THE
KIRKPATRICK
MEMORIAL;
OR,
BIOGRAPHICAL
SKETCHES OF FATHER AND SON,
AND A SELECTION FROM THE
SERMONS
OF THE
REV. JACOB
KIRKPATRICK, JR.,
PHILADELPHIA:
WESCOTT & THOMSON.
1867
Transcribed from the original book complete with spellings
and terms of the times by John P. Kirkpatrick for genealogical purposes.
Σ 2000 John P. Kirkpatrick
John P. Kirkpatrick
RR 1 Box 253-A
Ellsinore, MO 63937
http://www.oocities.org/Heartland/Ranch/1860
Entered according to the Act of
Congress, in the year 1867, by
ELIAS COOK,
In the Clerks Office of the District
Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania
WESTCOTT &
THOMSON,
Stereotypers, Philada.
THE
EDITORS PREFACE.
The
present memorial volume is not the result of a sudden thought. It has a history. Declining health induced the Rev. Jacob Kirkpatrick, Jr., to
resign, in 1857, the pastoral charge of the Third Presbyterian Church, Trenton,
N.J. Both pastor and people saw no hope
of his recovery. Many of his friends,
sorrowing that they should hear his voice no more in the pulpit, felt that it would
be consolation, if he might still preach to them through the press. They requested the privilege of publishing a
small volume of his sermons. He
modestly declined, shrinking, as he had ever done, from publicity.
In
now publishing a few of his sermons, no violence is done to his last
wishes. It is true, that while
lingering at his fathers house, waiting for the Heavenly call, he requested
that his manuscripts might be burned.
But his father interposed. At
length he consented, saying in effect, to Dr. Kirkpatrick, You can do with
them as you think best. Let them be
used in any way, in which they may do good.
Soon
after his decease the Rev. Dr. Kirkpatrick sent the manuscripts to a friend to
be at his disposal. This the father
would never have done, had not the fullest consent been given by his son, whom
he so ardently loved, and whose dying wishes were regarded with profound
sacredness. Various events
providentially delayed the publication of the intended volume. The idea was quite abandoned until, in May
1866, Dr. Kirkpatrick was called to his rest.
It was then thought that a memorial should be published, of these two
beloved ministers whose loss was widely felt in the Presbyterian Church. After due consultation it was resolved to
publish a memorial on the present plan.
The
editor was requested to supervise the work, and the Rev. George Hale, D.D., of
Pennington, N.J., to prepare the biographical sketches, to which he
appropriately gives his own preface. To
the many friends who have aided him the editor offers his thanks.
In
the editors hands were placed more than two hundred manuscripts of sermons and
lectures; some of them mere outlines, some half written, with wide blanks to be
filled up at a future day, and others quite complete. Very few of them present a fully written peroration. In making his appeals, Mr. Kirkpatrick was
usually guided by a few catch-words, or phrases, many of which do not now revel
what was in his mind.
This
imperfection in the manuscript may indicate the perfection of his study and his
preaching. His power of extemporaneous
address was remarkable. He did not
sacrifice it in the pulpit. How many of
his most eloquent utterances are lost, except as their effect remains upon the
memories and the soul of his hearers!
Many persons will not find, in this collection, the sermons they
expected, for they were never written beyond the mere first draft. Such were the discourses on The Wonderful,
the Counselor, The Lamb of God, The Crucified Saviour. The fact that his sermons upon the Divinity,
the life, the sufferings, and the atonement of Christ, were delivered from a
brief outline, may be taken as a proof of his familiarity with the great themes
of gospel theology. On no other subjects did he appear so free in
the resistless march of his thoughts.
His
sermons were largely of an awakening character, rather than consolatory. He earnestly sought the conversion of
sinners, the reclaiming of the fallen, the arousing of the Church, and the
reviving of the spiritual life in the hearts of Gods people. The published specimens are to be read as
the sermons of a young pastor, in the regular course of his preaching. They were not prepared for special
occasions. They have been selected from
the mass, on the plan of furnishing the best specimens of different years, the
most practical, and the most varied in their style and thought.
None
of the sermons bore a title. The editor
has endeavored to supply this want. He
has been scrupulously careful to maintain the integrity of what was
written. The portraits have been
engraved by an eminent artist from photographs, representing the deceased as
they appeared in their more vigorous days.
The
largest credit, for the successful publication of the work, is due to Elias
Cook, Esq., of Trenton, N.J., the guardian of the only and orphan child of the
Rev. Jacob Kirkpatrick, Jr. He assumed
the entire pecuniary responsibility, sparing no pains to make it a fitting
memorial of the departed; one of whom was to him as a paternal counselor, and
the other a beloved pastor.
If
the reading of these biographical sketches shall lead any to embalm the names
of the commemorated dead, by imitating their Christian example, and if the
meditation of these sermons shall be blessed of God to any, who mourned when
the voice of the preacher was silenced by death, happy will be the reward of
those to whom its preparation has been a labor of love.
(For Informations Sake)
C O N T E N T
S.
----------------
PAGE
PREFACE BY THE EDITOR.
3
PREFACE BY THE BIOGRAPHER.
11
THE KIRKPATRICK MEMORIAL.
I. THE KIRKPATRICK FAMILY.
13
II. THE REV. JACOB KIRKPATRICK, D.D.
33
III. THE REV. JACOB KIRKPATRICK, JR.
. 78
SERMONS.
I. GODS GLORY IN REDEMPTION.
. 123
II. MOTIVES TO EFFORT.
. 141
III. OPPORTUNITIES LOST
160
IV. THE HUMAN LEVEL.
177
V. THE TWO FORMS OF SORROW.
195
VI. DO YE NOW BELIEVE!
214
VII. THE SEVERE DENIAL OF SELF.
234
VIII. LESSONS FROM THE MANNA.
... 251
IX. THE DUTY OF SPECIFIC PRAYER.
. 270
X. THE FUTURE SATISFACTION.
. 288
THE
KIRKPATRICK MEMORIAL
PREFACE.
The
necessity for the early appearance of this volume denies to the writer of these
sketches the power to follow the advice, which the poet Horace gives to the
author of a book --- Prematur nonum in
annum. With an abler hand and a
longer time to collect and verify facts, this part of the volume would have
been more nearly complete and therefore more satisfactory; but it is sent forth
as it is, in the hope that some things stated may prove gratifying to the
numerous friends of this excellent father and his most worthy son.
The
compiler takes this method of expressing his grateful acknowledgements to the
Hon. Andrew B. Cobb, of Parsippany, William Annin, Esq., of Liberty Corner, the
Hon. H. N. Congar, Secretary of State for New Jersey, and other friends, too
numerous to be named here for the facilities they have afforded him, and the
information they have imparted.
Pennington,
Nov. 14, 1866. G.H.
The original book is extremely hard to find and as such, since there is an increased interest in the research of ones family, this transcription from the original book is undertaken. The complete content from the original book is contained in this transcription, to include the type of language used by the original authors and editors. Please note, the complete spelling and grammar from the original is contained in this transcription, to include misspellings and sentence structure.
Ellsinore,
MO; 27 April 2000 J.P.K.
THE
KIRKPATRICK MEMORIAL
I.
THE
KIRKPATRICK FAMILY.
The Pilgrim Fathers of the May Flower, who landed at Plymouth in 1620, with those who shortly afterwards fled to New England from the persecutions of the Old World, laid the foundations of this great nation. Their work, by the blessing of God, will abide; and the record of what they have done must make up an essential part of our national history, not soon to be blotted out. But there were others, holding the same Calvinistic creed, inspired with the same Christian heroism, and animated with an equally ardent love for civil and religious liberty, like the Protestant emigrants from Holland and the Huguenot refugees from France, who have rendered material aid in moulding our free institutions. Perhaps sufficient credit has not yet been given to the Presbyterian emigrants from Scotland and the north of Ireland, known as the Scotch and Scotch-Irish, for the powerful influence for good, which they have exerted. Well-trained in the School and Kirk of their native home, familiar from childhood with the Bible and the Catechisms of the Westminster Assembly, and disciplined by the fierce persecution for their loyalty to the crown and covenant of King Jesus, they have not only contributed much towards giving character and stability to the Presbyterian Church, but they have ever been found among the firmest and most intelligent supporters of evangelical religion, popular education and good government. To mention no others, how familiar among us have become such names as Tennent, Witherspoon, Doak, Nisbet, Alexander, Mason, Wilson, Brown and McDowell.
Of
this class of our citizens were many of the families who, in the early part of
the eighteenth century settled near Baskingridge, Somerset County, New Jersey,
one of which was,
THE
KIRKPATRICK FAMILY.
The Hon. Walter Kirkpatrick, a cousin of the late Dr. Jacob Kirkpatrick, at his decease, left in his own hand this statement to wit:
The
Kirkpatrick family possessed estates in Nithsdale, [Scotland] in the ninth
century. The first on record is Ivone
Kirkpatrick in the time of David I. He
was a witness to a Charter of Robert Bruce.
He had a grandson Ivone and from him descended a long line of Lords of
Closeburn. Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick,
Gentleman of the Privy Chamber of James VI., obtained a patent of Freedom of
the whole kingdom. He died in 1628, and
was succeeded by his son Thomas, whose grandson Thomas was created Baronet of Nova
Scotia. [This order was founded by
James I. in 1611, and is given by
patent], March 26, 1686. He married
Isabella, daughter of Lord Torpishen; afterwards he married Sarah, daughter of
Robert Ferguson, Esq., of Craigdarock, by whom he had a son Rodger; and
thirdly, he married Grizzel, daughter of Gain Hamilton, Esq., of Raplock. He was succeeded by
II.
Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, who married Isabel, daughter of Sir William Lockhart,
of Carstairs, and was succeeded by
III. Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, who married Susannah
Grierson, of Capuncet, August 29, 1748.
Fire consumed his mansion, family papers, and everything except the
tower. He died October, 1771, and was
succeeded by
IV. Sir James Kirkpatrick, who married Miss
Jaudine, and died June 7, 1804, and was succeeded by
V. Sir Thomas Kirkpatrick, the present Baronet.
THE
KIRKPATRICK ARMS.
Ar,
a sattier and chief az.
The
last charger with 3 cushions or
Crest,
a hand holding a dagger
In
paledistilling drops of blood.
Motto,
I make sure.
Seat,
Closeburns Dumfries.
The
name of the immediate ancestor of that branch of the family which this volume
is a memorial was ALEXANDER. He was
born in Watties Neach, Dumfriesshire, Scotland. He removed with his family to Belfast, Ireland, after the birth
of his son David, in the latter part of the reign of George I. probably about
the year 1725, that he might enjoy greater liberty of conscience and additional
religious advantages. In the spring of
1736 he embarked at Belfast for America, and after a stormy passage of thirteen
weeks landed at New Castle, Delaware.
The passengers and crew were almost starved owing to the unexpected
length of the passage. David, who was
then twelve years old, speaking of this to a grandson in after years said: The firs thing I got to eat after we got on
shore was corn, in the state which we call roasting ears, and without roasting
or boiling I ate it till the milk of the corn ran down both sides of my mouth,
and I have never eaten anything since that tasted sweeter. The narrative by the grandson adds: They
crossed the Delaware at Philadelphia, and wandered up through the State of New
Jersey (which was partially settled) till they reached Boundbrook, and from
that they went over the mountain. This
incident he (the grandfather) used to tell me, and smile at they were all on
foot there was no road other than the Indian path. In the path before them they saw a land-tortoise, speckled,
sticking up his head; and as they had heard of rattlesnakes, they thought that monster
must be one; so they turned out in
the woods and went away round leaving his torkleship in full possession of
the path. When they came to a spring of
water at the side of what has since been called Mine Brook, there they settled
down, built in log house and went to work.
