Plain Sermons, preached at Archbishop Tenison's Chapel, Regent Street. Second Series

by James Galloway Cowan

Such seems to be a sketch of the interpretation of the meaning and instruction for us of this acted parable.

And now, brethren, having learnt the general truth, let us pick out and dwell upon some of its particulars.

And first, in setting out with Christ, expect storms and dangers. We are too apt to suppose that the war of life is to be waged only with men, that the storms of life are only encountered in temporal things. We can well understand that it was otherwise, that it must have been otherwise, with the first founders of the Church, with confessors in the face of unbelieving Jews and heathen Romans, with the Reformers, with missionaries now: but in our own case we calculate on a smooth and safe journey over the sea of time to the shore of eternity, ay, and after many days, experience, we say, confirms our calculation. No sore temptations try us; no conflict of good and evil principles tosses and tears us; no despair threatens to drown us. We have trouble enough in the world, in earning our daily bread, in claiming and maintaining our own, in becoming rich, or powerful, or famous, in ruling those who rebel against our just authority, who would gainsay our words, and frustrate our efforts. But in spiritual things this is not the case. We find it easy (I speak that which the manifest lives and apparent feelings of what are called respectable men justify my speaking) to follow the course which we would in religion—we worship in church, we read the Bible and pray at home without opposition. It costs us no trouble to keep the letter of God’s chief commandments. We know nothing of spiritual wrestling, spiritual fear, spiritual despondency. Why should we? Our ways are mainly upright; our consciences not afraid, our duty plain and simple; and in Christ, therefore, our hope sure. I know that men think this (at least they do not think otherwise), and in their lives they act it, even if they dare not shape it into words. But, brethren, if it is so with you, look to it, for the calm is more deadly than the storm. The Devil is the inveterate enemy and the untiring assailant of Christ and Christians. His whole being and energy are concentrated in the aim and effort to bury the ark of Christ in the sea of eternal destruction. If, then, you pass over that sea, and are enshrouded by no darkness, beaten by no winds, tossed by no billows, be sure that it is because Christ is not in your company. That Church has had its candlestick removed, which dwells in security, peaceful and prosperous; and that individual has not Christ for the tenant of his heart who experiences not what the storm-tossed vessel typified. Satan is intent upon destroying every one that is Christ’s. If he attempts not your destruction, it is because he does not consider you Christ’s—and, remember, though he is not all-wise, he is as an angel, and an archangel in perception—because your vessel bears not Christ; because you are on no journey with Christ to cast out evil spirits and drive them over steep places into the sea. O, my brethren, it is an awful sign, a death-boding distinction, when Satan lets us alone in this sea of life, and deems it unnecessary to keep us by violent efforts from reaching heaven. It is the expression of his informed and deliberate judgment that we are not going thither! O ye who dwell at ease and glide smoothly along the journey of life, put back, take Christ on board, and joy when you find in yourselves the signs of His presence, the assaults of Satan, the warring within you of good and evil, the stirrings of conscience, the flutterings of spiritual fear. I do not mean become morbid, and delight in what is mournful and terrible; but suspect and refuse the peace which Satan offers without contest, and determine to have only that which in Christ’s strength you win and maintain.

Next, consider the meaning of Christ’s lying asleep in the storm, and interfering not to control it, till so earnestly called up.

In providence and in grace God delights, so to speak, to hide Himself, though He exhibits the results of His works. He is the Author of every gift, and the Ruler and Promoter of its use; but He puts it into our hands as His agents, and bids us with it accomplish His will. As the heart is the fountain of the blood which flows through our members, as it is bone and muscle that give strength to the arm, so is God the Source of grace to the soul, and the prevailing Power of our efforts. Still, it is not Himself prominently and foremost that does the work in the world, but we from and by Him. The explanation of this economy seems to be, first, that He would have us walk by faith—remembering Him, relying on Him, working for Him—rather than by right, constrained, whether we will or not, without feeling or desire, or dependence, to see, and admit, and feel His power. And, secondly, that He would give us an individuality, a certain dependent independence, which shall make us feel personal responsibility, and allow us to deserve (in a sense) the recompense of personal effort. Thus, He leaves the fool to say, There is no God, and rewards the faithful by revealing Himself to belief. Thus, while there is a God, while He is not far from us, while in Him we live and move and have our being, we are required and stimulated to seek Him, to feel after Him, and find Him. Besides, or more properly therefore, we have to call upon Him before He answers. Even when He had determined, and declared His determination, to bless the Israelites, He made the condition, “Nevertheless, for these things I will be inquired of.” He would have us live by spiritual dependence. He would have us communicate to Him our wants. He would have us draw down by prayer the supply. And this He effects by making it a law, that He will know nothing of us, at least know nothing so as to heed for our good, but what we tell Him, and will give us nothing but what we ask. I have so lately enlarged upon this subject that I will add nothing upon it now, but to bid you remember the necessity and the power of prayer.

