Bereaved Christian, as you gaze upon the vacant place of one who is in Paradise, advancing to this heaven, will you dare to sigh that the old armchair, or the little cradle, is unoccupied? Would you prefer for your loved one, as a better condition, that he or she should come back and share your sorrows, and difficulties, and perplexities, and be exposed to toil and contamination? Will your ingratitude think lightly of what God has done, and is doing, for the removed one? Will your selfishness (oh, if the dead should know of this!) demand—“Let me have my loved one’s company, though thereby that loved one lose God’s?” Oh! there is no religion, there is no human love, in the mourner who does not smile away the tears of worldly sorrow with the joy of this blessed consolation; who does not turn each thought of the righteous dead into a theme of praise for their deliverance; into a prayer, that he, too, may soon be added to the number of those who are ever with the Lord!
Christian pilgrim, journeying through the wilderness, footsore, beleaguered, stumbling, smitten, losing sight ever and anon of the guiding pillar, wandering out of the path, too often unsustained, uncomforted, do you fear death? Do you shudder at and flee from the sight of the Jordan through which angels wait to guide you; whose other bank is in heaven? Oh! how little do you think of God’s abiding presence! What a mere name is your love of Christ! How unreal was your professed affection for those who have gone before! How foolishly blind are you to your own best interests! What a sham is your so-called pilgrimage, your journey to a shrine which you fear to reach! What shall I say to those who wilfully linger in the wilderness, while the host passes on, and the night, with all its howling terrors, is at hand; to those who would turn back, and would cross again the Red Sea into Egypt, while the waves are prepared to overwhelm the Egyptians—in plain terms, to those who live not in God’s presence here, and seek not to have it hereafter? Shall I describe to you the positive horrors of hell; its gnawing worms, its devouring flames, its malignant frenzied spirits? No; I will but warn you, that you are fast approaching an outer darkness, where there is no enjoyment, no hope, no heaven, no Saviour, no God. Ye shall be for ever without the Lord.
Brethren, one and all, what shall we do to inherit the glorious, abiding presence of God? Oh! let us make much of the partial presence which is now within our reach. “Abide in me, and I in you,” says Christ. Let us live near to Him; let us live much in Him; let us live as He tells us. Contemplate we Him in His holy Word; pore over it day after day, till we see Him as in a glass; till His glory is reflected on us, and we shine with the glorious light. Watch we for Him in all our ways, listen for His voice, lean on His arm, fight in His strength. Feed we our desires with heavenly food; not the quails of our own lust, but the manna from heaven, and the water out of the rock; the bread and wine, which are meat indeed and drink indeed. Having this hope—desiring, that is, to be ever with Him—let us purify ourselves, even as He is pure, and study day by day to conform ourselves more and more to His pattern.
Yes; believe in heaven, desire heaven, live for heaven. As St. Peter says, “Add to your faith, virtue; and to virtue, knowledge; and to knowledge, temperance; and to temperance, patience; and to patience, godliness; and to godliness, brotherly kindness; and to brotherly kindness, charity. For if these things be in you and abound, they make you that ye shall neither be barren nor unfruitful in the knowledge of our Lord Jesus Christ; and so an entrance shall be ministered unto you abundantly, into the everlasting kingdom of our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ.”
SERMON V.
MAN’S KNOWLEDGE LIMITED.
I. Cor., xiii., 9
“We know in part.”
In one sense, the words of our text have been ever true, and ever shall be. Even in the Garden of Eden, when man possessed knowledge of such a kind, and to such a degree, as to be a feature of the moral likeness of God, there were still many things which he could not grasp, nor fathom, nor measure, and there were many others which the Divine will purposely kept unrevealed from him. And so too, hereafter, in heaven itself, the perfected finite being must necessarily fail to comprehend and scrutinize thoroughly the great infinite, and doubtless will be left uninformed of much that he could grasp, because the knowledge thereof will not concern his duty or his interest.
But, in another sense, man did once know, and shall again know, perfectly. In his unfallen state, God talked to him plainly, made His presence to be realised, in a way showed Himself as He is, that is, as He is in His relation to obedient and holy man, taught clearly the duty, and revealed the destiny and hopes of His creature. And, again, in heaven, though still dwelling in light which no one can approach to, though still the Invisible, Whom no man hath seen or can see, God shall yet be plainly reflected in His Son, the visible Deity with Whom the redeemed shall stand face to face, Whom they shall see and know even as now they are known by Him. And man, too, though still not omniscient, shall know thoroughly with whom he has to do; shall trace with easy clearness the path along which he has been led; shall realise his position and appropriate his privileges, and see even to the utmost his eternal future. This has been already, in a measure. This shall be hereafter entirely; but this is not now. “We know in part.”
When man sinned, the lamp of knowledge grew dim, and well nigh went out. God put a thick cloud between Him and His creature, and between that creature and the future; and around him and above him, for light He gave obscurity. But yet straightway of His compassion and love in Christ, He began to give back as with a slow hand, what He had suddenly withdrawn with a swift hand. A tiny spark was kindled, which was very gradually to be fanned into a little flame, and finally to burst out into a blaze, which should make all visible again. Yea, and more visible than at the first. You know how the grace of God—which made man at the first innocent, upright, and happy, with great power of understanding and free will—having been forfeited, was withdrawn, but yet began at once to be recommunicated—not immediately in its former perfection, but by little and little, and at slow paces; first, externally by the Spirit in the world; then, internally, by the Spirit of regeneration planted as a seed in each Christian’s heart, to be gradually developed into the blade, the ear, and, finally, the ripe corn in the ear, at the resurrection, the restoration to the full favour and realised presence of God.
This may explain to you how knowledge was reimparted. At first it was but a spark for the whole world; then it became a tiny flame, by which those near at hand might dimly see. Then a spark from it was struck into each Christian mind, which may be, and is to be gradually fanned up in him, revealing more and more what is in him, and about him, and before him, till in heaven it bursts out into a full flame, showing all things clearly. Into each of us this spark has been struck; in each of us it is to be fostered, and fed, and developed; to exhibit more and more what God is, and does; what we are, and have, and hope for, till we come unto perfect knowledge, and see all clearly. Men of the patriarchal age had but the one spark among them. The Jews had this spark become a little flame; and some of them, as David, Solomon, and Daniel, had each a torch lighted from it, and held near at hand to them, as by a guardian angel. We Christians, I say, have each in us a spark kindled. If we feed and fan it, it becomes a flame; and according as we feed and fan it, grows brighter and larger, and extends nearer and nearer to that point, where it shall unite with others, and light up heaven with an eternal blaze. Thus do we know, all of us in part, but not all equally, some less, some more, according to our measure, and according as we guard and tend it, and all imperfectly, because the time and place of perfection are not yet.