The
spot was well chosen, about two miles west from the present site of
Baskingridge in Somerset County, New Jersey.
It embraced the southern slope of Round Mountain in a well-timbered
region, with unfailing springs of pure water, the rich meadow-land through
which Mine Brook runs with a sufficient fall of water for a mill-seat, and with
these material advantages, a charming picturesque view of the adjacent
region. The spring of water is still
there, marking the site of the original log-house, and until within a few years
could be seen the remains of the apple trees planted by Alexander Kirkpatrick
and his sons. This improvement many of
the early proprietary leases required.
In a lease of one hundred and thirty-seven acres, (which it may be
remarked was a minor portion of what the family eventually obtained by title in
fee simple) granted November 23, 1747, to Alexander Kirkpatrick, he agrees to
plant an orchard of at least one apple-tree fro every three acres, and in case
this lease shall continue beyond three years, then (to) plant one apple tree
for every six acres, all regular in one orchard, and to keep up the number
planted, and to keep the orchard in good fence.
Alexander
Kirkpatrick died at Mine Brook, June 3, 1758, mentioning in his will, which was
executed in articulo mortis, his wife Elizabeth, his sons Andrew, David and
Alexander, his son-in-law Duncan McEowen, his youngest daughter Mary, and his
grandson Alexander.
It
is worthy of notice that when he came to America with his family he was
accompanied by his brother Andrew. This
bother Andrew had two sons, John and David, and two daughters, Martha, wife of
Joseph Linn, and Elizabeth, wife of Stephen Roy, all of whom removed to Sussex
County, and there remained.
The
children of ALEXANDER and ELIZABETH KIRKPATRICK were,
1.
Andrew, who
married Margaret, daughter of Joseph Gaston, and had one son, Alexander, and
seven daughters, viz: Jennet, wife of Abner Johnson; Elizabeth, wife of Hugh
Bartley; Margaret, wife of Joseph McMartin; Mary, Sarah, Anne, and Hannah. This Andrew inherited the homestead, but not
long after the death of his father sold it to his brother David, and removed to
what was then called the Redstone Country, or in other words to Western
Pennsylvania.
2.
David, who
married Mary McEowen, sister of Duncan, Daniel, and Alexander McEowen, of whom
more in the sequel.
3.
Alexander,
who married Margaret Anderson, of Boundbrook, who went to New York and married
there, and one daughter, Martha, wife of John Stevenson, then of Morristown,
afterwards of New York. Alexander, the
father, was a surveyor, subsequently a merchant, and kept a store at Peapack.
4.
Jennet, wife
of Duncan McEowen, who with their family removed to Maryland.
5.
Mary, wife
of John Bigger, had two sons, John and David, and four daughters, Elizabeth,
Anne, Ruth and Mary. They removed to
Warwick, [Orange County, N. Y., or Cecil County, Md].
6.
Thomas, who
remained in the Philadelphia area after landing in New Castle, Delaware.
David, the son of Alexander and Elizabeth Kirkpatrick, was born at Watties
Neach, Dumfries Shire, Scotland, February 17, 1724, and died at Mine Brook,
March 19, 1814. His wife, Mary McEowen,
was born in Argyle Shire, Scotland, August 1, 1728, and died at Mine Brook,
November 2, 1795.
DAVID
KIRKPATRICK, Esqr., and MARY McEOWEN were married March 31, 1748. They had four sons and four daughters.
1.
Elizabeth,
born September 27, 1749, the wife of
----- Sloan, mother of the Rev. William B. Sloan, for several years
pastor of the Presbyterian Church of Greenwich, Warren County, and grandmother
of the late William h. Sloan, Esq., of Flemington. She, after the death of Mr. Sloan, married General William
Maxwell, and died in 1829.
2.
Alexander,
born September 3, 1751, died September 24, 1827. He was the father of the Rev. Jacob Kirkpatrick, D.D., of
Ringoes.
3.
Hugh, born
September 2, 1753, died January 9, 1782, unmarried.
4.
Andrew, born
February 17, 1756, Chief Justice of the State of New Jersey.
5.
David, born
November 1, 1758.
6.
Mary, born
November 23, 1761, married Hugh Gaston, of Peapack, and had one son. After Mr. Gastons death, she married a
Todd, and died July 1, 1842.
7.
Anne, born
March 10, 1764, married Moses Esty, of Morristown.
8.
Jennet, born
July 9, 1769, married Dickenson Miller, of Somerville, and had six sons.
ANDREW KIRKPATRICK, third son of David Kirkpatrick, Esq., and Mary McEowen, was born at Mine Brook; he graduated at the College of New Jersey, in 1775, while Dr. Witherspoon was President; he, shortly after completing his legal studies, entered upon the practice of the law at New Brunswick, where he married Jane, daughter of Colonel John Bayard. Of their children (1) the Hon. Littleton Kirkpatrick, attorney-at-law, graduated at the College of New Jersey in 1815, was a member of the House of Representatives, at Washington, from his native state; married, but no children survive him. (2). John Bayard Kirkpatrick, Esq., graduated at Queens (now Rutgers) College in 1815; was for some time connected with one of the Departments at Washington, and died, leaving two sons and two daughters. (3). Mary Ann, wife of the Rev. Samuel B. Howe, D.D., for some time pastor of the First Reformed Protestant Dutch Church, New Brunswick. (4). Jane, wife of the Rev. Jonathan Cogswell, D.D., formerly Professor of Ecclesiastical History in the East Windsor Theological Seminary, both now deceased, leaving one daughter.
Andrew,
their father, was elected a member of the House of Assembly of New Jersey, in
1797, and sat with that body during the first session; but on the 17th
of January, 1798, he resigned his seat, having accepted the office of Chief
Justice of the state, as successor to the Hon. James Kinsey. Chief Justice Kirkpatrick was for twenty
years a member of the Board of Trustees of the College of New Jersey. He was one of the original Trustees of
Princeton Theological Seminary; is the firs person named in the Charter granted
by the Legislature of New Jersey, November 15, 1822; and was the first
President of the Board, holding that office until his death, which occurred in
1831.
Captain
David Kirkpatrick, fourth son of David Kirkpatrick, Esq., and Mary McEowen,
born at Mine Brook, November 1, 1758, resided there until his death, December
11, 1828. His wife, Mary Farrand, of
Troy, Morris County, died September 5, 1805 in the thirty-fourth year of her
age. Their children were
- Walter, born
April 12, 1795. He graduated at
the College of New Jersey in 1813; was a member of the Legislative Council
of New Jersey for the term of three years and was a useful citizen, highly
esteemed. He married Mary
Caroline, daughter of Colonel Lemuel Cobb, of Parsippany, Morris County,
who was born October 12, 1798, and died October 6, 1826. The Latin epitaph on the monument in
the grave-yard at Parsippany, where her remains and those of a beloved son
lie, is a sincere and affecting expression of the grief of the surviving
husband and father. The Hon.
Walter Kirkpatrick was a man of delicate nervous organization, of highly
cultivated taste, a fine classical scholar and an amateur of the Fine
Arts. Repeated domestic
bereavements disappointing his fond expectations, wrought powerfully upon
his sensitive nature, and he went down to his grave, a mourner, December
13, 1841. No children have
survived him.
- Hugh,
born May 31, 1797, died March 11, 1860.
He never married. He
graduated at the College of New Jersey, in 1815, and after pursuing the
study of Medicine for the prescribed time, he engaged in the practice of
his profession as a physician. He
was a great favorite with his friends, and familiarly known as Doctor
Hugh. As a token of the popular
favor he was elected Sheriff of Somerset County, and served one term. Like his brother Walter he was of an
amiable disposition, retiring in his habits, and fond of literary occupation.
- Elizabeth Farrand, born November 19, 1799. She married the Hon. Andrew B. Cobb,
son of Colonel Lemuel Cobb of Parsippany, and died December 11, 1857,
leaving one daughter Julia, now wife of Frederick A. Demott, Esq., of
Morristown.
ALEXANDER
KIRKPATRICK, the eldest son of David Kirkpatrick, Esq., and brother of Chief
Justice Andrew and Captain David, married Sarah daughter of Judge John Carle,
of Long Hill, Morris County, and brother of the Rev. John Carle. She died February 15, 1842, in the eighty-second
year of her age.
Thirteen
of the children of Alexander Kirkpatrick
and Sarah Carle reached adult age, to wit,
- David,
born December 24, 1776, married Sarah, daughter of Daniel Cooper, of Long
Hill.
- Mary,
born April 25, 1781, wife of John Lafferty Cross, of Baskingridge.
- John, born July 24, 1783, married Mary,
daughter of David Ayers, and sister of Dr. Ayers, of Liberty Corner, and
died December 11, 1855.
- Jacob, born
August 8, 1785, died at Ringoes, May 2, 1866. He married Mary Burroughs Howell, daughter of John Sutfin,
of Freehold, Monmouth County, New Jersey.
Their children, (1) John Sutfin, who died in infancy. (2) Alexander. (3) David Bishop. (4) Henry Augustus, M.D. (5) Calvin. (6) Newton. (7)
Lydia Baker, wife of Dr. Justus Lessey, of Philadelphia. (8) Sarah, wife of J. Gardiner Bowne,
of Oakdale. (9) Charles
Whitehead. (10) Rev. Jacob. (11) Frances J., wife of Edward H.
Schenck, of Ringoes. (12) Anna F.,
wife of Henry Schenck, of New Brunswick.
(13) Elizabeth G., wife of Martin Nevius, of Blawenburg. (14) Mary.
- Sarah,
born September 22, 1787, wife of William Annin, of Liberty Corner. The Rev. John A. Annin, pastor of the
Presbyterian Church Red Wing, Minnesota, is their son.
- Elizabeth,
born September 21, 1789, wife of Alexander Vail, of Bernard Township,
Somerset, had two daughters. After
Mr. Vails death, she married William Gaston, of Baskingridge, and had
several sons.
- Lydia, born
December 20, 1791, wife of Peter Demott, of Bedminster.
- Anne, born
January 27, 1794, wife of John Stelle, of Bernard Township, Somerset.
- Rebecca, born
June 15, 1796, wife of Squier Terrill, of Warren Township, Somerset.
- Martha, born
October 8, 1802, wife of Israel Squiers, of Morris County, near
Baskingridge.
- Jane, born
May 20, 1798, wife of John Cory, of Morris County, near Baskingridge.
- Alexander, born August 10, 1800, married a Miss Tingley.
- Robert Finley, born July 22, 1805,
married Charity, sister of Squier Terrill.
David Kirkpatrick, Esq., who came to this country with his father Alexander at
the age of twelve, was well remembered by his grandson, Dr. Jacob
Kirkpatrick. Old documents show that he
was greatly esteemed and beloved. Plain
and simple in his habits, of strict integrity and sterling common sense, he was
a man of great energy and self-reliance.
