Tuesday, July 30, 2013

Continuous Conversion





By Oswald Chambers


'Except ye be converted, and become as little children... .'
Matthew 18:3

These words of Our Lord are true of our initial conversion, but we have to be continuously converted all the days of our lives, continually to turn to God as children. If we trust to our wits instead of to God, we produce consequences for which God will hold us responsible. Immediately our bodies are brought into new conditions by the providence of God, we have to see that our natural life obeys the dictates of the Spirit of God. 

Because we have done it once is no proof that we shall do it again. The relation of the natural to the spiritual is one of continuous conversion, and it is the one thing we object to. In every setting in which we are put, the Spirit of God remains unchanged and His salvation unaltered, but we have to "put on the new man." God holds us responsible every time we refuse to convert ourselves, our reason for refusing is wilful obstinacy. Our natural life must not rule, God must rule in us.

The hindrance in our spiritual life is that we will not be continually converted, there are wadges of obstinacy where our pride spits at the throne of God and says - I won't. We deify independence and wilfulness and call them by the wrong name. 

What God looks on as obstinate weakness, we call strength. There are whole tracts of our lives which have not yet been brought into subjection, and it can only be done by this continuous conversion. Slowly but surely we can claim the whole territory for the Spirit of God. 


God's Blueprint for Believers' Living







By A.W. Tozer


In Matthew 5:3-10 we read: Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called sons of God. Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. That is what we ought to be. 

This passage tells what a true Christian should be like. Go on to the epistles and see what the man of God has to say there. In Ephesians 4:26--5:2 he says, "In your anger do not sin": Do not let the sun go down while you are still angry, and do not give the devil a foothold. He who has been stealing must steal no longer, but must work, doing something useful with his own hands, that he may have something to share with those in need. Do not let any unwholesome talk come out of your mouths, but only what is helpful for building others up according to their needs, that it may benefit those who listen. And do not grieve the Holy Spirit of God, with whom you were sealed for the day of redemption. 

Get rid of all bitterness, rage and anger, brawling and slander, along with every form of malice. Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you. Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God. This is what we ought to be. This is the way we ought to be living. When we say, "Lord, what do I still lack?" the Holy Spirit answers, "This is what you lack."


The Worst and the Best





The Friend on the Road and Other Studies in the Gospels: Chapter 41 - The Worst and the Best

By John Henry Jowett


"He knew what was in man."--John ii. 25.

OUR Lord has always known what is in every man. Everything is transparent. The rosebush does not hide the refuse-heap. The stage-play of piety does not conceal the life behind the scenes. We have no secret chambers. He knows all about our most private rooms. Here, at any rate, all camouflage is useless. He sees the thought that has never yet found words. He sees the ugly purpose which is hiding like a snake in the grass. He sees the desire that will not die, but which will not show its face in the street. The Lord knows all about us. We are glass-houses, and everything is manifest. And this should fill us with holy fear: "Thou, God, seest me!"

But there is another way of looking at the apostle's word, and this other way is full of inspiration. The Lord certainly knows my worst, and yet He it is who has the best hopes for me. That is to me one of the most wonderful of all wonderful things. He who knows my worst has more hope for me than they who know my best. My best is only very blind and lame, and it does not offer much promise of anything very splendid that is coming. And so it is that they who are allowed to see my best, my parade days, my prepared moments, are not very enthusiastic in their predictions of the marvelous conquests that await me. But the Saviour sees my very worst. He has turned it all over. Not a thing in all the sad heritage of my past has escaped Him. Not a bit of dirt has been overlooked. Not a sin has slipped by unnoticed. Not a hiding germ of disease in any one of my faculties or powers has gone unregistered. He knows it all, every item in the black collection. And having seen the worst His gospel music sings of the best! He uses such words as these to tell the brightness of His hopes concerning me--"perfect whole," "holy," "clean." And He amazes me when He seeks my intimate companionship, "that where I am there ye may be also." Yes, He who sees my worst has invincible hopes of the best.

This wonderfully hopeful way of looking at the worst is born of His unspeakable love. For it is one of the crowning distinctions of love that her sight is not only clear insight but radiant foresight. Love is Omega as well as Alpha, and she sees the shining end from the dull beginning. But better than all else is this--He who sees my worst is ready to become incorporate with me in all the vital intimacy of His redeeming sacrifice. At Calvary He becomes one with the shame of my worst that I may be enfolded in the grace and glory of His best. I am bound up in the same bundle of life with the Lord my God.



Monday, July 29, 2013

The Canaanites would dwell in that land. Judges 1:27

 
Our Daily Homily




      The Canaanites would dwell in that land. Judges 1:27
     
      How persistent evil habits are! They have dwelt in our lives so long that they dislike being dislodged. Why should they quit their dwell-ing-place and go out into the void? Sometimes, at the beginning of our Christian life, we make a feeble effort against them, and hope to cast them out; but they stubbornly resist. Whenever a remonstrance is addressed to us, we are apt to reply, "Do not find fault; we couldn't help it. These Canaanites are self-willed and persistent, they would dwell in the land."
     
      But the one point that Israel should have borne in mind was that they had no right there. The land was not theirs, it had become Israel's. And, moreover, God was prepared to drive them out; so that His people would have no fighting to do, but only to chase a flying foe. One man was to chase a thousand (Jos 23:10).
     
      So these evil habits have no right to persist in the believer's life. The whole soil of his heart has been made over to the Son of God, and there should be no part left to weeds. "Sin shall not have dominion over you," said the Apostle. Nor is this all. The Holy Spirit is prepared to lust against the flesh, that we may not fulfill it in the lusts thereof, or do the things we otherwise would. The hasty temper may be natural to you: but seeing that your position in Christ is supernatural, this Canaanite must be conquered. There is a complete deliverance possible to all who will open their hearts to the might of the Spirit of God. Talk no more of these Canaanites who would stay in the land; but say of the blessed Spirit, "He is well able to drive them out."


"Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever." Hebrews 13:8

 
J. C. Philpot - Daily Portions






"Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever." Hebrews 13:8


The eye of our faith must be ever fixed on Jesus, for the Person of Christ is the grand object of faith, and to lose sight of him is to lose sight of the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Is he not the same Jesus now that he was on earth? He is exalted, it is true, to an inconceivable height of glory, so that when John saw him, even as if in some measure veiled, he fell at his feet as dead. But he is the same Jesus now as when he was the man of sorrows and acquainted with grief; and as he wears the same human body, so he has the same tender, compassionate heart. 

All that he was upon earth as Jesus, he is in heaven still. All that tenderness and gentleness, all that pity to poor sensible sinners, all that compassion on the ignorant and on those that are out of the way, all that grace and truth which came by him and were manifest in him, all that bleeding, dying love, all that sympathy with the afflicted and tempted, all that power to heal by a word all manner of sickness and disease, all that surpassing beauty and blessedness whereby he is to those who have seen him the chiefest among ten thousand and the altogether lovely, he not only retains in the highest heavens, but is, so to speak, endowed with greater capacity to use them, for all power is given to him in heaven and earth, and all things are put under his feet, and that not only for his own sake, but that he might be the Head over all things to the Church.


