crossing of your own will, in the refraining from that you would naturally choose to do, and the performance of that you shrink from through worldly motives, in the earnestness of your prayers, in the frequency of your acts of communion, in the diligence of your searching of the Scriptures, in the munificence of your private charities, in the strenuousness of your efforts to do good to others, in the secret contemplation and desire of heaven, in the soul’s appreciation of your high calling, in faithful love of God in your hearts! Have such zeal, and manifest and exercise it as often and as consistently as the Holy Spirit enables you, and then the whole of your life, within and without, from first to last, shall have the commendation which Jehu’s at the beginning had; and an infinitely better promise shall be fulfilled to you, Ye shall sit on the throne of heaven with Christ, and reign with Him for ever and ever.
Revelation, xxii., 20.
Even so, come, Lord Jesus.
As it was the common belief of the early disciples that Christ was to come in His glorious Majesty, to render unto every man according to his works, so was it a common desire, a frequent prayer, that He would come quickly. They were not content with being merely mindful of the fact that He would come at some time, they were not merely anxious to be prepared, lest He should come soon; but they looked for His coming, they hasted towards it, they loved the thought of His appearing. Some of them, expecting that they should not taste of death till He had actually appeared to them in His fullest glory, looked ever with eager eyes for the opening of the heavens, and the revelation of the Son of Man: others, believing that it was through the gates of death that they should enter into Christ’s presence and realise His Second Advent, wished to die, courted death, yea, hardly resigned themselves to the Divine will, that they should as yet continue in the flesh.
Perhaps you may think that this was a natural rather than a spiritual frame of mind. On earth their portion had all along been one of sorrow and suffering, and evil reproach; and prophecy bade them look on for aggravations of what they already endured, and for many additional and greater troubles. What wonder, then, that they struggled to escape from the present, that they shrunk from the future, that they prayed that Christ would speedily come to them, or that He would speedily take them to Himself! What wonder that St. Paul, for instance, amid his toils, and perils, and sufferings, and revilings, and failures, and disappointments, with the prospect of nothing on earth but sorer persecution and greater trials, should desire to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord! What wonder that St. John, so cruelly entreated by foes, so disregarded by should-be friends, when in the isle of his banishment the voice of his Lord told of His speedy coming, should promptly and ardently respond to Him, “Even so, come, Lord Jesus.” Having nothing, and expecting nothing that flesh could desire; enduring much, anticipating more that was undesirable, grievous, hateful, what wonder, you would ask, that they yearned in their hearts to be delivered from such bondage, and to be transferred to the abode of peace and glory: that they offered frequently and fervently those Advent prayers, “Thy kingdom come,” “Lord Jesus receive my Spirit,” “Even so, come, Lord Jesus”! Even had they expected no hereafter, had they supposed that the coming Judge would annihilate them, or that the grave would bury them in eternal forgetfulness, it would still have been natural for them to have courted and prayed for the cessation of toil and the end of suffering.
So some persons are wont to reason. It is natural, they say, for those to whom this world is a blank or a sea of troubles, to set their hopes on another world. It is natural for those whose life here is all weariness, to be desirous to give up that life, even though they shall have no life hereafter.
But is it really natural? Does affliction naturally make us look heavenwards? Does a troubled life naturally reconcile us to the thought of speedy death, yea, and cause us to desire it, to pray for it?
On the contrary, do we not often find persons unspiritualised by affliction? Do not many maintain that their worldly troubles are the hindrance of religious thought and practice? Is not death by very instinct shrunk from by well-nigh all, and most by those whose circumstances seem to recommend it as naturally the greatest good?
You hear those who are vexed or thwarted, or oppressed, or wearied, exclaim in some moment of impatience or despondency, “I am weary of my life.” You find some so worn out, like Job, by long and accumulated troubles, that they continually sigh, and from the heart, “Oh! that I had given up the ghost!” You hear the thoughtless, the proud, the obstinate, protest “I had rather die.” But let them be taken at their word, let Death show himself to be really close at hand, to be coming to them, and they will recoil with horror from his touch, and piteously cry to be spared. Occasionally one is found who, lacking patience and perseverance to extricate himself lawfully from pressing difficulties, or, mad with vexation because he cannot accomplish some worldly scheme, or because he has been frustrated in some wickedness: or because having done the wickedness, he fears to face the worldly consequences of his deed, not merely says that he wishes to die, and prays for death; but then and there ministers it to himself. Yet even in such cases, while he would escape from life, he does not deliberately seek death. Nay, when he finds he is encountering death, he often desists from his half-done deed, or, if it be too late for that, shrieks frantically for others to rescue him.
