Yes I hope so—out into the ocean of infinite love; away from the dangerous reefs of formalism; away from the universal spread of pride and vanity; away from the devil’s most successful snare, secretism; away from the abominable, filthy habit of whiskey-drinking and tobacco using, and all its slimy associations; away from the cramping, belittling, soul-destroying, man-debasing element—covetousness; far away from all longings after the world, its pleasures, its allurements, its honors, its riches, and plunging into all the fulness of God. It’s glorious thus to drift; to have a consciousness that you abide in Christ; that you are growing in grace; that you are gaining on your enemies; that your faith overcomes the world; that you are taking greater delight, day by day, in the things of life and immortality. O, glory to God for the assurance that the saints have that they are getting nearer and nearer to God every day, drifting out into the great abyss of God’s eternal love.
To the question so often propounded—“Are We Drifting?”—I can answer for myself, I am, according to the above. Glory to the Lamb forever! Although I am drifting, moving along with giant strides by the mighty waves of free grace, yet I never felt so completely anchored to Christ as now. I have a hope that is an anchor to my soul. It’s cast to that within the veil, and it’s both sure and steadfast. It holds my vessel steadily on her course, ’midst all storms of life. It matters not how high the billows may roll, how fierce the storms may beat against my frail bark, I am safe. I ride proudly above the waves, because I am anchored to the eternal Rock of Ages. Vessels often break loose from their moorings, because their anchorage is poor. It may be their anchor is dropped in the sand or mud. In either case, they will drift until their anchor takes hold on rock, or she drifts ashore and is wrecked. It is so with us. If our anchor is cast into any of the elements of this world, we shall drift, not into Christ, but away from him, and become wrecks. How sad it is to find wrecks all along life’s way! to see those that were once saved of God, moving on to Mount Zion with songs, and everlasting joy upon their heads; they did obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing did flee away; but now, alas! How is the fine gold become dim.
Which way are you drifting? Do you enjoy perfect love? Are you as clear in your experience as when you joined the Church? Are you walking in all the light that God lets shine upon your heart? Does the light shine as clear as in bygone days? Do you have sensible manifestations of God’s presence? Do you have the joy of the Lord? Do you really get blessed of God? Do you rejoice evermore? Do you in everything give thanks? Do you love the cross? Is the way that God leads you delightful? And can you sing—
“Jesus all the day long,
Is my joy and my song?”
Now, can you, from the very bottom of your heart, say Yes! to these questions? If so, I think that you are drifting heavenward; if not, hellward.
Which way are you drifting?
XXIV.
Pap.
Webster says the word “pap” means “soft food designed for children or infants.” Children, whose stomachs are weak and unable to digest hearty food, have to be fed on this. It requires but little effort of nature to dispose of this kind of food.
We have in Zion a great many aged infants that require this kind of spiritual provender. You feed them with the solid roast beef of the gospel, and immediately they are in cramps and spasms; and O, such wailings of displeasure. It is as true to-day as when St. Paul wrote to the Corinthian brethren, there are many that ought to be full grown men and women in spiritual attainments, but are mere babes, and have to be fed on infant’s food; and the only way that many can be persuaded to remain in the church, or even to make a half-way profession of the religion of Jesus Christ, is to give them large doses of this precious diet. Many will hang on tremendously, and pull mightily, so long as they receive that attention and nursing that their infantile natures demand, but as soon as that stops then comes the chills.