Sunday, July 28, 2013

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Confidence in God, Not Man







By Theodore Epp
Job 13:4-15

As we read in Job 13, Job again spoke quite forcibly of his refusal to let his "friends" arbitrate his case for him. He declared he would take it to God himself.

Job brushed his "friends" aside and told them that what they knew he knew, that he was not a bit inferior to them.

It goes without saying that Job's words to his friends and some of their words to him are hardly patterns for believers to use. A great deal of bitterness was evident on both sides.

Job was suffering greatly in body and mind, and the discourses of Eliphaz, Bildad and Zophar added torment to his already overburdened heart.

Job forcefully expressed his resentment against their unfair treatment. At times he "blew off steam," and yet intermingled with his strong words were often statements of remarkable truth concerning God.

From what we have already seen in chapter 13, Job stated that even if God were to kill him, he would trust Him. Would we be able to make such a statement in the midst of intense suffering?

"It is better to trust in the LORD than to put confidence in man" (Ps. 118:8).


The Troubled Heart





The Friend on the Road and Other Studies in the Gospels: Chapter 52 - The Troubled Heart

By John Henry Jowett

"Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid."--John xiv. 27.


WHENEVER Ian Maclaren was called to a house of sickness or sorrow he always read to the troubled folk the fourteenth chapter of John. Nothing was ever used as a substitute for this. "If one is sinking into unconsciousness," he said, "and you read In my Father's house are many mansions,' he will come back and whisper mansions,' and he will wait till you finish where I am there ye shall be also,' before he dies in peace." In such critical hours there is something so vital, so satisfying, so pacifying in our Saviour's assurances of God and His wonderful preparations of redemption.

But it is not only in the last crisis of the great translation that we need the fourteenth chapter of John. There are sore convulsions in life when death is far away, and we sometimes wish it were near. Death might solve our troubles; life itself is the problem. We have suffered some heavy shock. Our circumstances are all upheaved. Familiar landmarks have been removed. We have lost our bearings.

And these are just the needs which our Lord associated with the word of grace. Our minds are distracted. We do not know how to direct our thought. We are pulled and driven many ways, and no way seems more imperative than another. Our inner life is like a discordant orchestra, like an orchestra without a leader, "all at sixes and sevens!" We are distracted. And we are also the children of fear. Uncertainty seems to have hold of things, and we look down every road with cold apprehension. And it is just this two-fold condition of the hot head and the chilled heart that our Saviour has in mind, and to which He would bring His wonderful ministry of restored assurance. "Let not your mind be distracted, neither let your heart be afraid!"

What is to be our resource in these troubled hours? Our Lord calls us to hold to one Centre, and to one only. If we get away from that Centre everything else will be erratic and eccentric. If we abide there everything will take its appropriate place. "Believe in God, believe also in Me!" We are to trust the Father as unveiled to us in Jesus Christ His Son. We are to fling ourselves, with all our weight of care and sorrow, upon His loyal and loving strength. We are to hold there--nay, to rest there, and the troubled incidents will begin to arrange themselves in divinely purposed ranks. If Christ be lifted up He will draw even these convulsive happenings into destined and friendly order. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.



A Precious Promise of God's Completing Work







By Bob Hoekstra


Being confident of this very thing, that He who has begun a good work in you will complete it until the day of Jesus Christ. (Philippians 1:6)


Now, we return to the category we are calling "precious promises." (2 Peter 1:4). Here we have a priceless one concerning God's commitment to complete the wonderful work of salvation that He began at our new birth.

If our faith is in Jesus Christ as our Lord and Savior, God has started a tremendous saving work on our behalf: " He who has begun a good work in you."

He has made us new creatures in His Son. "Therefore, if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation; old things have passed away; behold, all things have become new" (2 Corinthians 5:17). He has supplied us with immeasurable heavenly resources. "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who has blessed us with every spiritual blessing in the heavenly places in Christ" (Ephesians 1:3). What a grand work has been started in us. Yet, God's saving work is "so great a salvation" (Hebrews 2:3). Thus, whatever He has already been accomplished with us is only a part of the whole. Wherever we are in this glorious process, there is some completing work that God desires to do. He wants to bring into our understanding, our character, and our daily experience more of that which is fully ours in Christ.

Furthermore, our God wants us to be confident concerning this matter: "Being confident of this very thing." As noted in our previous meditation, God does not want people living in self-confidence. That misplaced trust is just another form of pride. This does not mean that we Christians are to be without confidence in our lives. It does mean that all of our confidence is to be placed in the Lord. "And we have such trust [confidence] through Christ toward God" (2 Corinthians 3:4). Our Lord wants us to have strong assurance in Him that He will complete this work in us.

Also remember, this saving work of God is done within our lives: "He who has begun a good work in you will complete it." The Lord has established an eternal position for us with Him in heavenly places: "and raised us up together, and made us sit together in the heavenly places in Christ Jesus" (Ephesians 2:6). Yet, He wants to effect a godly walk for us here on earth. "Walk worthy of the calling with which you were called" (Ephesians 4:1). This walk is not based upon human theories of behavior modification. Our Lord Himself develops this in and through our hearts. "Now may the God of peace . . . make you complete in every good work to do His will, working in you what is well pleasing in His sight" (Hebrews 13:20-21).

Dear Lord, I long to walk in more of the reality of that which is mine in Christ. Thank You for these words that build my confidence in You. I humbly repent of my self-confident attempts to do what only You can do. I look to You anew and alone!


Lifting Up Your Empty Cup







By George H. Alquist Jr.


"Have mercy upon me, 0 LORD, consider my trouble which I suffer of them that hate me, thou that liftest me up from the gates of death: "That I may shew forth all thy praise in the gates of the daughter of Zion: I will rejoice in thy salvation." -Ps. 9:1 3,14.

David was in a bad way: he was troubled and suffering at the hands of his enemies, even to the point of death. He called out to God to lift him up, to save him, to take him from the gates of death to the gates of Zion. He was seeking the mercy of God while he was lying at the "gates of death!"

David's situation was one of physical need, yet these verses also speak of man's spiritual situation.

I. Lying at the Gate

The practice of begging has been going on for a long time. I'm sure you've walked down the street many times and seen folks holding out a tin cup, begging for money. And they do their begging in a high-traffic area, a place where the most people will see them and help them.

The Gate Beautiful

"And a certain man lame from his mother's womb was carried, whom they laid daily at the gate of the temple which is called Beautiful, to ask alms of them that entered into the temple;

Who seeing Peter and John about to go into the temple asked an alms.

And Peter, fastening his eyes upon him with John, said, Look on us.

And he gave heed unto them, expecting to receive something of them.

Then Peter said, Silver and gold have I none; but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth rise up and walk.

And he took him by the right hand, and lifted him up: and immediately his feet and ankle bones received strength.

And he leaping up stood, and walked, and entered with them into the temple, walking, and leaping, and praising God.

And all the people saw him walking and praising God:

And they knew that it was he which sat for alms at the Beautiful gate of the temple: and they were filled with wonder and amazement at that which had happened unto him." -Acts 3:2-10.

The lame man, lying at the gate Beautiful because it is a place of high traffic, is there to ask for money from the passersby.

Let's look at some of the other people who may be at this particular gate.