We have an exponent of what he was in that fine substantial stone house
which he built at Mine Brook in 1765, with its thick walls laid in mortar
almost as hard now as the gray sandstone itself, and with floors made of white
oak inch plank laid double. The old
stone work and the old pointing look nearly as fresh as on the addition
recently built by the present occupant.
With proper care the house might be made to last five centuries more.
On
a stone over the front door (but now concealed by a new portico) are chiseled,
D.M.K. 1765, the three initial letters standing for David and Mary
Kirkpatrick. One of the oldest
residents of Mine Brook, Mr. Heath, aged eighty-seven, well remembers hearing
the old gentleman speak of the pains he took in putting up this
dwelling-house. Indeed, whatever he
undertook he did thoroughly, nor was he ever content not to be usefully
occupied. The lily-fingered exquisites
of the present day would have met with many a stern rebuke from him in his
broad Scotch brogue. Although he lived
about two miles from the church at Baskingridge, he always preferred to walk
while the rest of the family rode. It
is said of him, when a member of the New Jersey Legislature, that although he
would commence his journey on horseback, he soon dismounted and leading his
horse walked the remainder of the way to Trenton. He lived to enter his ninety-first year; educated one son at the
College of New Jersey; knew of at least six grandsons who were liberally
educated; and at his death left a numerous posterity to bless his memory. In his last will executed thirteen years
before his death, we see the character of the man. It begins: I, David
Kirkpatrick, having arrived at a good old age, and being desirous of arranging
and settling my worldly affairs, and directing how the property wherewith it
has pleased God to reward my labors should be disposed of after my death,
etc., and ends: And now having disposed of all my worldly concerns, I humbly
commit my immortal soul to God my Heavenly Father in an humble hope that
through the merits and intercession of Jesus Christ my Saviour and Redeemer I
shall be raised again at the last day in glory everlasting. Both as to the great concerns of eternity
and the things of time he seems to have acted in the spirit of the motto of the
Coat of Arms of the Kirkpatrick Family:
I make sure.
II.
REV. JACOB KIRKPATRICK, D.D.
In
the northern part of Warren Township, Somerset County, New Jersey, in the
beautiful valley of the Passaic, about six miles south-east from Baskingridge
stands the house where was born, on the 8th of August, 1785, Jacob
Kirkpatrick, son of Alexander Kirkpatrick and Sarah Carle. On the south lies Stony Hill, and on the
north extending half a mile to the banks of the Passaic is a slope of green and
fertile meadow, while in the distance in full view is the continuous range of
high land in Morris County known as
Long Hill, covered with well tilled farms and dotted with comfortable farmhouses. The lasting spring of pure water not far
from the door seems to tell the stranger as he slakes his thirst, that many who
once drank of it have been scattered far and wide and are now sleeping in the
dust.
Here
on a tract of four hundred acres taken from the large landed estate of Judge
Carle, the parents settled soon after their marriage and endeavored to train up
their family in the fear of God. The
responsible charge of thirteen children who grew up to manhood and woman hood
was committed to their trust. In this
work they were assisted by the able and faithful servants of God, the Rev.
Samuel Kennedy, M.D., and the Rev. Robert Finley, D. D., successively pastors
of the Church of Baskingridge on whose ministrations they attended. They were regular in their attendance at the
sanctuary after the example of his Scotch ancestors, and never did Alexander
Kirkpatrick and his family disturb the devotions of the congregation by
arriving after the public exercises had begun.
He was habitually so early that one of his neighbors, it is said, never
began his preparations until he had seen Mr. Kirkpatrick drive by his door; and
often, when that tardy neighbor, whom for the sake of the incident we will call
John Smith, reached the church, the wags who were hanging around the door were
accustomed to say to each other with a wink of the eye: Its time to go into meeting, for John
Smith has come. The records of the
Baskingridge Church show that Mr. Kirkpatrick was an active and useful member.
Much of the time of Jacobs childhood, when
not prosecuting English studies in the common schools of the neighborhood was
occupied in such labor on the farm as suited his age. He was accustomed to relate to his own children how often he had
taken the grist to mill on horseback and driven the team over the mountain with
loads of wood. All these labors served
to strengthen a constitution naturally good, and to prepare him for that
constant exposure and toilsome service to which he was to be subjected in after
life as a minister of Christ.
When
he was thirteen or fourteen years of age, a circumstance occurred which made
that, in all probability, a turning point in the history of his life. He had been drinking, after the custom of
those times, some intoxicating liquor with one of his companions, when suddenly
he turned around to his friend and said, with great earnestness: We ought never to drink any more liquor; if
we dont stop drinking well become drunkards. He did stop from that hour; and for the remainder of life, not
only as a personal safeguard, but for the sake of the example, he was a total
abstinence man. His companion formed no
such resolution, but continued to drink until the habit became too inveterate
to be overcome, and he died a drunkard.
It
is not improbable that young Kirkpatrick had been awakened to thoughtfulness on
this subject by something he had heard from the lips of his pastor. On one occasion, early in his ministry, Dr.
Finley exchanged pulpits for a Sabbath with the pastor of a neighboring
church. At the latter place the tavern was
opposite to, or near by the church, and with the bar kept open on Sunday as
well as other days, according to the old custom. Being much fatigued with his ride, he dismounted and walked into
the bar-room and drank something stronger than water for his refreshment. As he passed out of the tavern for the
church he saw two young men, one of whom he overheard saying to the other: Come, lets go hear the Dominie preachhe
has just had a smaller, and I guess
well have a good sermon. How good the
sermon he preached to that congregation was, tradition does not inform us, but
he felt that a pungent sermon had been preached to him in the brief sentence
uttered by that young man. It so
affected him that he resolved henceforth that no man should have the opportunity
to quote him as an example to justify
drinking-habits; he resolved to abandon altogether the use of intoxicating
liquor as a beverageand those who knew him were aware that for Dr. Finley to
resolve was to execute.
At
the age of fourteen Jacob began his course of classical study, making his home
with his grandfather, David Kirkpatrick, Esq., at Mine Brook, because it was
four miles nearer to Baskingridge than his fathers house. The following written by his own hand has
been found among his papers:
FINLEYS
FIRST CLASS.
In
the autumn of the year seventeen hundred and ninety-nine, (1799) two lads of
about the same age, commenced the study of the Latin Grammar together, under
the instruction of the Rev. Robert Finley, then pastor of the Presbyterian
Church of Baskingridge. Their names
were Samuel Lewis Southard and Jacob Kirkpatrick. Their parents resided within the bounds of the parish and were
members of Mr. Finleys church. Mr.
Finley (afterward Dr. Finley) was recently entered upon the duties of a pastor,
and but lately from the College of New Jersey.
(There was no Theological Seminary then in our land). From the combined motive of doing good and
obtaining a livelihood, he conceived the enterprise of an academy. The two lads above named formed the nucleus
around which a number clustered, until there was formed in that place a large
and flourishing classical school.
They
had progressed part way through the Latin Grammar (then Ruddimans) when they
were joined by Philip Lindsly, a youth from the same neighborhood. He had been a short time at school at
Morristown, but he fell into the same class.
A short time again elapsed when a fourth one arrived. He then wrote his name Jacob R. T.
Frelinghuysen, (then living at Millstone, Somerset County, New Jersey), or
Revolutionary memory. These four
constituted the firs class of the Academy of Baskingridge, under the care of
Rev. R. Finley. We were guided in our
studies of the different classics, which then constituted the course in the
lower classes in the College of New Jersey, till the commencement of the
College, then the last Wednesday of September, A.D. 1802.
We
presented ourselves for examination before Dr. S. S. Smith, then President of
the College, and were admitted to a standing in the Junior Class.
The
faculty of the College then consisted of Samuel S. Smith, D.D., LL.D.,
President John MacLean, M.D., Vice President, and two Tutors, James Carnahan
and Benjamin B. Hopkins. There was no
other professor connected with the institution. Dr. Smith preached regularly to us on the Sabbath. There was no other clergyman even of any
denomination in Princeton.
The
College edifice (now the Old North College) had been burned in the spring
previous and rebuilt during the summer of 1802. The rooms were not deemed sufficiently dry for two weeks, during
which we boarded in private families in town, as the expression was. P. Lindsly and the writer of this, furnished
a room a together, which we obtained by lot.
This was the way rooms were disposed of at our first occupying the new
edifice. The room we lived in was 24,
second entry, and we remained together there to the end of our course, in
September 1804. We sang: Now we are free from College rules. Each having obtained his diploma we separated.
That
was a class of unusual ability, containing as it did, Rev. Philip Lindsly,
D.D., Rev. Jacob Kirkpatrick, D.D., Rev. Nathaniel S. Prime, D.D., Rev. Alfred
Ely, D.D., Hon. Samuel L. Southard, Hon. Theodore Frelinghuysen, Hon. George
Chambers, hon. Thomas H. Crawford, and Hon. Joseph R. Ingersoll, to mention no
others. His room-mate, Philip Lindsly,
was a man of great originality and power, and distinguished himself as an
educator of youth, and the career of Frelinghuysen and Southard as Counsellors
at law and Statesmen, proved them to be men of mark, and has made them an honor
to their native state.
Immediately
after taking his first degree, young Kirkpatrick entered his name as a student
of law in the office of George C. Maxwell, Esq., Flemington, at the same time
teaching in the Academy at Somerville.
After pursuing the study of the law for about three years, during a
visit to his native parish at a season of revival under the ministrations of
Dr. Finley in 1807, his views and feelings on the subject of religion became so
changed, that he relinquished the law and consecrated himself to the work of
the gospel ministry. This change was
not determined upon without a severe internal conflict. Quite a number of his most highly esteemed
classmates were just about to begin their career at the bar, and he would
naturally prefer to continue to be, in a measure, associated with them. Besides, that was a time when our country
had scarcely begun to recover from the overwhelming influence of French infidelitymany
of our influential public men were skepticsthe Christian ministry, as a
profession was held at a large discount, and conscientious piety was looked
upon by not a few who thought themselves to be wise, and contemptible
hypocrisy. The popular current was in
the wrong direction, and there were men of high standing and influence, who
would say, that for any young man of education and talents to undertake the
business of a preacher, was to bury himself for life. But our friend abandoned his long cherished aspirations for
distinction, and resolved to endure for Christs sake all the opprobrium his
decision might provoke; and his whole subsequent course has proved that in this
conflict the change wrought was genuine, and that grace was surely triumphant.
His
successor, the Rev. William J. Wright, thus refers to this epoch in Dr.
Kirkpatricks life: The struggle was a
close one whether to keep back part of the price, or to throw heart, soul,
mind, and strength into the work of the Lord; and I think I hear the percussive
words of Chrysostom ringing in his ears,
Contemn riches and thou shalt be rich; contemn glory and thou shalt be
glorious; contemn injuries and thou shalt be a conqueror; contemn rest and thou
shalt gain rest; contemn earth and thou shalt gain heaven. The year passes and we behold the ardent
worldling humbled and sitting at the foot of the cross. The struggle had passed, and the world
surrendered for ever. In the bitterness
of the contest he had beaten the world and trampled it under foot. No one who knew Dr. Kirkpatrick but must
have felt that he gained a rare and unsurpassed victory, and the triumph
appreciates in importance as we look at the then opposing influence of
associates and the time-honored traditions of his earlier years.