There are exceptions to all these rules, when men really wish to die, when they deliberately court and procure death; but they are sufficiently rare to vindicate the truth, that they are not natural.
Certainly the desire and prayer of the first disciples to be removed from this world were not natural. They did not despair in difficulties. They were not unwilling to endure continued trials and sufferings. They were not disgusted with life. All that Christ required of them they burned to do; all that He laid upon them they rejoiced to bear; and while aught was undone or unsuffered, they chose and desired to remain; and even then, it was not exhausted nature asking for rest, it was not weariness or dislike of life’s lot which prompted the prayer, “Even so, come, Lord Jesus:” they gloried in their then vocation, they loved their appointed work; they would not relinquish it, they would not be unclothed, but clothed upon, advanced, and perfected: they loved Christ, and so yearned to see Him; they loved His service, and so coveted a state in which it could be more fully and uninterruptedly rendered; they loved other men, the alien and the outcast, and so longed for the day when all the kingdoms of the world should become the kingdoms of the Lord and of His Christ, when every soul should be subject to and rejoice in His rule! They looked for Christ’s coming, not because they supposed it would release them from His service, and transfer them to an abode of luxurious immunity and rest and glory; but because they thought it was the necessary prelude to full usefulness, to entire submission to His will, to unremitted, glorious service under His perceived eye, and in the perfection of His strength. They thought death was gain, and they desired it, not as the time of sleep, the chamber of inactivity and oblivion, but as the door, the short passage, which led into a world wherein the kingdom of Christ was fully set up, and wherein they should unceasingly experience His rule, and act as its agents. They prayed that God would shortly accomplish the number of His elect, not with the carnal desire that their enemies might be confounded, and that those then without might be kept without: nor yet with selfish impatience for their own promised reward; but that the work of grace might be effectual, where now it seemed to be received in vain; that the darkness which encompassed so many might be dispelled, that all Israel might be saved, and might join them in glorifying God.
This was the feeling which prompted their Advent prayers; this was the feeling which they laboured to arouse in those to whom they spoke, and in us, for whom they wrote. When St. Paul tells us, that to him to live was Christ, and to die was gain, that he desired to depart and be with Christ, though he was content to remain, he shows one of the many respects in which we are to be followers of him. When St. John records, that he replied to Christ’s announcement, “Behold, I come quickly,” “Even so, come, Lord Jesus,” he personates the Church and every acceptable member of it, and shows us the attitude and the feeling which becomes each one of those who wait for the Lord’s appearing; even as St. Peter does in direct appeal: “What manner of persons ought ye to be in all holy conversation and godliness, looking for and hasting unto the coming of the day of God?”
Alas! brethren, how far are we below the appointed standard of acceptable discipleship! How little is Christ’s Second Advent in our minds, even as a mere doctrine, a truth of Scripture! How small is the influence which it is allowed to exercise on our thoughts and affections, and lives! How seldom do we suggest to ourselves the possibility of its nearness! How faintly, if at all, in what mere words—words, which do not spring from feelings, and are not illustrated by actions—do we pray for its speedy arrival!
Even those among us, who are rightly mindful, who study to be prepared at all times, lest speedily and suddenly the Son of Man should come forth to judgment, or should send forth the angel of death to bring them to His bar—even these can scarcely be said to desire the coming, which they think of and prepare for: much less to pray for it, and to do what in them lies to hasten it. Even if we are faithful servants, able to render a right account whenever it shall be called for, we dread rather than hope for the day of our Lord’s return. Even if we have our lamps trimmed and oil with us in our vessels, if instead of slumbering, we are watching, would it not still be to us an unwelcome cry, “Behold the bridegroom cometh, go ye out to meet Him”? What would be the first feeling of the best of us, if at this moment an angel stood revealed, and announced “The day of the Lord is come”? which of us can honestly, heartily say now, “I would not live always. I would not live till to-morrow, if God graciously willed that I might die to-day?”