There is a dying man, hoping someone will have pity and mercy on him and give him money so he can get the medical attention he needs.

Close by is a man who is destitute; he has no money, so he sits there day after day, begging for alms.

We also find at the gate Beautiful a derelict who has lost his way. He has no direction, no guidance, no one to help him; and he lies at the gate, asking for alms.

There is a disabled man. He would work if he could, but he has been lame from birth, and his legs will not support his body. All he can do is beg for alms.

All of these people are lying at the gate, their bony, empty hands reaching out for mercy from passersby: "Won't someone put a coin in my hand?" they beg.

Occasionally someone will toss a penny their way, but it is seldom out of mercy. Their "kindness" is most often out of guilt or to soothe their own conscience or, as is most often the case, to make themselves look generous and charitable in the eyes of others. But the beggars care not for the motive; they care only for the money.


The Gate Death

Lying at the gate of death is where Jesus finds us when we are in our sinful condition, when we are lost and without guidance or direction or hope. We lie there just as miserable and just as needy as those found with the lame man at the gate Beautiful.

When we are born into this world, we are placed at the gate of death. We lie there year after year-sometimes decade after decade-until one day we go through that gate. The Bible says, "The soul that sinneth, it shall die" (Ezek. 18:4); "for the wages of sin is death" (Rom. 6:23).

The Gate Hell

Not only is there the gate of death" there is also the gate of Hell (Matt.16: 18). That is where death takes the sinner. He will spend eternity in the lake of fire with "the fearful, and unbelieving, and the abominable, and murderers, and whoremongers, and sorcerers, and idolaters, and all liars" (Rev. 21:8).

From the moment of birth we are physically dying, but if we are not born again, we are also dying spiritually. "And you, being dead in your sins and the uncircumcision of your flesh, hath he quickened together with him, having forgiven you all trespasses" (Col. 2:13).

We are like that dying man, destitute of all personal righteousness: "All our righteousnesses are as filthy rags" (Isa. 64:6).

Paul tells us in Romans 3:10, "There is none righteous, no, not one."

Without Jesus Christ, we are spiritually bankrupt and spiritually destitute; we have nothing to offer to God for His acceptance.

Are you fearful? Are you an unbeliever? Have you ever told a lie? Is the lake of fire your destiny? When you enter through the gate of death, will you then enter through the gate of Hell?

The Gate Disability

"Not by works of righteousness which we have done, but according to his mercy he saved us, by the washing of regeneration, and renewing of the Holy Ghost." -Titus 3:5.

We are not able to work our way or to earn our way into Heaven. We are unable to lift ourselves or to help ourselves. The Bible says:

"For by grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God: Not of works, lest any man should boast." Eph. 2: 8,9.

The Gate Dereliction

The word derelict means "to be without a captain." Before we are saved, we are like a ship without a captain, a plane without a pilot, we are wandering and drifting and lost, our nature corrupt and without hope because we are lost at sea, for there is no one at the controls.

"The heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. - who can know it?"-Jer. 17:9.

"For I know that in me (that is, in my flesh,) dwelleth no good thing: for to will is present with me; but how to perform that which is good I find not." -Rom. 7:18.

Being born into the human race, we are in an unsaved condition; we are without moral compass; we are without power to do right, we are without direction; we are aimless and hopeless. Outside of Christ, there we lie - pitiful, writhing wrecks of willful humanity.

Maybe you've never looked at yourself as a derelict, but that is how you are if you have not been born again. Oh, we gloss it over with our works for humanity, and we pride ourselves on our accomplishments and abilities, but under the light of the Bible we see our true selves.

II. LOOKING AT THE LAMB

"The next day John [the Baptist] seeth Jesus coming unto him, and saith, Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world." -John 1:29.

Jesus Christ, the sacrificial Lamb of God, was sent to die for the sins of the world. What is it that places us at the gate of death and the gate of Hell? Our sinful nature. And Jesus came as the Lamb of God to die on the cross to pay for the very sins that placed us before these gates! He came to lift us up away from those gates; He came to save us and to release us from the gate of death and the gate of Hell.

But wait a minute! Before we are released from these gates, we must respond to the Sacrifice. And how do we do that? By looking to the Lamb.

John said, "Behold the Lamb of God," and he said that to bring our attention away from ourselves and to turn our eyes toward Jesus, because there is "the Lamb of God." But how do we "behold the Lamb of God"? How do we turn our eyes upon Him and away from ourselves?

Sunrise Tomorrow





By Vance Havner


There has always been a peculiar charm about sunrise. It has been the theme of many popular songs like "The World Is Waiting For The Sunrise" and that wedding favorite, "At Dawning." Poems aplenty have been written about sunsets, but there is a different beauty that belongs to sunrise. Probably not many of us see enough sunrises to enter into their secrets. I am not parading myself as an early riser. I miss more sunrises than I see. But some that I have seen will abide in my heart forever. There is something about darkness giving way to light, the mystery of a new day being born, the eastern sky aflush and then aflame, that lingers in the soul.

Sick people can tell us much about sunrise, for they have passed many a restless night longing for the break of day. They know what the Psalmist meant when he said, "My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen wait for the morning: I say, more than watchmen wait for the morning." They understand Job when he said: "When I lie down I think, 'How long before I get up?' The night drags on, and I toss till dawn."

I remember such a night years ago when I was suffering from nervous exhaustion and was unable to sleep. I spent the night in a cottage beside a lovely lake. I was to preach the next day in a city church near by, and I needed a good night's rest but could not obtain it. Of course, the harder one tries to sleep, the less likely he is to succeed. Toward morning, I gave up and resigned myself to watching for the day. I remember the first faint intimation of coming light. I could not put my finger on the clock at any one minute and say, "Here began the day." But there was the gentle, gradual fading of the darkness; a few birds chirped in the trees; there was soon a glint on the water; by and by, the first rosy tint flushed the east; and through it all grew the mystery of the world waiting for the sunrise.

One who has passed sleepless morning hours may learn to "meditate in the night watches," to pray if he cannot sleep. He begins to understand why the saintly fathers rose early for a session with God. He knows why the New England Pilgrims prayed at sunrise. Bradford tells of an Indian attack at daybreak while they were so engaged. He recalls William Law and that he rose at five because he was a Christian and, when tempted to stay in bed, reminded himself, "I am an old man and am far behind with my sanctification." So he flung himself out of bed before the servants had made their fires or the farmers had yoked their horses, for he thought it a shame to lie folded up in bed when life was so short and there was so much to do.

Again, one thinks of Jacob wrestling with the angel and crossing Peniel at sunrise, limping but having power with God and men. Especially does one think of the Saviour, who, rising up a great while before day, went out and departed into a solitary place and there prayed." Evidently He found it good to wait on God while the world was waiting for the sunrise.

We are told that during Paul's experience in the storm at sea "they cast out four anchors and wished for the day." We are passing through one of the worst moral and spiritual hurricanes in history; multitudes are at sea, and many are wishing for the day. Whether on beds of pain or bowed down with sorrow or burdened with the uncertainty of today and dread of tomorrow, millions were never so weary of the night and so anxious for the day. And never have so many been homesick for heaven. They have cast their anchor safe and sure and are waiting till the day dawns and the shadows flee away. "Weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning."

