One cannot but recall the words of Paul’s Master, so like these in sound, so unlike them in deepest meaning. Can there be a greater contrast than between “Remember my bonds,” the plaintive appeal of a weak man seeking sympathy, coming as an appendix, quite apart from the subject of the letter, and “Do this in remembrance of Me,” the royal words of the Master? Why is the memory of Christ’s death so unlike the memory of Paul’s chains? Why is the one merely for the play of sympathy, and the enforcement of his teaching, and the other the very centre of our religion? For one reason alone. Because Christ’s death is the life of the world, and Paul’s sufferings, whatever their worth, had nothing in them that bore, except indirectly, on man’s redemption. “Was Paul crucified for you?” We remember his chains, and they give him sacredness in our eyes. But we remember the broken body and shed blood of our Lord, and cleave to it in faith as the one sacrifice for the world’s sin.
And then comes the last word: “Grace be with you.” The apostolic benediction, with which he closes all his letters, occurs in many different stages of expression. Here it is pared down to the very quick. No shorter form is possible—and yet even in this condition of extreme compression, all good is in it.
All possible blessing is wrapped up in that one word, Grace. Like the sunshine, it carries life and fruitfulness in itself. If the favour and kindness of God, flowing out to men so far beneath Him, who deserve such different treatment, be ours, then in our hearts will be rest and a great peacefulness, whatever may be about us, and in our characters will be all beauties and capacities, in the measure of our possession of that grace.
That all-productive germ of joy and excellence is here parted among the whole body of Colossian Christians. The dew of this benediction falls upon them all—the teachers of error if they still held by Christ, the Judaisers, the slothful Archippus, even as the grace which it invokes will pour itself into imperfect natures and adorn very sinful characters, if beneath the imperfection and the evil there be the true affiance of the soul on Christ.
That communication of grace to a sinful world is the end of all God’s deeds, as it is the end of this letter. That great revelation which began when man began, which has spoken its complete message in the Son, the heir of all things, as this Epistle tells us, has this for the purpose of all its words—whether they are terrible or gentle, deep or simple—that God’s grace may dwell among men. The mystery of Christ’s being, the agony of Christ’s cross, the hidden glories of Christ’s dominion are all for this end, that of His fulness we may all receive, and grace for grace. The Old Testament, true to its genius, ends with stern onward-looking words which point to a future coming of the Lord and to the possible terrible aspect of that coming—“Lest I come and smite the earth with a curse.” It is the last echo of the long drawn blast of the trumpets of Sinai. The New Testament ends, as our Epistle ends, and as we believe the weary history of the world will end, with the benediction: “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.”
That grace, the love which pardons and quickens and makes good and fair and wise and strong, is offered to all in Christ. Unless we have accepted it, God’s revelation and Christ’s work have failed as far as we are concerned. “We therefore, as fellow-workers with Him, beseech you that ye receive not the grace of God in vain.”