Of course there are many reasons why we should shrink from an immediate advent. We all of us need to cast off some works of darkness: something is wanting in the spiritual armour of the best accoutred. We feel that we have much work to do for God before the night cometh; we have many graces to cultivate and many others to acquire, before we shall be fit for Christ’s coming; and, besides, naturally, the unprovided for, the unprotected, the unguided, that will be left behind, if we go, tempt us to linger, with eyes earthwards; and fashion chains to bind us down. But setting aside all this, supposing it all changed, so that we were fit in all other respects for heaven, and nothing and no one on earth really required us, does not conscience convince us that still we would rather not go yet, that we shall be the better pleased the longer we are allowed to stay, that our real prayer (that which our feelings suggest, though our mouths dare not utter it, nor our minds dwell on it) is “Lord Jesus, come not quickly.”
Why is this? I do not mean why is it in the case of the wilful, the sensual, the worldly—there is no need to ask the question of them; Christ’s coming will be their utter confusion, and the immediate forerunner of their destruction. It is easy to understand why they wish him to delay. But why is it in the case of the truly penitent, the reformed, the faithful, the holy, the comparatively ready for Christ’s kingdom of glory? The foremost reason seems to be that they have never had the courage to meditate calmly and sufficiently on death. The first thought of death alarms them. And this is natural, for death is part of the punishment of sin, and all that reminds of sin should alarm. But it is only the first thought that alarms. If they would give it further consideration, they would see that death is deprived of his sting, that, monster as he appears, to them he is harmless. “There is no condemnation for them that are in Christ Jesus.” Death is not their enemy, but their friend. In fact, he is death no longer. He is an appointed minister to take them out of what might be more properly called death—this mortal life—and introduce them into real life. He does not separate them from Christ, but joins them more truly to Him. It is not a dark, bottomless pit, with sides that cannot be climbed, to which he brings them, but a short valley leading from the plain of this world to the city of glory, which he that enters passes through in a moment, ay, and less than a moment, and is new born for eternity. Bring yourselves, brethren, to believe this, to feel the reality of it, to be sure that the moment your body falls asleep in Jesus your spirit is wafted to Paradise, and begins to rest consciously on Christ, and to company with the spirits of the just departed. Then, though the nearness of death may for the moment awe you—because it is the antechamber which leads directly into the presence of so much holiness and glory—it will have no power to fill you with dismay, no undesirableness to make you shrink from it. No, brethren, you will think much of it, you will patiently hope for it, you will anticipate it and watch for it, and when it draws nigh, you will welcome it with joy, and hasten to be transferred by it from mortal life to immortal!
Another fault is, that Christ is not sufficiently in all our thoughts. Our religion is too much of mere routine; our obedience is mechanical, unintelligent; our holiness is acquired, because of an imposed necessity; our faith is but historical. We do not feel what St. Paul felt when he said, “To me to live is Christ.” By which it is clear he meant much more than that Christ’s service was his one employment, Christ’s rewards his one expectation, Christ’s grace his only strength. He did not simply look back to a crucified Saviour, nor forward to a coming Judge, believing himself to be made a servant, and to have by and by to render an account, to be liable to a judgment of his service; but meanwhile to have no Lord near and over him. No! the Christ that had departed in the flesh was felt to have come back in the spirit. St. Paul saw Him by faith, knew Him, walked side by side with Him, served Him personally, derived constant grace from Him, loved Him, and felt His love. Christ was the Alpha and Omega of his being, the beginning, the motive power of all his thoughts, and words, and deeds, the companion of all his ways, the object of all his aims: Christ the power of God unto salvation, Christ a very present help and comfort, Christ the hope of glory. Life was full of Christ in its experiences, its aims, its delights, and hopes. Gladly, therefore, would he retain it as long as God willed; but knowing that death was gain, that after death Christ would be more palpably with him, that he would be more able to appreciate Christ, that heavenly joys would then be added to the joys he had on earth, he still longed for his departure, he desired ardently to be clothed upon, he loved the thought of Christ’s final appearing, and his whole life acted the prayer which St. John uttered, “Come, Lord Jesus.”