But so many dear souls are not sure about the sunrise. There is small comfort in a vague hope that "everything will turn out all right." There is little solace in a mere Pollyanna optimism and a Micawberish philosophy (a fictional Charles Dickens character) that "something will turn up." Nor will Utopian dreams of a better world, a brotherhood of man welded together by politicians and diplomats, satisfy the soul.

The Best Wine Last

  
George H. Morrison - Devotional Sermons




      The Best Wine Last
   
      Every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have well drunk, then that which is worse: but thou hast kept the good wine until now--Joh. 2:10
   
      With God, the Best Is at the End
   
      Into the story of this memorable marriage I do not propose to go. Rather, I wish to base what I may have to say on this remark of the ruler of the feast. Why, do you think, did this saying so impress John that it lingered ineffaceable in his memory? Was it merely because of the pleasure it evoked to hear his Master's handiwork so praised? I think there was a deeper reason. John was by nature an idealist, loving to find the abstract in the concrete. In the particular instance of the moment, he was quick to see the universal law. And it flashed on John, hearing this chairman speak, that he was speaking more wisely than he knew and uttering a truth that had far wider range than the miracle at that wedding of Cana. 

Was it not true of many an earthly pageant that the best wine was given at the beginning? Was it not true wherever Christ was active that the best wine was kept until the end? 

In other words, take man apart from God and always it is the worse which follows; but take God in any of His thousand energies, and always the best is kept until the end.
   
      Without God the Last Is the Worse
   
      It is on these two truths I wish to speak. And first on the sadder and more somber of them. Think, then, for a moment of life itself, unsustained by the hope we have in God. Now I am not a pessimist as you all know; nor am I given to painting dark or depressing pictures; yet the fact is too plain to be gainsaid--afterward that which is worse. 

First comes childhood with its joy and wonder and with its world compact of mystery and charm. Then follows youth with its ideal and vision; then opening manhood with its glowing hopes. And the world is still a very noble place, and the gates of the prison house have not yet closed, and the body, whether for toil or joy, is still a subtle and a powerful instrument. Then come the heat and battle of middle age, and the weakness and the weariness of age, and the years when men say, "I have no pleasure in them," and when all the daughters of music are brought low; and the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire shall fail, and they who were strong men once shall bow themselves. Is this the gallant youth of long ago, this bent and tottering and palsied form? Are these the eyes that once were bright with love? Is that the brain that was so clear and keen?
   
      Last scene of all
          That ends this strange eventful history,
      Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
          Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
   
      Afterward That Which Is Worse
   
      Or think again of life's relationships on which the blessing of God is never sought. When character is unchastened and unpurified, how often do the years bring disappointment! Think of the tie of fatherhood and sonship. To the little child the father is a hero. No pictured saint wears such a golden halo as does the father in his children's eyes. His character is flawless and complete above all question and all criticism; it is the image in the childish mirror of the dim and shadowy character of God. Happy the child who, when its eyes are opened, still finds a character that it can reverence! But if the father is living without God, who is swifter to see it than the growing boy? And all that revelation of unworthiness, with occasional glimpses of what is darker still, makes the cup bitter which was once so sweet. 

And then the words were spoken at a marriage. Are they never true of that most sacred tie? Are there no wives or husbands who are whispering, "Afterwards that which is worse"? They remember a day when life was full of courtesy and of little attentions that were better than gold and of a charity that suffered long and of a kindness that was the breath of heaven. Where has it fled to, that kindness of the morning? Who set by the hearth these irritable, tempers? Is that cold voice the voice that was so tender in the gentle and sweet days of long ago? Unguarded by the consciousness of God, unchastened by the discipline of watchfulness, unwatered by the kindly dew of prayer, unhelped by the strength made perfect in our weakness; how many homes there are that know too well--afterward that which is worse.
   
      Sin Gives the Best in the Beginning
   
      Once more you will think how true this is of sin. It is indeed the masterpiece of evil. It is the token and the triumph of all sin that it always gives the best wine at the start. That is why men of open and generous natures are often those most bitterly assailed. They do not calculate nor look ahead nor reckon seriously with the morrow. And sin is so fair and pleasant at the outset and hides its afterward with such consummate mastery that the reckless heart becomes an easy prey. Do you not think, now, if all the miseries of drunkenness were to meet a man upon the verge of drinking--do you not think he would cry out for help and turn from his accursed vice and flee? But drunkenness does not begin like that. It begins in the social hour and happy comradeship, and only afterwards there are the blighted prospects and the shattered body and the ruined home. Let any young man see what I as a minister have seen of the worse-than-death that follows social sin, and he will fall on his knees in prayer to God for strength to keep himself unspotted from the world. But sin is cunning and conceals all that; it sets on the table a delicious vintage; and only afterwards--but always afterwards--that which is worse.
   
      Sin Conceals the Worse
   
      And I cannot leave this darker side of things without asking, must all that stop at death? I wish most passionately I could believe it did; but I see no reasonable ground for that assurance. You tell me that you don't believe in hell. If you take hell to be a red devil with a fork, I don't believe in it either. But I believe in law; I believe in immortality; I believe in the momentum of a life. And if the momentum of a life be downward, and be unchecked by the strong arm of God, how can we hope that it will be arrested by the frail and yielding harrier of the grave? I hesitate to dwell upon that thought. All I wish to say to you is this. If sin conceals the worse behind tomorrow, may it not conceal the worse behind the grave? Sum up the issues of sin that you have known; the bitterness, the tears, the vain regret; think of its darkened homes, its blighted lives, its wreckage everywhere of broken hearts; then go, and as you gaze into a lost eternity, say, "Afterwards, that which is worse."
   
      The Progress of God's Creation
   
      But now I turn, and I do so very gladly, to the energies and activities of God. Wherever God in Christ is working, the best wine is kept until the end.
   
      Think first for a moment of creation. There was a time, not so long ago, when religion trembled at the assault of science. It seemed as if science, flushed with her many victories and pressing forward to universal conquest, might drive from the field, in ignominious rout, many of the truths of revelation. One hears a great deal less of that today. The combatants have been laying down their arms. They have been learning that the field of battle was divinely meant to be a field of brotherhood. And nowhere have they better learned that lesson than in regard to the method of creation, for Scripture and science are agreed in this, that the best wine was kept until the end. First there was chaos and the formless deep; then light, and the ingathering of the waters. Then the first dawn of life in lowliest form, followed by bird and beast. And always the path was upward, from dull and shapeless horror, to what was better, richer, and more beautiful. And then at last, not at the first, came man, capable of communion with his Maker; greater, by that spark of God within him, than sun and moon and all the host of heaven. And it is in man, so noble though so fallen, so touched with heaven although so soiled with hell, that we discover it is the way of God to keep the best wine until the end.
   