The
Rev. John L. Janeway, D.D., also says of him:
His talents, his eloquence, his practical business turn of mind and
popular manners would have led to eminence and wealth in the profession [of the
law]. Ambition beckoned him on, but God
converted him, and had other work for him; he designed him for the
ministry. After due and serious
reflection, feeling assured that God had called him to preach the gospel, he
turned his back upon the law with its honors and emoluments, and commenced his
preparation for the self-denying life of the ministry. And after fifty-six years of toil he laid
down and died a poor man. The only result of his years of labor was a
bare yearly support. Sayis not such a
man worthy to be esteemed and held in grateful remembrance, who for the sake of
souls gave up a profession which opened up honors and riches? But he counted the cost; he took up the
cross and looked for his reward not from this world nor from men, but from his
Masters in heaven.
The
final decision having been made he immediately placed himself under the care of
the Rev. John Woodhull, D.D. of Freehold, Monmouth Co., who at that time, when
there were no Theological Seminaries, was often resorted to by candidates for
the ministry for instruction in Theology.
He took lodgings in the house of Mr. John Sutfin, not far from the old
Tennent Church, and over against the Parsonage, once occupied by the celebrated
Rev. William Tennent, and then by his successor Dr. Woodhull. Here, associated with Jacob T. Field, a fellow-student,
he spent about two years. He and his
friend were taken under the care of the Presbytery of New Brunswick at the same
time, October 7, 1807; their next appearance was April 26, 1809, when each read
a lecture, and they were both licensed to preach the gospel on the 8th
of August 1809. The pastoral relation
between the Rev. Thomas Grant having been dissolved on the 26th of
April previous, Mr. Kirkpatrick preached for that people for the first time in
the month of September, and afterwards by appointment of the Presbytery five
Sabbaths in December, 1809, and in February and April, 1810. This opened the way for his being called to
take the pastoral office among them, as appears from the Records of the Presbytery
at Trenton, April 24, 1810.
This
was a call for five years, which the Presbytery refused to put into his
hands, but resolved to ordain him and appoint him a stated supply for five years.
Dr.
Kirkpatrick states that When it [this call] was read in the Presbytery, Dr. S.
Stanhope Smith casting his keen eye upon me remarked: I would throw it back in their teeth. On the 19th of June, 1810, the Presbytery met in the
Amwell First Church and heard the candidates trial sermon for ordination from
Col. Iii. 4, and on the next day, June 20th, Mr. Kirkpatrick was
ordained, Dr. John Woodhull preaching the sermon and offering the ordaining
prayer. The Rev. Holloway W. Hunt gave
the charge to the minister, and delivered a suitable address to the people.
At
a meeting of the Presbytery held April 25, 1815, the Amwell people having acted
upon the advice previously given them, a regular call was presented; and on the
16th of June following in the Old Stone Church, (formerly occupied
by a German congregation then dissolved), Mr. Kirkpatrick was formally
installed the pastor of the Amwell churches, his cousin, the Rev. William B.
Sloan preaching the sermon, and the Rev. George S. Woodhull giving the charges
to pastor and people.
The
result was a happy one, evincing the wisdom of the Presbytery, the popularity
of the young pastor, and the kind feeling with which the people abandoned the
deep-rooted prejudice they had formed against settling a pastor in the ordinary
way.
In
his half century sermon Dr. Kirkpatrick says, It was the remark of some when my
predecessor left them, that they would not call another man for life.
Still they have had one almost for
life, and perhaps they will keep him as long as he lives. And so it proved, for he completed fifty-six
years of residence among them, and the pastoral relation was dissolved only by
his death.
In
his half century sermon we have his mature views on the subject: In conclusion let me say, I have always
looked upon the pastoral relation, constituted by an installation service, as a
relation which ought not be for trifles dissolved. Instances there are and have been, where circumstances demanded a
separation of pastor and people; but is it not the fact that there are many
dissolutions that are to be regretted?
In writing not long since to a beloved brother at the request of a
vacant church, I said to him, I have nothing to say as to the salary which you
receive or which you may expect if you remove; but you and I are not to be
governed by dollars and cents, but by a sense of duty. If the hand of God waves and seems to say
remove, remove, I can recommend the church of which I have been speaking.
It is well known that on several
occasions he received flattering overtures from other congregations, where his
worldly condition would have been greatly improved, but his sense of duty
united to his unchanging love for the people whom he had served in his youth
constrained him uniformly to reject them and to abide where he was.
In
1853, Dr. Kirkpatrick relinquished one hundred dollars of his salary to secure
the settlement of a colleague. This
colleague was the Rev. Samuel M. Osmond, now pastor of the Presbyterian Church
of Iowa City, Iowa. Dr. K. says: For
more than forty years I preached alternately in the United First and Second
churches. In 1852 I urged that as both
churches were large and able, they ought to have preaching in both houses on
every Sabbath. Some of my brethren and
fathers whom I consulted advised a separation that I had better leave one
church. Some advised a colleague. I took the latter course. In 1853 they called a colleague or
co-pastor.
They
who advised a separation of the churches gave as reasons, that a colleague
might ingratiate himself into the good feelings of the people, as he probably
would be young; and as I was on the decline, and going down, I might find
myself in an unpleasant situation. But
none of these things ever were manifest, even in the slightest degree. He always treated me as a father. I loved him, and love him still, but the
tongue of eulogy is dumb. For four
years we lived together in friendship and peace, and love, and I think could
have lived together till my gray hairs were laid in the grave; but his health
not being very firm, he thought a removal to a different part of the country
might be advantageous and he left us.
During
the last year of his life arrangements were made for the settlement of a
colleague with him over the Amwell United First Church, who should perform the
more laborious part of the pastoral work.
The Rev. William J. Wright was the person called to that office; but his
installation did not take place until about a week before the death of the
venerable senior pastor, who was then confined to the house, awaiting the call
of his Master to go upward.
The
following article prepared for the press at the time by the writer of these
sketches, is here introduced both for the sake of the memorable occasion, and
on account of the facts, most of which were on that day, gathered from Dr.
Kirkpatricks own lips. It is entitled,
A Golden Wedding
In
one of those hospitable mansions which were then and are now so numerous in old
Monmouth County, New Jersey, on the thirteenth day of December, 1809, Jacob
Kirkpatrick and Mary Sutfin were joined in holy wedlock by the Rev. John Woodhull,
D.D., her pastor, and his theological preceptor. The newly wedded were soon found at Ringoes,
in Hunterdon County, where the husband was laboring as a minister of
Christ. On the 20th of June
following he was ordained. In the same
place they have remained until this day.
On the 13th of December, 1859, the fiftieth anniversary of
their marriage, their golden wedding
was celebrated. The pastors of the
adjacent Presbyterian churches and other clerical friends, with a large number
of those who now are, or have been, under Dr. Kirkpatricks pastoral charge,
met at the Ringoes parsonage, and spent the day with the venerable couple and
their assembled children and grandchildren.
One person who witnessed the marriage ceremony, a sister of Mrs. K., was
present. The groomsman and bridesmaid
are yet living, but the infirmities of age, and the distance of the place of
meeting, prevented their attendance. Of
their fourteen children, four sons have died, (one of whom was the late Rev. J.
Kirkpatrick, Jr.), and ten children four sons and six daughters, still
survive all of them professed followers of Christ, and all married except the
two youngest daughters. Of their thirty
grandchildren, twenty-four are living, and most of them, if not all, have been
dedicated to God in baptism.
A
rich and bountiful repast was furnished by the ladies of the congregation; and golden tokens of respect and affection
were liberally supplied by the guests to fill the purse of the aged pair.
In
behalf of the assembly the Rev. P.O. Studdiford, D.D., of Lambertville, in a
most appropriate and happy manner, addressed Dr. and Mrs. Kirkpatrick.
The
address was followed with prayer by the pastor of the Pennington Church. After these exercises were over,
unexpectedly to all, the venerable patriarch arose, nearly overcome by emotion,
and taking his position in the midst of the crowd of his friends and spiritual
children, he poured forth in strains of simple eloquence the feelings of his
noble heart. Notwithstanding the many
pleasing and striking occurrences of the celebration, this speech was
unquestionably the event of the day. No
description of the ready writer, no pen of a stenographer could do it full
justice. To present it in its proper
light, there would be needed a series of photographic impressions exhibiting
the aspect of the speaker and audience at each successive moment, with the
advantages of some new art that could arrest and give permanence to the
intonations of the voice and to that powerful electric current which pervaded
and swayed the minds and hearts of those who hung upon the patriarchs
lips. Even the little grandchildren
seemed to catch the spirit of the scene as they gazed with a tender, wondering
interest upon their honored grandsire.
He remarked that he was now addressing the grandchildren of the
grandchildren (fifth generation) of those who first called him to this pastoral
charge; that within his original field of labor, twelve miles square, in the
township of Amwell, there was now living but one married couple, whom he found
in wedlock at his settlement, and the husband (Mr. David Bellis) was here
present. Since his own marriage, he had
married about six hundred and thirty [at the time of his death, seven hundred
and five] couples, and in some cases had officiated at the marriage of parents,
children and grandchildren; of the ministers who were members of the Presbytery
of New Brunswick, at the time of his licensure, all have died except one, Dr.
Isaac V. Brown, [since dead]; though he had not moved from his place for a half
a century, he had belonged to two Synods and three Presbyteries; when he was
ordained, there were connected with his charge ninety-four communicants, but
now attached to the five Presbyterian Churches occupying the same ground, there
are at present nearly ten times that number in communion making no account of
those who have died in the faith, or have transferred their relation to other
churches. Dr. Kirkpatrick stated that
this was the forty-ninth annual donation visit that had been made to his family
since he became their pastor. Happy
people! Blessed with a long, an
honored, a faithful, and a successful ministry; happy pastor so blessed in his
work May his bow abide in strength, and the arms of his hands be made strong
by the hands of the almighty God of Jacob; happy husband and worthy help-meet
may the blessings of the covenant rest on them and their descendants to the
latest generation, and may their declining sun be bright to the last.
Dr.
Kirkpatricks field of labor originally extended from the Delaware River, where
Lambertville now stands, to the Somerset Line.
On this wide field he made full proof of his ministry in cold and
head, sunshine and storm, by day and by night doing the work of a
missionary. Many a time he has been
compelled to do a large portion of his studying on horseback, or when riding in
his carriage from place to place through the congregation, or to answer calls
from a distance. Whatever reputation he
might have gained as a finished orator, or a profound scholar, was sacrificed
to calls upon the sick, the dying, and the afflicted; to social visits in the
families of his charge; to attendance on religious services on week-day
evenings, and to the preaching of funeral sermons beyond, as well as within the
bounds of his own parish. So great was
his popularity as a preacher, that his services were in constant demand abroad,
especially in revivals of religion. The
weeks spent by him and his friend Dr. Studdiford, in doing the work of an
evangelist in various parts of New Jersey and Pennsylvania, would fill up no
small part of the fifty-six years of his ministry. Eminently successful as he was in winning souls among his own
people, the aggregate of the spiritual harvests gathered in by others as the fruit
of his labors far exceeds the results at home.
He was the servant of any and every one that he might gain the more,
following the example of his divine Master who came not to be ministered to,
but to minister. He had nothing of the
proselyting spirit about him but left every man to choose his own denomination
and his own place of worship. If any of
his own people preferred to leave his pastoral oversight for anothers, he
never attempted to interpose an obstacle by either word or act. He had no ambition to convert men to
himself, or to swell the number of his followers; for the great end he sought
was gained when the power of godliness was increased in believers and souls
were saved from death. His Christian magnanimity was above all
praise.