Brethren, you must live as Paul did, you must appreciate life as he did, if you would desire death as he did. You must acquaint yourselves with Christ by study and meditation, by the Spirit’s invoked aid. You must think of a living Lord as well as of a dead Saviour. You must have reference in all your ways, not only to the first advent and to the last, but, also, and I would even say chiefly, to the constant advent. You must have come to perceive that the promise is fulfilled, “Lo, I am with you alway.” You must endure as seeing Him who is invisible. You must carry Christ about with you. You must do all to the glory of Him, felt to be near, to be served and glorified. When you would go anywhither, your first thought must be, “Will Christ accompany me? Except thy presence go with me, O Lord, carry me not up hence.” When you have aught to do or suffer, your realisation of a near and available helper must make you begin with the prayer, “O Lord, raise up thy power and come among us, and with great might succour us.” Gratitude for benefits provided so long ago will never prompt you to render due Christian service, vague expectation of inconceivable joys will never quicken your steps Zionwards. You must know Christ, feel Him, converse with Him, depend on Him, and then, while you enjoy the life here, you will yet yearn for a place and a condition where you can have perfectly and uninterruptedly what now for so many reasons you have but in small part, and, “Thy kingdom come,” “Even so, come, Lord Jesus,” will be your fervent and frequent prayers.
I have spoken all along as if what we call “death” were the coming of Christ, which you ought to desire and pray for, because we have all come to take for granted that in our several cases death will surely precede judgment, that Christ will not be revealed in our time. I need scarcely remind you, that we do not know that; that at any moment the final advent might take place, and so each one of us be caught up alive—and never see death. If then, when you desire more of Christ, you think that through the gate of death is the probable way of gaining it, and so look for death, you must not forget that there is another way, and that you may possibly first meet Christ face to face there. Be your desire to be more fully with Christ, and submissively leave to Him to decide how that desire shall be accomplished, through death or without death. But in either case remember that your ultimate thought should rest upon the final advent, and your most fervent prayers be for it. Though you gain much by dying, being freed from many hindrances of perception of Christ, being made more fit for His presence, seeing Him more clearly, feeling, and hearing, and loving Him better, your state and privileges will still be imperfect. You must stand before Him in glorified bodies before you are capable of being and receiving all that He graciously designs; and all the elect must stand there with you before His perfect gifts shall be bestowed. God does not will that we, without them, should be made perfect. The final advent, then, is to be the frequent subject of our prayers; the speedy completion of all God’s preparatory measures, the swiftest communication, far and wide, of the knowledge of His name and will, the quick filling up of the number of the elect.
This we are to pray for, and this we are to aid in accomplishing. Christ will come when all is ready, and He has left us to make ready. First to prepare ourselves, then to prepare others. When this work of the forerunner has been done, the Lord Whom ye seek will come. He does but tarry till men be told of His coming, and persuaded to look for and desire it. When we tell them, when we persuade them, we hasten His coming—that coming in perfect glory to bestow in perfection on us, on all, that which, till then, at the best must be imperfect.
Should not this quicken our own growth in spiritual things? should it not prompt us to admonish, and persuade, and help others? should it not impel us to give more substantial aid to, to interest ourselves more about, to pray more frequently and really for the success of missionary enterprise, that those who have heard of Christ may be found out in their forgetfulness, and reminded of Him, that those who are as yet strangers and aliens may be brought into His household, and made fellow heirs with us, and expectants of His coming?
Genesis, xxxix., 2.
The Lord was with Joseph, and he was a prosperous man.
If you were asked, brethren, to make a list of what you consider prosperous men, what kind of persons what you put into it? Those, I doubt not, with whom all goes smoothly, who come in no misfortune like other folk, who have riches in possession, acquire fame, are exalted in honour; whose wishes are largely gratified, whose every project succeeds; who, in short, experience no reverse, no temporary withdrawal or suspension of good fortune, and peace, and pleasure. What is the first prosperous man that comes into your mind? Perhaps, a successful speculator, who years ago made what is called a “lucky hit,” and has gone on repeating it, till he has become a millionaire. Perhaps, a professional man, whom fortune took by the hand as soon as he set out, and who has been hurried along with giant strides, favoured, flattered, well remunerated, till he has reached the summit of success. Perhaps, some uniformly thriving, respectable, happy tradesman, whose business prospers, who is always able to pay his way, can afford time and money for pleasure, and has good heart and health to enjoy it; in whose household there is no strife or division, no sickness, no vacated place; all present success, or bright hope. Or, perhaps, you fasten on an artisan, who is never out of work, who always meets with considerate and liberal employers, whose sobriety and uprightness, and other good qualities, are recognised and respected abroad, and rewarded by comfort, and affection, and well-doing at home.