      God's Revelation Is Progressive
   
      The same is true in the sphere of revelation, the revelation of the divine to man. Not all at once, in sudden burst of glory, did God reveal Himself to human hearts. We speak of revelation as progressive. That is a truth which we insist on now. Only as men are able to receive it will God reveal the riches of His grace. And so from age to age men were led on from the first flush and crimson of the dawn to the perfect radiance of Him who said, "I am the light of the world." Have you ever wondered why God delayed His coming, why the wheels of His chariot tarried for so long? Compared with all the ages of mankind, it is but a little while since Christ was here. But this is the meaning of that long delay, that the God of creation and of grace is one, and that in both activities alike, He keeps the best wine until the last. You remember how the writer to the Hebrews puts it, "God who at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past unto the fathers by the prophets, hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son" (Heb. 1:1-2). Precious are the promises of the Old Testament. Precious are the teachings of the prophets. Precious is every gleam that was vouchsafed to the waiting heart of patriarch and psalmist. But it is when we turn to Christ, the Son of God, the way, the truth, the life, the resurrection, that we cry with the ruler of the feast at Cana, "Thou hast kept the best wine until now."
   
      Calvary Was the Best at the Last
   
      I think, too, we may apply this thought to the life of the incarnate Lord Himself. It was all blessed, yet it was most blessed, not in its beginning but its end. I turn to the manger-cradle by the inn when I wish to fathom His humiliation. I turn to His words and to His perfect life when I wish to know the Fatherhood of God. But when I realize I am a sinner and that my deepest need is pardon and release, then it is "Rock of ages cleft for me, let me hide myself in Thee." Not on the teaching of Christ is the church built, although that teaching shall never pass away. Not on the example of Christ is the church built, though that example be its spur and goal. The church of God is built upon redemption, on pardon and peace that have been won through death; and that is why Christendom has looked to Calvary and said, "Thou hast kept the best wine until now." If the Sermon on the Mount were the whole Gospel, I confess that I could hardly understand it. It is so unlike all that we know of God to give all that is best at the beginning. But if the Sermon on the Mount be but a step in the ladder that leads upward to the cross, then, in the life and death of Jesus, I am in touch with the ways of the divine. It is that fact--the fact of a redemption--that fills and floods the apostolic page. It is that fact that has made the cross the universal symbol of the Gospel. "And he took the cup .... and gave it to them, saying, Drink ye all of it; for this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins" (Mat. 26:27-28). Ah yes, Thou hast kept the best wine until now.
    

      The Path of the Just Shines More and More
   
      Lastly, and in a word or two, is not this true also of our Christian calling? The path of the just is as the shining light which shineth more and more unto the perfect day. Not all at once does Christ reveal Himself when we go forward determined to be His. And the old life still struggles for the mastery, and we are in heaviness through manifold temptations. But the difference between Christ and the devil is just this, that the devil's tomorrow is worse than his today; but the morrow of Christ, for every man who trusts Him, is always brighter and better than His yesterday. Every act of obedience that we do gives us a new vision of His love. Sorrow and trial reveal His might of sympathy as the darkness of the night reveals the stars. And when at last the wrestling is over, and like tired children we lie down to sleep, and when we waken and behold His face in the land where there is no more weariness, I think we shall look back upon it all and find new meaning in every hour of it; but I think also we shall cry adoringly, "Thou hast kept the best wine until now."


The Brightest Colors






By Mrs. Charles E. Cowman
"It is good for me that I have been afflicted" (Ps. 119:71).

It is a remarkable circumstance that the most brilliant colors of plants are to be seen on the highest mountains, in spots that are most exposed to the wildest weather. The brightest lichens and mosses, the loveliest gems of wild flowers, abound far up on the bleak, storm-scalped peak.

One of the richest displays of organic coloring I ever beheld was near the summit of Mount Chenebettaz, a hill about 10,000 feet high, immediately above the great St. Bernard Hospice. The whole face of an extensive rock was covered with a most vivid yellow lichen which shone in the sunshine like the golden battlement of an enchanted castle.

There, in that lofty region, amid the most frowning desolation, exposed to the fiercest tempest of the sky, this lichen exhibited a glory of color such as it never showed in the sheltered valley. I have two specimens of the same lichen before me while I write these lines, one from the great St. Bernard, and the other from the wall of a Scottish castle, deeply embossed among sycamore trees; and the difference in point of form and coloring between them is most striking.

The specimen nurtured amid the wild storms of the mountain peak is of a lovely primrose hue, and is smooth in texture and complete in outline, while the specimen nurtured amid the soft airs and the delicate showers of the lowland valley is of a dim rusty hue, and is scurfy in texture, and broken in outline.

And is it not so with the Christian who is afflicted, tempest-tossed, and not comforted? Till the storms and vicissitudes of God's providence beat upon him again and again, his character appears marred and clouded; but trials clear away the obscurity, perfect the outlines of his disposition, and give brightness and blessing to his life.

Amidst my list of blessings infinite
Stands this the foremost, that my heart has bled;
For all I bless Thee, most for the severe.
--Hugh Macmillan


"Man looks at the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart!" 1 Samuel 16:7


(J. R. Miller, "The Hidden Life" 1895)

"Man looks at the outward appearance, but
the Lord looks at the heart!"
1 Samuel 16:7

Those who are striving to live near the heart of
Christ, must realize that it is the hidden life
which makes the character.

What we are in the depths of our being, where
no human eye can penetrate—that we are actually,
as God sees us. This inner life will ultimately work
its way through to the surface—transforming the
character into its own quality.

Nothing can be more important, therefore, than
that the hidden life be true, pure, beautiful, and
Christ-like.

"Man looks at the outward appearance, but
the Lord looks at the heart!"
1 Samuel 16:7


A Receiver of Wrecks





The Friend on the Road and Other Studies in the Gospels: Chapter 31 - A Receiver of Wrecks


By John Henry Jowett

"This man receiveth sinners."--Luke xv. 2.

THE title which I have given to this meditation may sometimes be seen as one of the headlines on the business announcements of certain men on the Northwest coast of Canada. They advertise themselves as "receivers of wrecks." The first time I saw the phrase it struck me with peculiar impressiveness, and my mind travelled very quickly to the work of our Lord. For, in a way, that is altogether unique. Jesus of Nazareth was a "receiver of wrecks." He did not come into the world for the sake of "them that are whole." He came for the sake of the boats that have been driven out by tempests, and smashed against the rocks and can hardly keep afloat. He came to befriend the derelicts, the mere hulls that have lost compass, and engine, and sails, and are just drifting about the envious deep. "This man receiveth wrecks."

Nobody else wants them. Where is there a friendly coastguardsman in all New York or London except he be a disciple of Jesus Christ? Where is there an open, hospitable harbour except those which Jesus Christ Himself has built? I think of one home which flashes out the invitation, "Refuge for the destitute"! And I love the shining line at the Water Street Mission, "Drunkards. specially invited!" But these are Christ's harbours, and the men on the lookout belong to His brave crew. But where is there a non-Christian haven for wrecks? Who is there who receives these human derelicts, and receives them to recreate them, and to send them out again, with banners flying, to do saving work on the very waters where they met their ruin?

It seems a long way back to Cotter Morrison, and his forgotten book, "The Service of Man," and I only recall it because of one sentence in which he confesses the impossibility of converting derelicts into sound seagoing liners: "It is no use disguising the matter, there is no remedy for a bad heart." That is to say, the wreck can never sail again! Jesus Christ never says that of anybody. 