Of
selfishness, vanity, pride, worldly ambition, envy, jealousy, wilfulness, and
love of money, he had as little as any man the writer ever knew. He had a large, warm, generous heart, too
generous even to assert his own rights when they were infringed. He was a rare example of the meekness and
gentleness of Christ. Though he
understood human nature well and could often read a mans character at a
glance, he never used this talent for selfish purposes but only to increase his
power over the conscience and the heart in private or from the pulpit. He had not set his heart on earthly
things. He could appeal to his people
with a clear conscience and say with Paul:
I have coveted no mans silver or gold, or apparel, or with the
Prophet Samuel: Whose ox have I taken?
Or whose ass have I taken? Or whom have
I defrauded? Whom have I
oppressed? Or of whose hand have I
received any bribe to blind mine eyes therewith?
Few
men have approached as near as he to a literal conformity to these precepts of
our Lord: But I say unto you that ye
resist not evil; but whosoever shall smite thee on they right cheek, turn to
him the other also. And if any man will
sue thee at the law and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also. And whosoever shall compel thee to go a mile
with him, go with him twain. Give to
him that asketh of thee and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou
away.
Whether
or not he did sometimes yield too much, and submit to the infringement of his
rights to a greater degree than was consistent with the good of others as well
as of himself, it would be presumption to affirm; for he acted conscientiously
and was accustomed to say that he could not do otherwise. He was exceedingly jealous of himself lest
he should either say or do anything that might hinder the salutary effect of
the gospel upon his hearers. If he
could but bring them to Christ he was willing to do or bear almost anything.
I
have sometimes thought that there was a strange commingling in his constitution
of the gentleness of woman with the heart of a lion. His Christian courage would have taken him at any time to the
lions den or the martyrs stake if the honor of religion had demanded it.
Though
he was mild, easy and courteous in his manners, he was rigidly exact in
everything that related to the keeping of a promise, the meeting of an
engagement or the fulfilment of an appointment. He abounded in shrewd sayings and humorous anecdote, but such was
his nice discrimination between the true and the false that he was always found
adhering to the simple verity. He was
one whom it was well nigh impossible not to love with a more than ordinary
attachment. His associates in the
ministry, young and old, to the end of his life, took delight in visiting his
hospitable dwelling; and whoever crossed his threshold with a burdened
sorrowing heart, soon returned with new zeal and courage to the calls of
duty. And wherever he went he was more
than welcome. His cheerful countenance
made his very presence a light in the domestic and social circle. Even when his friends visited him to condole
with him in his days of bereavement and deep affliction they wondered at the
grace that sustained him, and retired with the conviction that instead of
imparting consolation they were receiving comfort and instruction from
him. What a rich treasure such a man is
and must be to the community in which he dwells.
Arithmetic
cannot present to the eye a proper estimate of the amount of good he
accomplishes while living, and the blessed fruits gathered long after he has
passed away.
Dr.
Kirkpatricks ministry was honored of god by ten seasons of refreshing, the
revivals of 1843 and 1846 exceeding in power either of the others for in each
of these two years more than one hundred were added to the number of the
communicants, and among them several of his own children. The statistics kindly furnished by the Rev.
William J. Wright, pastor of the Amwell United First, and the Rev. John
Burrows, pastor of the Amwell Second Church, show that in those two churches
six hundred and twenty-one have been received on profession, and if to these
were added those of the Amwell First Church, (which could not be learned in
season owing to the sickness of the pastor), the number would doubtless reach
seven hundred. The fact that during
this long period only fifty-three were received in other, proves how little
that community has changed by immigration; and also reminds us that the
churches in most of our agricultural districts are engaged in the important
work of training and sending out those who are to be the pillars of the
churches in our cities and in various other portions of the land.
During
his ministry he preached about eleven thousand times and attended about nine
hundred funerals. Much of his time was
employed in attending the judicatories of the church from which he was never
absent without good cause, and in which his counsels were always wise and
helpful. He was one of the founders of
the Hunterdon County Bible Society in 1816, uniformly one of its most active
supporters, and for many years to the time of his death, its Secretary. He was among the earliest and most energetic
promoters of the Temperance Reformation, and cheerfully responded to frequent
calls to lecture and preach on that subject in Hunterdon and the adjacent
counties. Without attempting learned
discussion or indulging in the metaphysical abstractions, he laid hold of the
giant evil in the concrete, and sought to apply a practical remedy that would
be effectual. To his people he was a ready
helper in every way. He wrote their
wills, and deeds and leases; gave them legal counsel to the extent of his
knowledge of the law which he had studied for three years, and with a degree of
wisdom, disinterestedness and affection extremely rare imparted to them advice,
such as they needed, in both their temporal and spiritual concerns. He was ever ready for any good work, and
willing to deny himself to almost any extent for the welfare of others, and the
advancement of the cause of Christ.
It
may here be added that on the ground which he began to cultivate in 1810, there
are now six Presbyterian Churches, one Protestant Reformed Dutch Church, three
Baptist Churches, and five Methodist Churches.
A
communication from the Rev. Samuel M. Osmond, the colleague of Dr. Kirkpatrick,
giving his views and impressions, is here inserted.
He
says: I was providentially brought
into intimate association with both the subjects of the proposed Memorial, more
especially with Dr. K., as his colleague for four years. I can recall nothing that transpired in my
intercourse with either of them that beings up an unpleasant thought, or casts
the slightest shadow upon their revered and cherished memories.
My
acquaintance was first with the son, and through him with his venerable
father. During the Senior year in
College, and through the whole of the Seminary course, I was a classmate of
Jacob. Your proposed Memorial will need
no additional testimony such as I might offer to do justice to his high order
of talent, his brilliant wit, his consistent devoted piety, or to illustrate
the characteristics of this stage of his too brief career.
As
our Seminary course was approaching its close, it occurred that the
congregations of the United First and Second churches of Amwell yielded to the
request to call a co-pastor. The
thoughts of the people with one accord turned to Jacob, who, had he consented,
would have received a unanimous and enthusiastic call. It was, however, his conviction, that a
stranger might do better; and it was at his suggestion, without my knowledge of
any arrangement of the kind, I was invited to spend a Sabbath with them. The result was that, in June 1853, I was
ordained and installed as associate pastor with Dr. Kirkpatrick, a position
which I occupied until my impaired health seemed to render a change
necessary. That change was made at the
cost of one of the sorest trials of my affections that lifes vicissitudes have
ever brought.
I
shall never forget my first sight of Dr. Kirkpatrick. The train had been detained, and it was at a late hour on
Saturday night, previous to the day I was to preach for the Amwell people, that
I found myself at the door of the well-known Ringoes Parsonage. I was a somewhat modest young man, and it
was not without a degree of trepidation I knocked for admission. The door was speedily opened by the Doctor
himself. The first glance at that
benevolent, beaming face, the warm pressure of his hand, his affectionate words
of greeting gave me more than re-assurance.
I
needed nothing more to make me feel perfectly at home. I was in love at first sight, and had I
after the first moments of that reception been called upon to decide whether or
not I would be his colleague, I should have waited for no stronger guaranty
that the relationship would be a most agreeable one so far as he was concerned,
than these first impressions had already given me.
Nor
did I ever have cause to modify those impressions. Years of close endearing, sacred intercourse only deepened
them. They will last while memory
lasts.
The
Doctor lived in the Parsonage at Ringoes.
My residence was in the bounds of the Second Church, near Mount
Airy. We each preached on alternate
Sabbaths at the two churches. On
Communion occasions the two congregations united in the service, and I was thus
furnished with the principal opportunities I enjoyed for hearing the Doctor
preach. His sermons were constructed
with great simplicity, were never wholly written out, but were by no means
extemporaneous in the usual sense of that term. As a preacher, he was more practical than doctrinal; yet the
great principles of gospel truth were never lost sight of, and the distinctive
views of Presbyterians as to doctrine, order and ordinances were kept before
the people with such effect, as to make them decided, though at the same time liberal Presbyterians. He
had a certain summary, but telling,
way of disposing of controverted points such, for instance, as the mode of
baptism, that I have never heard surpassed for practical effectiveness. His people were thus in a remarkable degree
preserved from being carried away by every wind of doctrine. It was a noticeable fact, that every now and
then, while proselyting was one of the very last things that Dr. Kirkpatrick
could ever be charged with, there would be additions from other
denominations. Nothing but
Presbyterianism gained much foothold, or manifested much vigor of growth in the
neighborhood of the Amwell churches.
An
element of power in the Doctors preaching consisted in the depth and
tenderness of his emotional nature. It
was evident that he yearned over his people with the truest spiritual
affection. Often his swelling heart,
would impede his utterance. It was no
unusual occurrence for him to weep as he spoke of the love of Jesus, or gave
expression to the tender appeals of the gospel; and none can doubt that;
The tear
That fell on his Bible was sincere.
There
can be no doubt that in the earlier years of his ministry, before his powers
had begun to wane through age, he was a more than ordinarily effective and
eloquent preacher. The old people of
the Amwell and other congregations who remembered the former days, had much
to say of powerful sermons which they had heard him preach, generally from
texts somewhat out of the usual order.
His
nature was fervid, but he was not moved by mere impulse. Principle regulated him. Duty was his guiding star. Her claims were fulfilled simply, promptly,
and to the best of his ability. It
would have to be a serious matter that would prevent him from taking his stand
at the post of duty. Insuperable
obstacles only kept him away from meeting of ecclesiastical bodies of which he
was a member, and the money he took from his moderate salary to defray the
expenses, would alone have made a handsome patrimony for his family. He would cross swollen streams, find a path
through huge snow drifts, encounter driving storms and imperil health and life,
but he would not fail of his appointments if it was possible to keep them. He
had once arranged with a brother who had not half his years for an
exchange. The day was very unpleasant;
the young brother thought it entirely too bad to turn out; but punctual to the
hour of service the old Doctor was on hand to fulfill his part of the contract,
and to teach the mortified brother a lesson, he would not be likely soon to
forget.
As
however age crept on he shrank more and more from wearisome journeys and
exposure to wintry storms. The
self-sacrifice involved in such duties became painful, but none the less did he
go steadily forward, and even after he was eighty years old he performed labors
and encountered hardships that would have taxed the powers of many a youthful
pastor.
He
was a patriarch among his people. They
came to him with their troubles as children would come to a father; and he
composed their difficulties, soothed their sorrows, and was ever ready to do
anything in his power for their benefit or direction.
I
can hardly trust myself to speak of Dr. Kirkpatrick as I knew him at his own
home. His hospitality, his thoughtful
kindness, his affectionate yet ever gentlemanly bearing, his entertaining
conversation full of anecdote and reminiscences of other days are rarely
surpassed. There was something about
the old Parsonage at Ringoes that had for me and my wife an irresistible
attraction. In our rides through the
congregation, we were almost always sure to find before our return, and never
did we fail of such welcome as to make us feel perfectly at home. The Doctor was not the only element of
attractiveness that drew us thither.
All that have ever shared our good fortune will recall other dear ones
of that peaceful home like-minded with its revered head, and there will be many
to breathe the sigh of regret that the delightful circle has at last been
broken, which has so often been opened for the admission of a like of friend
and stranger.