But it is a clergyman who bids you select: so you must look about with a religious eye. Then you pick out, perhaps, those who are naturally endowed with good will and resolution, and are strong to perform it; who have been early trained in the right way, so that doing good has become habitual and comparatively easy; who have no overwhelming concern about the support of their lower life, are not distracted by worldly cares or by the claims of society upon them, nor much exposed to unspiritual influence; who have no immoderate passions, encounter no sore temptations, but can, without hindrance, and do, from desire, live calm, and easy, and creditable lives. These, you would say, are prosperous men, and so, in a sense, they are—very prosperous—and far be it from me to say, wrongly, or unhappily prosperous. We know, indeed, what snares riches bring with them, how many grave responsibilities are imposed upon all to whom much has been given, how dizzy one becomes through standing on a great height, and how easy and dangerous it is to fall from it. We know, too, that constant success is apt to make us self-reliant, forgetful of God, proud, imperious, uncharitable; and that uninterrupted peace and happiness in this world too often beguile us, softly indeed, but surely, out of all thought of heaven. And once more, we know that an even temperament and an untempted life may easily lead to routine-religion, to self-righteousness, to spiritual apathy and deadness. On these accounts, we must not count them surely happy who prosper in the world; but, on the other hand, we may not judge their state certainly unhappy; nor deem the desire to be like them necessarily wrong or unwise. If we can make sure of both worlds; if we can have the best of this, and not lose the other; if no harm will happen to our spiritual state, and no fitness for it be unattained and unkept; if God will be surely with us, while we thus prosper—then religion does not require, rather forbids, that we should give up our good things, that we should forbear to seek them, to use them, and to rejoice in them. All these various states may, or may not be, truly prosperous. Wherefore be not rashly carried away with admiration and desire of any of them; be slow to judge unfavourably of them, or to refuse, if you be called to any of them.
But what I would have you chiefly note now is that there are other kinds of true prosperity; rather, that if you would find out who truly prosper, and whether you yourselves are truly prosperous, you must look for other signs than those of worldly success and happiness; you must not conclude that the inward part, the very substance of prosperity, is wanting, because the outward life is sorely tried, and thwarted, and deprived, and saddened.
The Spirit of Truth describes, in the chapter of the text, a truly prosperous man. Three several times, in a few verses, is Joseph’s prosperity put prominently forward. Now just think what his life had been, and was, and was yet to be! He had been motherless from an early age; his father’s love made him the object of his brothers’ envy and hatred. He was thrown into a pit to die, and only escaped death to become a slave in a foreign land to a heathen master. Ere long he was made the victim of a foul accusation; he was thrust into prison, and there detained many long years; and when, at last, a hope of deliverance dawned upon him, he was cruelly disappointed by the king’s servant, whom he had kindly tended and reassured in trouble, and another two years of incarceration, of suspense worse than despair, had to be endured! Yet was he all the while—mark that!—a prosperous man. The Scripture does not say or mean that by and by he attained to a prosperity, in which all his former adversity was forgotten. It is of the present, not of the future, that prosperity is predicated. Nor may we suppose that there was but a show of adversity, that Joseph was really what we call prosperous all the while, in that he enjoyed many advantages, that he made steady way towards greatness, that his troubles were but as the toils and difficulties which, in a measure, the most successful have to encounter; or the just merits of misdeeds and the correction of faults. Up to the time of his release from prison, all through the years which Scripture says were prosperous, every hope and aim had been frustrated. It was not that he had difficulty in entering upon his work, that he had much to resist and suffer from its pursuit; but that after it was done, the reward of it was denied him: he only climbed the hill, to be rolled back, just as he reached the summit. His child’s life commended him to the love of his father, therefore he was thrust out. He won the good-will of his master, was diligent in his work, which prospered in his hand; was trustworthy and trusted, rose to be overseer of the house, and then, when he had good hope of his freedom and of returning to his yearned-for