I remark again, that when the Saviour predicted the overthrow of Jerusalem, he foretold that the sun should be darkened, that is, that the Lord, who was the light of the Jewish Church, should withdraw his light, justly leave them in judicial blindness, in which they remain to this day—that the moon should be turned into blood, that is, their Synagogue, their Church, which was put to the sword, (at least the greatest part of them)—that the stars should fall—their doctors, rulers over the church and state—which they did. But Solomon, in his 12th of Ecclesiastes, verse 2, seems to borrow these metaphors of sun, moon, light, and stars, and applies them to the human frame, when sickness or old age has impaired it. Good Mr. Henry remarks on this passage—the decays and infirmities of old age are here elegantly set forth in figurative expressions, which have some difficulty in them to us now, who are not acquainted with the phrases and metaphors used in Solomon’s age and language. But the general scope is plain, to shew how uncomfortable, generally, the days of old age are. Then he proceeds, and says, that the sun, moon, stars, and light will be dim to old people, through the decay of their sight; their countenance is decayed, and the beauty and lustre of it is eclipsed—their intellectual powers and faculties, which are as light in the soul, are weakened—their understanding and memory fail them, and their apprehension is not so quick, nor their fancy so lively as it has been.—Light is often put for joy and prosperity—the days of their mirth are over, and they have not the pleasure either of the converse by day, or the repose of night, for both the sun and moon was darkened to them; then the clouds return after the rain, as when the weather is disposed to wet, no sooner is one shower blown over but another succeeds it, when one pain is a little abated another comes on—the gout, the rheumatism; and so these afflictions being common to aged persons, they are continually grieved.
That famous commentator, Patrick, observes on this verse, that the words intimate the universal decay of the whole frame of nature, and a failing of the mind in all its faculties and powers—that something particular is signified by every word; that by the sun is meant the soul itself; by the light the understanding, by the moon his will, by the stars all the motion of the mind and memory, with all the affections and powers in the will. So the sense of the wise man is thus—the mind of man grows feeble in all its powers, the understanding dim-sighted, the memory forgetful, the reason weak and childish, giving even a feeble light, that can neither direct ourselves or others. The will listless in all its desires, dull about our greatest concerns, wavering and inconstant in all resolutions, and so on. But the interpretation first mentioned seems most consistent.
Surely then, my Brother, these are some of the evil days which are hastening on us, and though we may not live to see old age, yet, through affliction we may have all our faculties as much impaired as the most ancient person in the world; this has been very often seen.—What a mercy I do consider it, that he who hath begun the good work in my heart, can carry it on without my aid, or the concurrence of my powers or faculties working with him. Say not it is my duty to do so and so, in and with the work of the Spirit: Thou, Lord, says the Church, shall work all our works in us, and ordain peace for us. But while we would look forward to the evil days which must come on the body, may we not notice some evil days that our souls may meet with, when the all-healing, comfortable, soul-reviving, soul-cheering, heart-warming beams of Christ, the glorious Sun of Righteousness shall be with-held, and coldness, deadness, sickness, darkness, legality, and distance is felt; and such seasons have befel the brightest saints. Hence the mournful cry, Why hidest thou thy face, O Lord? thou hidest thy face and we are troubled, about our state, our feelings, our wants, our prospects, our way, our end. We always know when we feel him shine and when we do not, though, as it respects himself, he is just the same in his shining, but we are not sensible of it by reason of the cloud that cometh betwixt. When we feel this wretched state we are always ready to fly to means, though we ought never to neglect them; yet there is a proneness in us to cleave to something short of the main subject. But, alas, we find the moon of Ordinances is just as dark! We move backwards and forwards, like the door on its hinges, yet get neither dew nor rain, light, life, comfort, nor joy. At the table of the Lord we neither feel love nor pity for our dear Saviour. In singing his praises we have no heart, in associating with his people we get nothing from them; if they talk of joys, we have none! if of a broken-heart, we feel nothing but hardness—if of light or comfort, we feel destitute of both—thus the moon gives no light. As to ministers, they don’t seem to touch our case, nor is their word cloathed with any power. We fancy they are very much altered in their preaching—we change them: the passions are stirred up for a little while, but we find we are in just the same state. Hence the spouse is represented as having lost her lover—she rises, runs, seeks, mourns, and is still disappointed. I sought him but I found him not. Then she went into the broad places of public worship, then into the streets, among the inhabitants; after this to ministers, to enquire, how? why? and wherefore? But, for a season, all was still dark, yes, very dark indeed: these stars seem to give but little light during such painful seasons: the scriptures of light shut up in their beautiful histories, promises, types, parables, and doctrines, where we could see Christ once in every part, and enjoy him; now, alas, it is not so, but it is as a spring shut up, and sealed from us. While this is attended with a lowering sky, and a continual dropping of rain; no bright clouds now return as they used to do, and how it is with us we cannot tell. Once if we felt a little dark or uncomfortable, it was soon gone, smiling hope used to spring up, or a promise sent home with power. The company of God’s people cheered us up, or a little access to God’s throne revived us. Seldom heard a sermon but we got something by it—and if a few storms of persecution, temptation or corruption, or family trials befel us, the Lord made a bright cloud after it; but, alas, it is not thus with us now, these clouds don’t return after the rain—thus
Afflictions like vapours may rise,
Light, love, and delight may be gone;
The sun may be dark in the skies,
And hell with its legions come on!
Ah, my dear Brother, these are dark days truly, but it shall not be always thus; to the upright there arises light in darkness—this light is sown for us, and shall spring up again.
But may I not here enquire, as on another occasion, the Prophet did, Shall there be an evil in the City and the Lord hath not done it? Is there not a cause? Why doth a living man (a quickened man) complain? Let us enquire the cause: Have you not been making too much of your comforts? Have you not been looking at them instead of the Saviour, living on them instead of his fulness?—and were you not too prone to slight those who had not attained the same consolation? And, if so, Can you wonder that God should permit a partial death to overtake you?—Or, perhaps, there may be other causes—a sad neglect of those means which are appointed for the spiritual health of the soul: as abstinence, or neglect of food, will soon bring the body into a pining, languishing condition, so, if the means of the knowledge of grace be not diligently attended to and implored, our souls must get into a starving state. The indulgence of sensual pleasures may bring on deadness, darkness, and distance. See this in Sampson, while sleeping in the lap of Delilah, he was shorn of his strength; and he arose to shake himself as at other times, but he wist not that the Lord had departed from him. But perhaps the Lord has done this to shew his adorable sovereignty, as in the case of Job: hence his complaint, He hath fenced up my way that I cannot pass, and he hath set darkness in my path. And so complains Jeremiah, He hath led me, and brought me into darkness, and not into light. Sometimes this is done to humble us, lest we should be exalted above measure. But, above all, the Spirit leads into these deep and painful feelings, to make us prize our adorable Redeemer, and see our continual need of being supplied from his fulness. He lets our cisterns run dry, that we may come and lay our vessels under the flowings of the blessed fountain of life, that from him we might receive grace for grace.
May great grace rest on you. I remain
Your willing Servant in Christ,
LETTER VI.
TO THEOPHILUS.