Lastly, consider what is taught by that remonstrance, spoken in the interval between awaking and acting, “Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?” I have already said that Christ did not disapprove the prayer, but only the fear which had preceded it, the poverty of the faith which accompanied it. Neither did He demand of the disciples the impossibility of being undisturbed in the midst of such perturbation. It is natural—natural even to the Christian full of grace, to be affected by the circumstances which attend him. Christ was so affected Himself, as His prayers, and shrinkings, and watchings, and open teaching assure us. He, who wept at human misery, though He was just going to put it to flight; He, who shrank from the trial which He had deliberately and of choice encountered, has sanctioned and recommended (shall I say enforced?) by His example the same feelings in His disciples. He does not forbid us to be human, but only requires us to leaven humanity with godliness. Trials we are to have, and trials we ought to feel. To be stolid and callous is to be unchristian, for none ever felt trials as Christ did. But in our trials, while we feel, and weep, and shrink, we are not to be faint-hearted. We are to know in Whom we have believed. We are, therefore, to bear them, and submit to them; but we are not to be overpowered by them. We are not to allow them to exercise such an influence as to make us forget that there is One greater than the storm, Who rules it even in its wildest raging, Who will cause it to cease when it is fitting, Who will not allow it to overwhelm us if we are dependent on Him in its continuance, if we hope in Him to stay it. Terrible is the darkness of the sky, powerful is the violence of the wind, drenching are the waves, but the ship shall not sink, for Christ is in it. Whatever, then, the terrors and the trouble of the present, we have hope, we have confidence in the future. “Why art thou so cast down O my soul, and why art thou so disquieted within me? Hope in God for I shall yet praise Him, Who is the health of my countenance and my God.”

Such is the teaching of Christ’s remonstrance. And the time of its utterance, the delay to assuage the storm, teaches this further lesson, that in this life Christ will give us comfort in trouble, but not necessarily deliverance out of trouble. By and by He will indeed deliver us. But the best blessing here is not immunity, but trust and support. There is a peace in war, a joy in sorrow, a strength in weakness, with which the world and the Devil cannot intermeddle. Seek we this, and be sure we are wanting in what Christ delights to afford, if we have it not. But having it, bear we patiently, thankfully, all outward commotion, faithfully expecting the time, when openly, as already inwardly, Christ shall arise and command “Peace be still,” and there shall be a great and abiding calm.

SERMON XII.
UNITY WITH PEACE.

Ephesians, iv., 1, 2, 3.

I, therefore, the prisoner of the Lord, beseech you that ye walk worthy of the calling wherewith ye are called, With all lowliness and meekness, with longsuffering, forbearing one another in love; Endeavouring to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.

It was the prayer of our Blessed Lord—what an earnest prayer it was, delivered in what solemn and affecting circumstances—that all His disciples might be one, even as He and the Father were one. He had laboured to secure this oneness, by teaching them that there was the same truth for all to receive, and the same work for all to do. Individual fancies and theories were not to be indulged, where the whole teaching was of God; pride was not to exercise itself where everything was received, and nothing earned; ambition was checked, by being told that, by seeking, it should lose, that he who would be first should be last. All were equal in position, all equal in privileges. In serving one another, in preferring one another—by this alone could they please God; in this way only could they reach unto eminence. Devoted to a common Lord, directed by a common revelation, enabled by a common grace, exercised in a common work, cheered by a common hope, surrounded with common trials and difficulties—what could there be within, without, past, present, or future, which should prevent them from all thinking the same thoughts and doing the same works, sinking the individual in the company, clinging to one another, labouring together, knit together in a holy bond—“One Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all, Who is above all, and through all, and in all.” To think for oneself, what was it but to reject God’s truth; to act independently, but to forsake their appointed work; not to serve and love the brethren, not to serve and love the Lord; to separate from the Christian company, to go away from Christ?