home, without any fault of his, he was degraded, branded with infamy, and cast into prison. Here, again, he deserved prosperity: the very jailor acknowledged it, and honoured and well treated him. The door, too, seemed to be opening for his deliverance, when a fellow-prisoner went forth full of his praise, an eye-witness of his sorrow, to make mention of him to Pharaoh—but alas! the most strange forgetfulness took possession of the butler, and for two years the name of Joseph never crossed his lips, nor thought of him entered his mind. And even when delivered out of prison, and exalted by Pharaoh, he became but a chief slave, next the throne in dignity, second to the king in power, but still not free to return to his home, still kept ignorant whether his father was yet alive! Was this what we can call, by any stretch or limitation, “prosperity”? And mark, that all his trouble came upon him, not only in, but for, his well-doing. In obedience to his father, he went to visit his brethren, and thus afforded the occasion of selling him into bondage; because he did his duty to Potiphar, he was put into circumstances of danger; by refusing to sin against God, he incurred the reproach and punishment of sin; by honestly asserting before Pharaoh, “It is not in me, I am nothing but a servant,” he lost the opportunity of obtaining what the king would have been most ready to give him, and afraid to refuse, absolute freedom.
My brethren, you and I can hardly bear with trials, and sufferings, and reproaches, and ill-treatment, when we dimly suspect, or are actually conscious, that we have deserved them. How should we murmur, and cry out, and kick, and rebel, if we were thus treated for well-doing! With what words should we answer him who sought to calm and comfort us in such trouble, by assuring us that we did wrong to count it adversity, that it was indeed prosperity!
Yet God says that Joseph was a prosperous man. It is evident, therefore, that we know not the meaning of prosperity, and must search in His dictionary for the interpretation of it. It is soon found: the first part of the text supplies it—“The Lord was with him.”
Ah! here is light from heaven. Prosperity does not mean the state of careless independence; being what we will, having what we desire, accomplishing what we propose: it means, the state of dependence, of being kept and ordered by God’s providence, treated as He wills, used in accomplishing His purposes. By right, we are God’s, by creation, and redemption, and sanctification, sent into this world, reconciled and restored after defection, enabled and commissioned to do the will of God. We are as much the agents of His purposes as the elements, or any other of His creatures; and it would be just as reasonable, were it possible, for the sun to complain that it is sometimes covered with clouds; the rain, that it has to descend and be absorbed in the earth, or lost in the sea, or scattered in snow; the wind, that it must blow when and where He pleases, as for us to say of any state into which we are brought, of any work to which we are put, or of any calling off from it, “I like not this; I am not prospered. All these things are against me”! We have no right to independence; we ought not to be independent, and if we are, it is either because we have forsaken our appointed service, or because God deems us unfit for it, and, therefore, uses us not! A chief part of Joseph’s prosperity, remember, consisted not in the advancement of himself, but in the accomplishment of God’s work: “That which he did, the Lord made it to prosper.”
But by privilege, as well as by right, are we God’s. We are not mere tools in His hand: we are living agents, intelligent to understand His will, free to do it or decline it, capable of loving it. We are, therefore, taken into His counsel, made fellow-workers with Him, treated all along by Him according to our merits, finally rewarded according to our work; not, however, in the way of our own choice, but of His. O if we realised this, and did our part according to the belief, we should never murmur at, or question anything that is appointed us, or befals us. For what does such questioning amount to, but an assertion that God does not make the right use of us, or that He does not treat us worthily? And what is that, but to deny His wisdom, His justice, and His love? No man, who is worth a thought, counts it adversity, that he is bound by the conditions, and must accept the trials, and do the work of his chosen earthly calling, that he is obliged, for instance, to serve in his shop, or pore over his books, or risk storms at sea, or face the dangers of war; that, in short, he cannot be and do what he will, but must obey the law of circumstances—why, then, should he reverse all this in his divine mission and heavenly calling, and demand a liberty, an immunity, a choice, which common sense would tell him should not and could not be granted?