No boat is ever "too far gone." What Chesterton says of Browning can be said of our Saviour in an altogether incomparable way: "He was the friend of outcasts whom even outcasts cast out." He had no impossibles. "Even though he were dead yet shall he live!" Yes, the old wrecks are refashioned, they are new creations in Christ Jesus. This Man receiveth wrecks: they come into His harbour heavy-laden and almost sinking; and they sail out again under the banner of His love, and behold! all things are become new!


"But as He went." Luke 8:42


by Charles Spurgeon

"But as He went." Luke 8:42

Jesus is passing through the throng—to the house of Jairus, to raise the ruler's dead daughter; but He is so profuse in goodness, that He works another miracle while upon the road. While yet this rod of Aaron bears the blossom of an unaccomplished wonder, it yields the ripe almonds of a perfect work of mercy.

It is enough for us, if we have some one purpose, straightway to go and accomplish it; it were imprudent to expend our energies along the way. Hastening to the rescue of a drowning friend, we cannot afford to exhaust our strength upon another in like danger. It is enough for a tree to yield one sort of fruit—and for a man to fulfill his own peculiar calling. But our Master knows no limit of power or boundary of mission. He is so prolific of grace, that like the sun which shines as it rolls onward in its orbit, His path is radiant with loving-kindness. He is a swift arrow of love, which not only reaches its ordained target—but perfumes the air through which it flies. Virtue is evermore going out of Jesus—as sweet odors exhale from flowers! And it always will be emanating from Him—as water from a sparkling fountain.

What delightful encouragement this truth affords us! If our Lord is so ready to heal the sick and bless the needy, then, my soul, do not be slow to put yourself in His way—that He may smile on you. Do not be slack in asking—if He be so abundant in bestowing. Give earnest heed to His Word now, and at all times, that Jesus may speak through it to your heart. Where He is to be found—there make your resort, that you may obtain His blessing. When He is present to heal, may He not heal you? But surely He is present even now, for He always comes to hearts which need Him. And do not you need Him? Ah, He knows how much! O Son of David, turn Your eye and look upon the distress which is now before You, and make Your suppliant whole!

"The Word of the Lord came unto Jonah the second time." Jonah 3:1

J. R. Miller, 1895

"The Word of the Lord came unto Jonah the second time." Jonah 3:1

Jonah had failed the first time—but God gave him a second chance. This shows the divine patience. Strict justice would have left Jonah at the bottom of the sea, or in the jaws of the great fish; but God was merciful to him. He had now gone through a discipline which left him ready to obey.

That is the way God often deals with people. When they rebel or disobey him—he does not cast them off—but puts them under some discipline, sometimes sore and painful, to teach them obedience, and then tries them again. Many of us have to be whipped to duty; but what a blessed thing it is that God is so patient with us! Most of us owe all we are, to God's disciplines. "For the Lord disciplines the one He loves, and punishes every son whom He receives." Hebrews 12:6. Thus even our sins may become blessings to us.

We should be very thankful to God for these second chances that God gives us, when we have failed to improve the first chance. Very few people make of their life, what God first wanted them to make. Then he sets them another lesson, that they may try again. Perhaps the second is not so beautiful nor so noble as the first; still it is good, and if they are faithful and diligent, they can make something worthy even yet of their life. Most of us have to be sent more than once, on our errands for God. Happy are we if we obey even at the second bidding, although it is far better that we go at first.


Saturday, July 27, 2013

The Old Tackle and the New Presence





The Friend on the Road and Other Studies in the Gospels: Chapter 26 - The Old Tackle and the New Presence

By John Henry Jowett


"Launch out into the deep."--Luke v. 4.

THE disciples had just washed their nets after a fruitless night. The labour of washing nets is light when we have had. a splendid haul; but washing the nets when we have not caught any fish is a fearfully wearying task. Walking the long street when we have plenty of remunerative work is one thing; walking the same street when we are looking for work takes the very spring out of body and soul. Labour, infused with a spirit of disappointment and depression, is always burdensome toil. And it was after they had been engaged in this sort of cheerless work that the Master came upon His disciples. They were washing ineffective nets! And Jesus said unto Simon, "Launch out into the deep!" What, after the fruitless night, after toiling for nothing? The same thing over again? No, it is not the old thing over again. It is certainly the old tackle, the old nets, and perhaps the old methods; but it is the old equipment with a new Presence, the immediate Presence of the Lord. "And they inclosed a great multitude of fishes."

Have we not had similar happenings in our own experience? In much of our service we have been very busy, but no business has been done. We have had all needful equipment, and we have had the right sort of nets, but we have caught nothing. The organisation was seemingly perfect, but there was nothing to show for the work. Perhaps we were out on the waters without Jesus. We had forgotten nothing except the Lord, and when we have forgotten Him we might as well have left everything behind. Suppose we take the old tackle and the neglected Presence! The old nets are all right; only let us cast them at the command of the immediate Lord, and we shall have miraculous revelations of power and grace.

And is there not some counsel here for theological students? One of the most perilous periods in a minister's life is the preparatory season when he has nothing to do but study theology. It is possible to go out on that fine quest without the Lord. They are noble waters to fish in, but we may catch little or nothing. At any rate, we may go through the seminary and gain no pearls of great price. In this preparatory service of getting ready for service, Christ must be in the boat or nothing will come of it. It must surely be a wonderful thing to study theology in the personal companionship of the Lord! Such fishing in those deep waters must haul in vital treasure.

And so it is with us preachers. We sometimes go on our great journeys without Christ, and we have disappointment and tiring endings. The tackle is all right: we throw the nets all right, but the vital Presence is missing, and we pitiably fail. "With Christ in the vessel I'll smile at the storm." We shall do much more than that! We shall do great work in the stormy waters, for hath He not said, "I will make you fishers of men"?



Picture of Rest







By Mrs. Charles E. Cowman


"My own peace I give to you" (John 14:27, Weymouth).

Two painters each painted a picture to illustrate his conception of rest. The first chose for his scene a still, lone lake among the far-off mountains.

The second threw on his canvas a thundering waterfall, with a fragile birch tree bending over the foam; and at the fork of the branch, almost wet with the cataract's spray, sat a robin on its nest.

The first was only stagnation; the last was rest.

Christ's life outwardly was one of the most troubled lives that ever lived: tempest and tumult, tumult and tempest, the waves breaking over it all the time until the worn body was laid in the grave. But the inner life was a sea of glass. The great calm was always there.

At any moment you might have gone to Him and found rest. And even when the human bloodhounds were dogging Him in the streets of Jerusalem, He turned to His disciples and offered them, as a last legacy, "My peace."

Rest is not a hallowed feeling that comes over us in church; it is the repose of a heart set deep in God. --Drummond

My peace I give in times of deepest grief,
Imparting calm and trust and My relief.

My peace I give when prayer seems lost, unheard;
Know that My promises are ever in My Word.

My peace I give when thou art left alone--
The nightingale at night has sweetest tone.

My peace I give in time of utter loss,
The way of glory leads right to the cross.

My peace I give when enemies will blame,
Thy fellowship is sweet through cruel shame.

My peace I give in agony and sweat,
For mine own brow with bloody drops was wet.

My peace I give when nearest friend betrays
Peace that is merged in love, and for them prays.

My peace I give when there's but death for thee
The gateway is the cross to get to Me.
--L. S. P.