It
has been my privilege thrice to revisit New Jersey since my removal to the
West. I could notice the change that
years were making on the inmates of the parsonage. Age was tracing deeper lines on the brow of the venerable
Pastor. The companions of his earlier
years were fast passing away. The
feeling that he was a stranger and a pilgrim was evidently growing upon
him. But there was no repining, no
sadness; nothing but the peaceful waiting of a spirit, disengaged from most of
lifes ties, lingering yet on the sore on which he had seen so many friends of
other days set sail, with his own sails outspread for the breeze. There was no restless impatient longing, but
simple acquiescence with the divine will only, choosing rather to depart and
to be with Christ.
A
letter from his son-in-law, J. G. Bowne, of Oakdale, New Jersey, furnished me
with the particulars of his sickness and death, with an extract from which I
will bring this imperfect tribute to our beloved father to a close:
During
the last part of autumn he told me he was not as well as he had been, and he
feared he would not be able to attend to his parochial duties during the winter. We noticed that his appetite failed, and he
complained of constant nausea and distress at his stomach. His pipe* (of which you know he was fond)
was laid aside, and his flesh wasted from his body. His decline was very gradual.
He preached his last sermon on the first Sabbath of January from Job
XVI.22, When a few years are come, then I shall go the way whence I shall not
return. I saw him often and was
satisfied that he was going down, although he seemed to think he might again
preach. He was perfectly resigned, had
no fear nor even wish as to the final issue of his disease. He said The loving Saviour whom he had
tried to serve sixty years would not forsake him now. He spent much of the time in the room with his family, walking
without assistance from his bed-room several times each day. He conducted family worship regularly and on
the Saturday evening before he died he could not rise without help. The family were much alarmed thinking it was
palsy, but in relating the circumstances to me on Monday, he said It was only
a sleepy feeling in one of his ankles.
He prayed with his family, as usual, on Tuesday night, May 1st,
and slept comfortably until three oclock Wednesday morning, when mother
discovered he was awake. He told her
his head hurt him. It was his last word. He
was unconscious, after that folded his arms on his breast, laid entirely still,
and Mr. Schenck who stood by his bed-side, told me that he died so quietly he
could not tell the moment when.
Dr. K. never used tobacco until
his thirtieth year. It was prescribed by his physician for the asthma, from
which distressing malady he was at time a great sufferer. He was not an apologist for the habit, but
his advice to a mere amateur at smoking was that he would do well to let it
alone.
Thus,
early on the morning of the 2nd day of May, 1866, this venerable
servant of God went to his rest. The
funeral took place on Saturday May 5th, the services at the house
being conducted by the writer at the request of Mrs. Kirkpatrick who was unable
to go out. At the church before a large
audience, including several clergy-men, the funeral sermon was preached by the
Rev. Peter O. Studdiford, D.D. from 2 Cor. VIII. 16, Thanks be to God, which
put the same earnest care into the
heart of Titus for you. The devotional
exercises were conducted by Dr. John L. Janeway and the Rev. Messrs. Burrows,
Spayd, and Gardiner, and Dr. Janeway delivered an address at the grave. The elders of the church bore the remains to
their final resting place. The people
of his late charge begged the privilege of defraying the funeral expenses, and
are making arrangements for the erection of a suitable monument to his
memory. His colleague, the Rev. William
J. Wright, now successor in the pastoral office preached a Memorial Sermon on
the 27th of May following, from Psalm CXLIX. 4, He will beautify
the meek with salvation.
On
the 20th of June, 1860, the fiftieth, anniversary of his ordination,
Dr. Kirkpatrick preached a historical sermon which he concluded with these
words: I have looked to yonder
grave-yard as the place where the resurrection morn will find me; and if I
arise in the likeness of Jesus to his name be all the glory. Precious man!
Sweet
is the savor of his name,
And
soft his sleeping bed.
Amid all the agitations and strifes in Church and State he strove to the utmost to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace. His was a united people from the beginning to the end of his ministry, and in answer to his prayers may they ever so continue. He earnestly longed for the day when the watchmen upon the walls of Zion should see eye to eye; when the barriers which separate the friends of Christ on earth should be broken down; and when all men, dwelling in concord, should love one another with pure hearts fervently. Lovely, loving and beloved, he has found a home in just such a world as his soul desired, where in the presence of the God of love in whom he delighted, he has joined multitudes for whose salvation he wept and prayed, where friendship cannot die, and perfect love shall for ever reign.
III.
REV. JACOB KIRKPATRICK, Jr.
The
Rev. Jacob Kirkpatrick, Jr., the eighth son of the Rev. Jacob Kirkpatrick,
D.D., was born October 6, 1828, in the village of Ringoes, shortly before the
family removed to the Craven property, which as since been occupied as the
Parsonage.
Those
who knew him in his boyhood will remember him as a lad small, quiet, silent,
retiring, yet closely observant of passing events, more fond of books than of
play bearing on his countenance lines of deep thought unusual for one of his
years. The bright glances which shot
from beneath those drooping eyelids revealed the intellectual fire which had
already begun to burn intensely within.
Often did the teachers of the public school in his native village, where
he acquired the rudiments of his education, find an over match in their modest
pupil, especially in mathematical calculations.
He
was ever ready to do his share of the many services needed in a large family at
a country parsonage. If there was any
toilsome or unpleasant task to be performed, his willing mine prompted him to
be among the first to undertake it. He
was a most considerate and loving son, an affectionate brother, and kind and
gentle in his treatment towards all.
His childhood and youth seemed to be without spot or blemish. His early companions could remember no
dishonorable, selfish, or ungenerous act, no unkind word and his superiors in
age never could lay to his charge the utterance of a false of profane word, or
the performance of a deed foolish, malicious, or in any wise
discreditable. He was an exception to
the old proverb: A prophet is not
without honor save in his own country and in his own house. So fair was the record of his early life,
that if he could have consented to become the colleague of his father, he would
have commanded the confidence and respect of the people as a servant of God,
while he held a large place in their affections. But his delicate, sensitive nature shrank from the undertaking,
although it would have been no small pleasure to him to comfort and assist his
father in his declining years.
But
although his course of life in his youth was so unexceptionable he felt himself
to be a sinner against God; indeed there is reason to believe that his upright
conduct at this period is due not so much to his naturally amiable disposition as to the restraints of
conscience and the deep religious impressions to which he was subject from
childhood. Dr. Kirkpatrick was never in
the habit of delivering long moral and religious lectures to his children,
indeed he said very little to them on the subject of their personal duty, but
that little was full of meaning and to the point. Next to his own example and that of his like minded help meet,
was the influence of the Scripture reading and prayer at the family altar
morning and evening. That heart must be
hard that could remain unmoved while this tender father with strong emotion
wrestled with God for the salvation of his children in their presence. They could not doubt that he sought for them
first of all the kingdom of God and his righteousness. Such scenes often repeated could scarcely
fail to make an indelible impression the effect of which would some day be
manifested.
The
happy issue in Jacobs case was reached
when he was just fifteen years of age, during a powerful work of grace which
added one hundred and seven to the communion of the churches under his fathers
pastoral care. In the parlor of the Old
Parsonage he appeared with several others before the Session of the Amwell
United First Church, and after examination he with two of his younger sisters
were enrolled as communicants on the 12th of October, 1843.
The
decision to make a public profession of religion was also a determination to
serve God in the ministry of the gospel of his Son. To do this, he, with the advice of his father, resolved to begin
the requisite course of preparatory study.
The necessary steps having been taken, within a few weeks after he had
sat down at the communion table, he accompanied by his venerable father,
entered his name as a pupil in the High School of the Messrs. H. and S. M.
Hamill, at Lawrenceville, New Jersey.
Here he continued for two and a half years. A complete record of all his classical and literary exercises
throughout this period is to be found among the archives of the school, and a
more honorable record no pupil of that institution has ever been able to
exhibit. He stood pimus inter
pares. Undemonstrative as he was, his
superior scholarship joined with the high tone of his consistent piety soon
commanded the interested attention of his fellow pupils, and awakened a high
esteem which without either envy or jealousy, continued to increase as long as
he remained. This was a beautiful
example of the power of unconscious influence; for almost without knowing it he
was exercising daily a controlling moral power over the whole school. Had his life ended when he left
Lawrenceville, it could have been truly said that he had not lived in vain.
After
leaving the High School he entered the College of New Jersey, where he was
found commanding the respect of all as the faithful Christian student. Soon his exact scholarship and close
application marked him out as one of the candidates for the highest honors of
his class; but the failure of his eyes while a junior compelled him to leave
College for a year, so that he did not
take his first degree until 1850.
From
the College he went directly to the Theological Seminary at Princeton, where he
completed the full course of study for the ministry. He was licensed in the autumn of 1852, by the Presbytery of
Raritan, of which his father was a member, and in the spring of 1853, was
ordained as an evangelist by the same Presbytery.
Upon
leaving the Theological Seminary, he was invited to Louisville, Kentucky, to
supply for a season the pulpit of the Rev. William L. Breckinridge, D.D., then
pastor of the First Church. Respecting
this relation, Dr. Breckinridge says:
I cannot forget that my intercourse with him was very pleasant in all
respects and entirely satisfactory to me; and that from first to last, he made
a decided impression on us all as a young minister of unusual promise every
way.
While
some of the people of Louisville were contemplating a new church organization,
and the building of a Presbyterian house of worship, with a view to his
permanent settlement among them, he received a call from the Third Church,
Trenton, made vacant by the resignation of the Rev. Theodore L. Cuyler,
D.D. This call he accepted, and was
installed pastor, November 3, 1853.
Here he continued in the active duties of the ministry, preaching, with
great acceptance, to a warmly attached people until some time in the year
1857. Probably from over action of the
brain, in a physical frame, never robust, his nervous system became prostrated,
and he lost almost entirely the use of his lower limbs. It was gratifying to see that, trying and
painful as his disease was he retained the full use of his mental faculties,
and was enabled to possess his soul in patience. For months he and his people cherished the hope of his recovery,
and no skill or means, which gave a reasonable promise of effecting a cure,
were by them untried. When the issue of
his case became more doubtful, he finally signified his purpose to the Session
and the Congregation, and upon application to the Presbytery of New Brunswick,
the pastoral relation was dissolved February 3, 1859. The assiduous attention to their afflicted pastor and the
promptness with which all his wants were anticipated by the people of the Third
Church, and the substantial sympathy of other Presbyterians in Trenton,
especially those of the First Church (Dr. Halls) are worthy of commemoration. God will sure reward such a generous
Christian people for their unremitting kindness to his suffering young
servant. The Saviour has said:
inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these my brethren ye have done
it unto me. Not only the deed itself
is to be commended, but the manner and spirit with which it was done.
Here
it will be proper to introduce three letters of Mr. Kirkpatrick, which
illustrate some of the admirable excellencies of his Christian character. The first is addressed to the Session of the
Third Church, Trenton, and is dated,
Trenton,
December 31, 1857.
Dear
Brethren: -- From the commencement of my illness I have been constantly
cherishing the hope of being able in a few months, to resume my ministerial
work; but have at length been constrained to abandon it, and therefore it
becomes my duty at once to resign my pastoral charge. The design of this not is to request you to call the church and
congregation together, at an early day, to receive my resignation, and to unite
with me in petitioning the Presbytery, at their next meeting, (in Princeton),
to dissolve the pastoral relation.