But there is another, a chief consideration, which should incline us to be sure that the ordering of God’s providence is the conferring of True Prosperity. God uses us, indeed, as servants, and appoints us our individual work out of the several circumstances around us. But He likewise makes us His friends, and uses the circumstances around us, as ministers to us. It is in them that He speaks to us and visits us; it is by them, that He rewards and punishes us now; it is through them that He disciplines and trains us, and perfects us for heaven. We were not made for them, but they for us. And what shall we be saying of the Artificer and the Superintendent of their use if we question their general fitness, or the special application of them to ourselves? “Sorrow is not good for me.” “I am ruined by that disappointment.” “Through taking that stay from me, I am become helpless.” “Removing me thither is overwhelming me with adversity.” These, my brethren, are not only the expressions of ingratitude, and the reasonings of unbelief, they are the dictations of arrogant presumption dethroning the wisdom of God, and putting our folly in its place. We have no right to choose for ourselves: and if we had, how could we do it? Is not God wise to know what is best for us? Is not He good to apply it? Should we not fear the fulfilment of any hope, the accomplishment of any purpose of our own, and cry, “O Lord, not as I will, but as Thou wilt. Except Thy presence go with me, carry me not up hence”! Should we not accept with full resignation, with heartfelt gratitude, any imposed condition, and say, “It is the Lord, let Him do what seemeth Him good,” “It is good for me to be here.”
We may reason this out, and the example of others proves it, and our own experience confirms it. Admit the fact, that the Lord was with Joseph, i.e., that He used him as His agent, that He loved him, and designed to deliver him from evil, and to bless him to the uttermost; and then look along his life to see whether wisdom and love did not guide all his circumstances to this end. It was God’s will that Joseph should cause Jacob to come into Egypt, and should sustain him there. How every step of his seeming adversity helped to accomplish this will! The telling of his dream engendered the hatred of his brethren; that hatred sold him to the Midianites, the Midianites brought him to Potiphar, the false accusation cast him into prison, in the prison he interpreted the king’s butler’s dream, and therefore he was summoned to interpret the king’s dream, and for so doing made the ruler of Egypt, and the dispenser of corn to the famished nations. This brought the sons of Jacob to him: this enabled him to dispose of them according to the will of God. Thus, “that which he did the Lord made it to prosper.” And then of his personal prosperity. Was not his father’s preference likely to spoil him? Did he not run daily risks from the hatred of his brethren? Was his best state that of an honoured slave in Potiphar’s household? Was it well that he should daily encounter the temptations of his mistress? Was there no good discipline in that prison-life? Did not deliverance come at the fitting moment, rightly so late, under such circumstances? Supposing he had chosen for himself, what else could he have chosen that would have been better, or as good as God’s choice for Him? And if, brethren, we look along our lives in the light of God’s providence, is it not just so with us? Supposing us to be faithful servants of God, has not all that has happened to us been for our good? Was it not well for us that we were removed from the state in which we were being spoiled, becoming selfish and proud? Was it not good for us to be afflicted? Did not some earthly loss make us seek to fill the void with heavenly consolation? Are we not now better—better in fact—better in hope—because God has prospered us in His own way, than if we had had what we thought prosperity? Yes, surely; and had we been wise, in the hour of our worst trial, we should have known that we were truly prosperous, in that God was with us, that His jealous love had taken us from the foolish fondness that was spoiling us, from the bitter envy that would not rest till it had destroyed us, from the secular prosperity that would soon have made us forget our birthright, from the temptation that sought to defile us!
If we have been wanting in this wisdom hitherto, let us fill ourselves with it now. Let us accept everything that befals us in the path of faith and obedience as true prosperity; true prosperity, not only because it is accomplishing by us God’s wise purposes, not only because it is advancing us to glory, but because, it is the felt, the immediate, wise, loving operation on us of a present God, present to sustain, to comfort, to sanctify, to bless, present under a better covenant than that with Joseph, present more graciously, and more effectually; God the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, God the Son, who has given Himself for us, and has promised to be with us always even to the end of the world, God the Holy Ghost, proceeding from the Father and the Son, bringing near and applying true prosperity, and fitting us for it, and enlightening us to see it, and causing us to rejoice in it.