"This became a great sin!" 1 Kings 12:30

J. R. Miller, 1895

"This became a great sin!" 1 Kings 12:30

The king's plan was successful. The people did not go back to the temple at Jerusalem—but bowed down before the calves. The separation was thus made complete. No only so—but the false leading of the king, turned the ten tribes into a path that took them farther and farther away from God.

Twenty times the Scripture records that "Jeroboam made Israel to sin." The name of Jeroboam is held up to execration through all the after history—as a man who made others sin!

Sin grows from small beginnings—until it attains giant proportions. The man who starts an error, knows not what moral ruin will come from it. To teach one child falsely, may be to blight thousands of lives. Those who begin new enterprises set in motion streams of influence, good or bad, which may continue to flow forever. Jeroboam gave character to this new kingdom, and all the nineteen kings who followed him walked in his wicked steps.

There is a story of an abbot who coveted a piece of ground. The owner consented to lease it to the abbot for one crop only. The abbot sowed acorns, a crop which took three hundred years to ripen. Jeroboam's one sowing of sin, burdened the new kingdom with evil through all its history. Satan begs for one crop only, and then sows seeds whose harvest will fill all the life to the end. We do not know what we are doing—when we start a wrong thing.


"O you afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted." Isaiah 54:11


DAILY PORTIONS

(Selected from the writing of Joseph Philpot by his daughters)

"O you afflicted, tossed with tempest, and not comforted." Isaiah 54:11

The Lord here compares his suffering Church to a ship at sea, laboring in a heavy storm, driven out of her course by contrary winds, as was Paul's case in the Adriatic, and doubtful whether she will ever reach the harbor; as the hymn says, "Half a wreck by tempests driven."

What a picture of a tempest-tossed soul! Sun and stars beclouded, compass lost, chart useless, pilot absent, and breakers ahead! Many, very many of the Lord's dear family are thus "tossed with tempest;" some with a tempest of doubts and fears; others with a tempest of lust and corruptions; some with a tempest of rebellion and fretfulness; others with a storm of guilt and despondency, or with gloomy forebodings and dismal apprehensions. Thus they are driven from their course, their sun and stars all obscured; no clear evidences, no bright manifestations; darkness above, and a raging sea beneath; no harbor in sight, and hope of reaching the desired haven almost gone.

But it is further said of Zion, that she is "not comforted;" that is, not comforted by, nor capable of comfort from, any other than God. This I look upon as a very decisive mark of a work of grace upon the soul. 


When a man is so distressed in his feelings, so cast down in his mind, and so troubled in his conscience, that none but God can comfort him, we seem to be at once on the footsteps of the Spirit. We do not find hypocrites on this ground. False professors can easily take comfort; they can steal what God does not give, and appropriate what he does not apply. But Zion's special mark is that she is "not comforted," that her wounds are too deep for human balms, her sickness too sore for creature medicines. God has reserved her comfort in his own hands; from his lips alone can consolation be spoken into her soul.


Crises of Love





By A.W. Tozer


If we lived in a spiritual Utopia where every wind blew toward heaven and every man was a friend of God, we Christians could take everything for granted, counting on the new life within us to cause us to do the will of God without effort and more or less unconsciously. Unfortunately we have opposing us the lusts of the flesh, the attractions of the world and the temptations of the devil. These complicate our lives and require us often to make determined moral decisions on the side of Christ and His commandments.

It is the crisis that forces us to take a stand for or against. The patriot may be loyal to his country for half a lifetime without giving much thought to it, but let an unfriendly power solicit him to turn traitor and he will quickly spurn its overtures. His patriotism will be brought out into the open for everyone to see. So it is in the Christian life.

When the 'south wind blew softly' (Acts 27:13) the ship that carried Paul sailed smoothly enough and no one on board knew who Paul was or how much strength of character lay hidden behind that rather plain exterior. But when the mighty tempest, Euroclydon, burst upon them Paul's greatness was soon the talk of everyone on the ship.

The apostle, though himself a prisoner quite literally took command of the vessel, made decisions and issued orders that meant life or death to the people. And I think the crisis brought to a head something in Paul that had not previously been clear even to him. Beautiful theory was quickly crystallized into hard fact when the tempest struck.

THE TWO STORMS (MARK 4:35-41)




Gospel of Mark, 31 - THE TWO STORMS (MARK 4:35-41)

By G.A. Chadwick


"And on that day, when even was come, He saith unto them, Let us go over unto the other side. And leaving the multitude, they take Him with them, even as He was, in the boat. And other boats were with Him. And there ariseth a great storm of wind, and the waves beat into the boat, insomuch that the boat was now filling. And He Himself was in the stern, asleep on the cushion: and they awake Him, and say unto Him, Master, carest Thou not that we perish? And He awoke, and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm. And He said unto them, Why are ye fearful? have ye not yet faith? And they feared exceedingly, and said one to another, Who then is this, that even the wind and the sea obey him? MARK 4:35-41 (R.V.)

"And when even was come, the boat was in the midst of the sea, and He alone on the land. And seeing them distressed in rowing, for the wind was contrary to them, about the fourth watch of the night He cometh unto them, walking on the sea, and He would have passed by them: but they, when they saw Him walking on the sea, supposed that it was an apparition, and cried out: for they all saw Him, and were troubled. But He straightway spake with them, and saith unto them, Be of good cheer: it is I; be not afraid. And He went up unto them into the boat; and the wind ceased: and they were sore amazed in themselves. For they understood not concerning the loaves, but their hearts were hardened." MARK 6:47-52 (R.V.)

FEW readers are insensible to the wonderful power with which the Gospels tell the story of the two storms upon the lake. The narratives are favorites in every Sunday school; they form the basis of countless hymns and poems; and we always recur to them with fresh delight.

In the first account we see as in a picture the weariness of the great Teacher, when, the long day being over and the multitude dismissed, He retreats across the sea without preparation, and "as He was," and sinks to sleep on the one cushion in the stern, undisturbed by the raging tempest or by the waves which beat into the boat. We observe the reluctance of the disciples to arouse Him until the peril is extreme, and the boat is "now" filling. St. Mark, the associate of St. Peter, the presumptuous and characteristic cry which expresses terror, and perhaps dread lest His tranquil slumbers may indicate a separation between His cause and theirs, who perish while He is unconcerned. We admire equally the calm and masterful word which quells the tempest, and those which enjoin a faith so lofty as to endure the last extremities of peril without dismay, without agitation in its prayers. We observe the strange incident, that no sooner does the storm cease than the waters, commonly seething for many hours afterwards, grow calm. And the picture is completed by the mention of their new dread (fear of the supernatural Man replacing their terror amid the convulsions of nature), and of their awestruck questioning among themselves.

In the second narrative we see the ship far out in the lake, but watched by One, Who is alone upon the land. Through the gloom He sees them "tormented" by fruitless rowing; but though this is the reason why He comes, He is about to pass them by. The watch of the night is remembered; it is the fourth. The cry of their alarm is universal, for they all saw Him and were troubled. We are told of the promptitude with which He thereupon relieved their fears; we see Him climb up into the boat, and the sudden ceasing of the storm, and their amazement. Nor is that after-thought omitted in which they blamed themselves for their astonishment. If their hearts had not been hardened, the miracle of the loaves would have taught them that Jesus was the master of the physical world.