Making
this request imposes upon me the necessity of taking leave of you as a
Session. In doing so, I dare not
undertake to express the emotions that are excited by the prospect of
separation; but while I struggle to suppress these, it is with lively pleasure,
and with profound respect, that I here record my testimony to the prudence,
fidelity, and brotherly kindness and courtesy which have uniformly characterized
you in all the transactions and intercourse of the Session. This cordial co-operation has been one of
the distinct sources of great satisfaction which I have enjoyed in this
pastoral relation.
I
deem it proper also, in this connection, to express my high regard for the
memory of our departed brother, X. J. Maynard, Esq. May the Lord grant to each of us as peaceful a departure, when
his appointed time shall come. It is my
earnest prayer that your circle may long be preserved from another breach; that
the influences of the Holy Spirit may thoroughly qualify your for every
official duty; that the Lord Jesus may be with you at every meeting and that
you may never want the encouragement which is to be found in the visible
prosperity of the beloved church over which you have been called to rule.
And
now, brethren, I commend you to God, and to the word of his grace, which is
able to build you up, and to give you an inheritance among all them which are
sanctified.
J. Kirkpatrick, Jr.
The
second letter bears the same date.
To
the Third Presbyterian Church: -- I hereby tender to you the resignation of my
pastoral charge, in so far as I received it from you, and request that you will
co-operate with me in making application to the Presbytery, at their next
meeting, to dissolve the relation which they instituted between us.
In
the severity of this trial, I esteem it a relief that I have no occasion to
enter into a formal vindication of my
motives, in order to guard against
the accusations and suspicions which often beset those who are exchanging one
pastoral charge for another. And yet, unnecessary as it may be, I cannot
refrain from saying that, so far as my knowledge extends, there is no situation
in life for which I would voluntarily have exchanged the charge of this beloved
church.
On
the other hand, I may well assign the reason why I have withheld this
resignation so long, although unable to render you any service. It is this alone I have been led to
postpone it from time to time by the persistent hope of being able to resume my
work comparatively soon. The extinction
of that hope has left me no alternative but to bring myself to the stern
necessity of leaving you. I beg you to
overlook the blank which my weakness obliges me to leave here, where you might
naturally expect an expression of my feelings, and to pray that I may be
enabled to trust and adore the mysterious wisdom and sublime sovereignty of
that Providence which has thwarted my hopes and swept my plans to confusion, to
make way for the infinitely better purposes of God.
Be
assured of my exquisite appreciation of the confidence with which you first
received me, the respectful and affectionate treatment which I have uniformly
enjoyed in the midst of you, the indulgent spirit with which you have borne
with my frailties and defects, and the noble liberality with which you have
provided for my personal and domestic comfort.
While
I cannot forget the responsibility under which I have often been bowed down to
the dust, and the inefficiency with which I have represented the cause of
Christ, yet my mind will never recur to my ministry here without filling itself
with pleasant memories. It is my
earnest prayer and confident expectation that the Lord will send you a far
worthier and more efficient pastor, and that your beloved church will be built
up, and strengthened, and purified abundantly, and always to the glory of the
grace of God. I leave you with
undiminished solicitude for the spiritual welfare and salvation of every individual
in the congregation, and must say to each once more, Behold the Lamb of
God. The grace of the Lord Jesus
Christ, and the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Ghost be with you
all. Amen.
J.
Kirkpatrick, Jr.
P.
S. It is my desire that you will omit the customary resolutions of esteem and
regret, etc. Not because I should for a
moment doubt the perfect sincerity of what you might see fit to express in that
form, but for reasons drawn entirely from other cases by which the custom is
dishonored. I shall be gratified, and
shall consider myself sufficiently distinguished if you will tacitly comply
with my request.
J.
K., Jr.
The
third communication was sent in acknowledgement of the provision of twelve
hundred dollars contributed by that people for the support of his family.
Trenton,
January 15th, 1858.
To
the Third Church and Congregation: -- I have been informed by one of the
elders, of the very generous provision which you have been pleased to make for
the support and comfort of my family during the time which it is expected will
be required for the restoration of my health.
I seem to be obliged by circumstances to speak of myself much more that
I desire indulge me thus far. The
physical suffering, the tedious confinement, and consequent privations which
Providence has most righteously imposed upon me, I have been enabled to bear
with a good degree of composure; under the far heavier trial of resigning my
pastoral charge, and renouncing the hope of a happy and useful life in the
midst of you, I have been enabled to retain my self-possession in a
considerable measure; but by this expression of kind solicitude and sincere
affection, with which you are pleased to follow me in my departure, I have been
overwhelmed. I take this method of
assuring you of the grateful love which I dare not undertake to express
personally to individuals.
My
whole heart and soul are filled with the fervent prayer that God, in the
infinitude of his goodness and mercy will return this kindness to you a
thousand fold in this world, and ten thousand in the next. Yours, as ever, and for ever.
J.
Kirkpatrick, Jr.
P.
S. As I am constrained in great measure
to deny myself the pleasure of giving vent to my feelings, I reluctantly
request that my friends will endeavor to treat me as though I were not going to leave them soon, without
any fear that I will misconstrue the seeming unconcern.
J.
K., Jr.
Upon
the settlement of his successor, he removed his family from Trenton to reside
with an elder brother near Ringoes.
Here a new trial came upon him.
That sweet and estimable woman Sarah Catharine Vanliew, to whom he had
been united in marriage in the spring of 1853, wasted rapidly with disease, and
died March 20, 1859. Her remains were
taken to Trenton and laid in the Mercer Cemetery. After this, he and his only child, the now motherless daughter,
were taken to the Parsonage to be under the care of his venerated parents and
affectionate sisters.
In
reply to a kind letter of inquiry from the Hon. Edward W. Scudder, (now a
ruling elder in the Third Church,) he speaks in a most touching manner of his
peculiar trials.
Ringoes,
April 28th, 1859.
Mr.
E. W. Scudder My dear Sir: You know
already why I could not answer you sooner.
The little I can now write you will expect to be, I suppose, concerning
myself. I have no dismal story to
tell. I have lost my health, my church,
my home and my precious wife but not my Saviour.
He never takes away our all,
Himself
he gives us still.
In
all my afflictions I see nothing but the glory of God, his majestic
sovereignty, infinite wisdom, righteousness, and love. In all my mourning I am filled with wonder,
love and praise. All this would be
miserable egotism but for one thing the poor Ego is put to shame it is not I, but the grace of God that is given
unto me. To Him be all the praise. My health is considerably better than during
the winter. I am stronger and can take
a few steps with more ease than at any time in sixteen months. I expect to go to my fathers next week to
spend the summer if I live. With
kindest regards to your family, I am yours, sincerely.
J.
Kirkpatrick, Jr.
Let
the afflicted and bereaved take courage when they see the steadfastness and
serenity of spirit of one placed in such affecting circumstances. Let skepticism retire abashed, if not
convinced, by such a triumph of divine grace.
To hear a man whose character from infancy upward had been without one
strain, and whose singular devotion to his Masters work was enough to cause
ordinary men to blush with shame, declaring with the utmost sincerity amid an
accumulation of sorrows that he deserved all that he suffered, and that to him
there was nothing mysterious in Gods trying dispensations towards him, must
convince the most thoughtless that in him there were humility and child-like
faith of no common grade, and a strength of soul which nothing but the power of
a gracious God could bestow.
Two
weeks before his death he called his aged father to his bed-side and said,
Father, I am now dying. Up to this
hour I thought the Lord would raise me up to preach the gospel a little longer;
but it is not his will. I desire to
preach once to the Third Church of Trenton after I am dead. Tell them I mean them all, whether now of
the Third Church or the Fourth tell them I love them all. I have not ceased to pray for them to the
latest breath, that they may live in peace, and that the God of peace may be
with them. I wish you to see that my
body follows that of my beloved wife. I
desire no eulogy no parade. I have
been a great sinner; by the grace of God I am what I am. On a subsequent occasion after his father
had laid him in as easy a condition as possible, with each arm resting on a
pillow, being just on the verge of heaven, he said, NOW LEAVE ME WITH MY SAVIOUR AND HE WILL TAKE CARE OF ME; and in that peaceful confidence his spirit gently
passed away.
The
precious remains were removed from Ringoes to Trenton on the 31st of
October, under the direction of his trusty friend Benjamin S. Disbrow, Esqr.,
and placed in front of the pulpit of the Third Church. Here crowds gathered around, to take the
last look at that countenance, yet mild, benign and heavenly in death. It was an affecting scene. The falling tear, and the grief depicted on
the faces of all especially of several of the humble poor, manifested the
sincerity of their attachment, for they sorrowed most of all, that they should
see his face no more.
The
funeral services were commenced by a Voluntary by the choir and the singing of
the 619th hymn: Hear what the voice from heaven proclaims, etc.,
after which the second chapter of the First Epistle to the Thessalonians was
read by the Rev. A. D. White, then pastor of the Second Church. This portion of Scripture contains, as was
justly stated, a remarkably truthful exhibition in almost every particular of
the character of Mr. Kirkpatricks ministry.
After prayer by the Rev. Henry B. Chapin, then pastor of the Third
Church, the funeral sermon was preached by the Rev. John Hall, D. D., pastor of
the First Church from the farewell address of the apostle Paul to the Church at
Ephesus: And now, behold I know that ye all, among whom I have gone preaching the
kingdom of God, shall see my face no more.
Wherefore I take you to record this day that I am pure from the blood of
all men, for I have not shunned to declare unto you all the counsel of God. The solemn lessons drawn from these words,
as connected with the example of the deceased in life and in death, will not
soon be forgotten by any whose privilege it was to mingle their tears with that
deeply moved assembly.
The
discourse was followed by some well-timed remarks of the Rev. P. O. Studdiford,
D. D., of Lambertville, who had known Mr. Kirkpatrick from his infancy. The concluding prayer was offered by the
Rev. Edward D. Yeomans, D. D., then pastor of the Fourth Church, and the
exercises closed by singing the 625th hymn, O for the death of
those, etc., and the Benediction.
The
funeral procession then moved to the Mercer Cemetery, (the Ruling Elders of the
Third Church acting as bearers) embracing about twenty ministers of the gospel,
the elders of the churches of Trenton and vicinity with many relatives; and
there, agreeably to his dying request, he was laid by the side of his
wife. The Rev. Eli F. Cooley, D. D.,
then made a brief address; and with the benediction ended one of the most
touching and instructive funeral services the writer has ever attended.
Our
lamented friend was a laborious minister of Jesus. This is evident in both the quantity and quality of his sermons
and other manuscripts. With an eye
single to his Masters service, his work was varied in character according to
what in his judgment, the circumstances demanded. At one time we find him delivering a well-written Temperance
Address; at another an address before a society for the promotion of the cause
of Ministerial Education; and at another a Lecture of much ability on The Relations
of Language to History. That he
prepared thoroughly for the Bible Classes which he heard is to be seen in the
pertinent notes he has left behind. In
his sermon from the words: Render
therefore unto Caeser the things which be Caesers and unto God the things
which be Gods, we have a manly,
discriminating and fearless vindication of the right and duty of the Ambassador
of Christ to press home upon the consciences of men their obligations as
citizens notwithstanding the hue and cry raised about political preaching.