Now all this picturesque detail belongs to a single Gospel. And it is exactly what a believer would expect. How much soever the healing of disease might interest St. Luke the physician, who relates all such events so vividly, it would have impressed the patient himself yet more, and an account of it by him, if we had it, would be full of graphic touches. Now these two miracles were wrought for the rescue of the apostles themselves. The Twelve took the place held in others by the lame, the halt and the blind: the suspense, the appeal, and the joy of deliverance were all their own. 

It is therefore no wonder that we find their accounts of these especial miracles so picturesque. But this is a solid evidence of the truth of the narratives; for while the remembrance of such events should thrill with agitated life, there is no reason why a legend of the kind should be especially clear and vivid. The same argument might easily be carried farther. When the disciples began to reproach themselves for their unbelieving astonishment, they were naturally conscious of having failed to learn the lesson which had been taught them just before. Later students and moralists would have observed that another miracle, a little earlier, was a still closer precedent, but they naturally blamed themselves most for being blind to what was immediately before their eyes. Now when Jesus walked upon the waters and the disciples were amazed, it is not said that they forgot how He had already stilled a tempest, but they considered not the miracle of the loaves, for their heart was hardened. In touches like this we find the influence of a bystander beyond denial.

Every student of Scripture must have observed the special significance of those parables and miracles which recur a second time with certain designed variations. In the miraculous draughts of fishes, Christ Himself avowed an allusion to the catching of men. And the Church has always discerned a spiritual intention in these two storms, in one of which Christ slept, while in the others His disciples toiled alone, and which express, between them, the whole strain exercised upon a devout spirit by adverse circumstances. 

Dangers never alarmed one who realized both the presence of Jesus and His vigilant care. Temptation centers only because this is veiled. Why do adversities press hard upon me, if indeed I belong to Christ? He must either be indifferent and sleeping, or else absent altogether from my frail and foundering bark. It is thus that we let go our confidence, and incur agonies of mental suffering, and the rebuke of our Master, even though He continues to be the Protector of His unworthy people.

On the voyage of life we may conceive of Jesus as our Companion, for He is with us always, or as watching us from the everlasting hills, whither it was expedient for us that He should go.

Nevertheless, we are storm-tossed and in danger. Although we are His, and not separated from Him by any conscious disobedience, yet the conditions of life are unmitigated, the winds as wild, the waves as merciless, the boat as cruelly "tormented" as ever. And no rescue comes: Jesus is asleep: He cares not that we perish. Then we pray after a fashion so clamorous, and with supplication so like demands, that we too appear to have undertaken to awake the Lord. Then we have to learn from the first of these miracles, and especially from its delay. The disciples were safe, had they only known it, whether Jesus would have interposed of His own accord, or whether they might still have needed to appeal to Him, but in a gentler fashion. We may ask help, provided that we do so in a serene and trustful spirit, anxious for nothing, not seeking to extort a concession, but approaching with boldness the throne of grace, on which our Father sits. It is thus that the peace of God shall rule our hearts and minds, for want of which the apostles were asked, Where is your faith? Comparing the narratives, we learn that Jesus reassured their hearts even before He arose, and then, having first silenced by His calmness the storm within them, He stood up and rebuked the storm around.

St. Augustine gave a false turn to the application, when he said, "If Jesus were not asleep within thee, thou wouldst be calm and at rest. But why is He asleep? Because thy faith is asleep," etc. (Sermon 63.) The sleep of Jesus was natural and right; and it answers not to our spiritual torpor, but to His apparent indifference and non-intervention in our time of distress. And the true lesson of the miracle is that we should trust Him Whose care fails not when it seems to fail, Who is able to save to the uttermost, and Whom we should approach in the direst peril without panic. It was fitly taught them first when all the powers of the State and the Church were leagued against Him, and He as a blind man saw not and as a dumb man opened not His mouth.

The second storm should have found them braver by the experience of the first; but spiritually as well as bodily they were farther removed from Christ. The people, profoundly moved by the murder of the Baptist, wished to set Jesus on the throne, and the disciples were too ambitious to be allowed to be present while He dismissed the multitudes. They had to be sent away, and it was from the distant hillside that Jesus saw their danger. Surely it is instructive, that neither the shades of night, nor the abstracted fervor of His prayers, prevented Him from seeing it, nor the stormlashed waters from bringing aid. And significant also, that the experience of remoteness, though not sinful, since He had sent them away, was yet the result of their own worldliness. It is when we are out of sympathy with Jesus that we are most likely to be alone in trouble. 

None was in their boat to save them, and in heart also they had gone out from the presence of their God. Therefore they failed to trust in His guidance Who had sent them into the ship: they had no sense of protection or of supervision; and it was a terrible moment when a form was vaguely seen to glide over the waves. Christ, it would seem would have gone before and led them to the haven where they would be. Or perhaps He "would have passed by them," as He would afterwards have gone further than Emmaus, to elicit any trustful half-recognition which might call to Him and be rewarded. But they cried out in fear. And so it is continually with God in His world, men are terrified at the presence of the supernatural, because they fail to apprehend the abiding presence of the supernatural Christ. 

And yet there is one point at least in every life, the final moment, in which all else must recede, and the soul be left alone with the beings of another world. Then, and in every trial, and especially in all trials which press in upon us the consciousness of the spiritual universe, well is it for him who hears the voice of Jesus saying, It is I, be not afraid.

For only through Jesus, only in His person, has that unknown universe ceased to be dreadful and mysterious. Only when He is welcomed does the storm cease to rage around us.

It was the earlier of these miracles which first taught the disciples that not only were human disorders under His control, and gifts and blessings at His disposal, but also the whole range of nature was subject to Him, and the winds and the sea obey Him.

Shall we say that His rebuke addressed to these was a mere figure of speech? Some have inferred that natural convulsions are so directly the work of evil angels that the words of Jesus were really spoken to them. But the plain assertion is that He rebuked the winds and the waves, and these would not become identical with Satan even upon the supposition that he excites them. 

We ourselves continually personify the course of nature, and even complain of it, wantonly enough, and Scripture does not deny itself the use of ordinary human forms of speech. Yet the very peculiar word employed by Jesus cannot be without significance. It is the same with which He had already confronted the violence of the demoniac in the synagogue, Be muzzled. At the least it expresses stern repression, and thus it reminds us that creation itself is made subject to vanity, the world deranged by sin, so that all around us requires readjustment as truly as all within, and Christ shall at last create a new earth as well as a new heaven.

Some pious people resign themselves much too passively to the mischiefs of the material universe, supposing that troubles which are not of their own making, must needs be a Divine infliction, calling only for submission. But God sends oppositions to be conquered as well as burdens to be borne; and even before the fall the world had to be subdued. And our final mastery over the surrounding universe was expressed, when Jesus our Head rebuked the winds, and stilled the waves when they arose.

As they beheld, a new sense fell upon His disciples of a more awful presence than they had yet discerned. They asked not only what manner of man is this? but, with surmises which went out beyond the limits of human greatness, Who then is this, that even the winds and the sea obey Him?