The
Rev. Mr. Blackburn has briefly stated in the preface some of the impressions
received from an examination of his manuscript Sermons, and having learned much
from the former parishioners of the Rev. Mr. Kirkpatrick, he has furnished me
with the following, in reference to him as a preacher.
He
was an Apollo, an eloquent man, and mighty in the Scriptures. This man was instructed in the way of the
Lord; and being fervent in spirit, he spake and taught diligently the things of
the Lord. But he knew more than the baptism of John, and he needed none to
take him aside and expound unto him the way of God more perfectly. With the great doctrines and Scriptural
statements of redemption he was so familiar that, when dealing with these high
themes, his preparations for the pulpit were usually the merest of notes,
suggestive words and phrases. In
preaching from his more fully written manuscript he gave the people his
searching eye, and his energetic soul.
He poured forth his thoughts as a broken cloud pours down the rain. Forgetting oratory, he was a true orator;
almost negligent of rhetoric as a mere are, he illustrated its real power, for
he hastily grasped whatever would make clearer his subject, and threw it into
the torrent of his words. Soaring aloft
in his thoughts, he was still with the people, near to the, and coming nearer,
that he might send home the truth to their hearts. As when on his couch suffering, so when in the pulpit preaching,
he lost sight of himself; God was all, his glory was the absorbing theme. He fixed his eye on sinners and thought how
they came short of the glory of God, and how blind they were to the ruin
before them; the tears gathered as he warned them of the wrath to come; the
lip quivered as he pointed them to the throne of judgment; the tone of his
voice softened as he entreated them to prepare to meet their God, and his
whole soul was moved when he told them how God might be glorified in their
salvation.
Unassuming
at all times, he stood in the pulpit with much trembling. But the Divine word and grace gave him an
unusual holy boldness in declaring the whole counsel of God. He spake directly to the hearer, aiming at
the conscience. His eloquence was only
a force in using the hammer of the Word.
His earnestness made it a fire that kindled on the whole soul. His imagination, of which he had a true
poets share, was but the wing to the arrow of truth. His fine command of language was employed to give effect to the
very words of Scripture, and which he quoted with powerful adaptation. His keen perception of what lay hidden in a
text, and his wonderful method of applying it to everybody, enabled him to
divide unto saints and sinners their portion.
It was often said that he applied it so closely and universally, that
not a soul escaped. He frequently chose
a short interrogative text and made it the point of many a sentence, the climax
of many a paragraph, the arrow in many an appeal, and caused it to ring again
and again in the ear of the listener.
In
preaching theology he avoided the abstract method, and applied the great
doctrines of the gospel, at once, to every class of his hearers, to their
wants, their sins and their sorrows. He
sought to convince, persuade and secure a practical obedience. Men must know their natures, their
depravities, their transgressions, and their ruinous habits; therefore he cried
aloud and spared not. He laid hold of
the evils in society, the sins of the times, the commercial dishonesties, the
public vices, and the national iniquities.
He was a reformer, but his idea of a genuine reformation was, first of
all, regeneration of the soul and sanctification of the life. Nothing short of this would prove an eternal
benefit. As a specimen of the manner in
which he dealt with the popular sins, a quotation is here made from his sermon
on Temperance. It was delivered October
29, 1854, at a time when the subject was unfortunately entangled with politics. Only the first part of it was written in
full, and when he was repeatedly urged to prepare it for the press, he
positively declined.
His
text was 1 Corinthians VI. 10: Nor
drunkards shall inherit the kingdom of God.
In order to give it point he cited the whole passage: Know ye not that
the unrighteous shall not inherit the kingdom of God? Be not deceived: neither
fornicators nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of
themselves with mankind, nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor
revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God. He then said:
Whenever
it can be shown to be unjustifiable, or unimportant to preach against idolatry,
licentiousness, covetousness, and extortion, then but not before, the preacher
may be fairly called upon to apologize for lifting up the warning voice from
the pulpit, against intemperance, in the name of the Lord. Until public sentiment can consecrate all
the crimes in this disgusting catalogue, and place them all alike beyond the
reach of denunciation, any objection to a temperance sermon, as such, is
sheer prejudice, which no man ought to cherish for a moment, and which if
cherished by any, can hardly be expected to silence the admonitions of those
who feel that they are accountable to God, rather than to men, for what they
proclaim from the sacred desk. Men have
often been found who are fee to say that this is a subject which preachers of
the Gospel ought to let alone; if the Holy Spirit who inspired the Apostles had
let it alone, then we might. If it
were a mere matter of opinion, or of taste, or of worldly policy, then prudence
might dictate, and conscience might allow, that we should let it alone, but haw
can we, while it is a matter involving the everlasting destiny of the souls of
thousands? How can we, while the
kingdom of God is closed, as with walls of adamant, high as heaven, against all
drunkards?
But perhaps every one now present is ready to say, I have no objection to a
sermon against intemperance; the Bible plainly condemns it as a damning sin,
public sentiment universally condemns it as a monstrous social and moral evil;
we all abominate it as a loathsome degradation of everything that is lovely and
noble in manhood; preach against it. And yet, some may be disposed to add
something like this, but do not condemn the moderate use of intoxicating
beverages, and above all things, beware of politics in the pulpit. Well then, without venturing to announce the
broad assertion that it is a sin, in the sight of God, to drink any intoxicating
liquor at all, without venturing to deny that the pulpit may have been
sometimes dishonored by a sort of sermon which bore too close a resemblance to
a political harangue; on the other hand, without undertaking to search for that
particular degree at which moderation passes into excess, and without
attempting to ascertain precisely how many allusions to human government it
takes to desecrate a sacred desk, I will take my stand this morning, upon the
safe, and clear, and undisputed ground, where we can all harmoniously meet, and
there kindly invite your candid attention to a discourse upon drunkenness.
Where, in all the world-wide experience of fallen man, where, on all the
sin-blighted earth, where is to be found a lower form of degradation than is
embodied in the confirmed drunkard?
Look at him as a member of the community!
He has forfeited and lost the respect and confidence of his former
associates, he shrinks from the companionship of his own friends, and they from
his, he is exiled from all the circles of respectability, and instead of
filling his appropriate sphere of usefulness, is almost universally regarded as
an incumbrance and nuisance. Look at
him as a father! Heaping disgrace and
wretchedness upon those whom he ought to cherish, and protect and ennoble! Look at him as a son! Bringing down with sorrow to the grave the
gray hairs of those whom he ought to honor and comfort and bless. What object is more pitiable than the
sufferer and inflictor of so much misery?
Hear his confessions and lamentations; not imagined for this occasion,
but actually heard from lips that were quivering with agony, and vividly
remembered from an hour of most painful sympathy. Would it were a fancy sketch!
Here it is, all but the emphasis of agonizing earnestness, and the tears
forced from a fountain that had long been supposed to be dry, which accompanied
its original utterance; I am the most miserable wretch that lives; the best
years of my life are wasted, my mind is enfeebled and ruined, my finer feelings
are blunted, my body is the prey of relentless disease, all my powers are
subjected to the brutalizing mastery of the worst and mightiest of habits. I have effectually driven from me all the
confidence even of those who weep for
me still. I am an outcast, I have
nothing left, I can regain nothing, I am damned before death; let me alone, let
me die and plunge into oblivion. Fancy
sketch! It is a reality that has been
multiplied into millions of dirge-like soliloquies, and desperate
confessions. Who can withhold his
deepest, truest pity from the blasted victim of intemperance? And yet, opposite to unsympathizing
indifference, there is an extreme no less to be deprecated, and that is the
indulgence of such a sympathy as overlooks or excuses the drunkards sin. Intemperance is not merely a misfortune; it
is a crime, not a trivial offence either, but a heinous crime. If it be not within the province of
Gospel-preaching to oppose it as a gigantic social and domestic evil, and the
very consummation of individual ruin, in a worldly point of view, still, it
surely is within the province of gospel-preaching to denounce it as a monstrous
sin against God.
His
appeal at the close of the sermon to the advocates of moderate drinking,
exhibiting as it does the folly and absurdity of their arguments is searching,
irresistible, scathing.
The
outlines of his application indicates the power with which he must have brought
the subject home to young men; to those who are afraid to drink at all; to
those who already drink frequently; to parents in regard to their children; to
those whose duty it is to make and execute the laws, and finally to Christians.
The
last sermon preached by Mr. Kirkpatrick was attended by circumstances that made
it peculiarly interesting. In his
naturally modest way he had intimated to a few friends that the architectural
style of his pulpit was not quite to his mind.
He did not feel free in it. He
wished one better adapted to extemporaneous speaking. The people at once proposed that a new one should be constructed
according to his own plan. They
cheerfully acknowledged his right to a sacred desk made to suit himself. He wished also to please them. After visiting several churches he decided
upon the model, and he took a most active interest in superintending its
erection. The old one must be removed,
and the new one set up in all its elegance within a week. Saturday came; the last touch was given to
it as the day was closing. He entered
it, and felt as if he could stand there and preach with freedom of spirit. It could not fail to please, as any one who
may now occupy it will readily understand.
But where was his sermon? He had
been making the pulpit rather than preparing for preaching in it. The pen had laid quiet in his study. It was probably not the first time that the
manual labor of sermonizing had been postponed until the hastening hours of
Saturday. He often said that he could
work best when driven into a corner.
It was now five oclock in the afternoon, and in that new pulpit a new
sermon must be preached on the morrow.
It seems that his mind had not been idle. He had probably thought that there was danger of attaching too
much importance to the beautiful structure, and this may have suggested the
text. It was Ecclesiastes I. 2: Vanity
of vanities, saith the preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. With a pencil he had, doubtless, already
made a rough outline of what he intended to deliver. This we find copied in a rapid hand. The next morning, March 15, 1857, he was in his place to declare
the message of God. He began thus:
Who is this melancholy preacher? Who
is he that utters this dismal wail of disappointment and hopeless want? Who is he that takes such a sad and murky
view of life? Is he the official
preacher, the representative of the ministers of the gospel as a class? No, it is not their duty nor their practice
to proclaim that all is vanity; this is not their message. If any do proclaim it, they transcend their
instructions, they assume the authority of self-taught sages or prophets; or
more probably they are led astray by an unthinking and inordinate disdain; by
morbid despondency. There is an
overweening contempt of the world which overlooks its real value, and its right
and noble uses; this contempt may arise from disappointment and border upon
despair; or it may arise from a zeal which is not according to knowledge and
border upon fanaticism. Never may
this pulpit be clouded with the gloom of such preaching. Never may it be here declared, in direct and
final earnestness, without due limitation, that all is vanity.
It overlooks all that is of value in nature, in life, in manhood; it
underrates all the royal beneficence with which the Creator has brightened and
blessed the world
..There is a sense in which all is vanity and
emptiness. To the man who makes the
world his portion it is empty, because dissevered from the eternal source of
all good
The error of the expression, all is vanity consists in the
unwarranted scope given to it
The preacher is Solomon inspired fully so
that he might faithfully record his own errors, as the Psalmist was inspired in
recording the fact that the fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.
The Sermon is his own life, his autobiography, his experience in the vain
search for happiness in mere earthly labors, mirth, enterprises, wealth and
honors. To him all had been vanity and
vexation, because he had made them his portion
. Show that his reign was a
period of decline, not only to Israel, but to himself individually
(1)
Apparent worldly prosperity is not always really such
(2) If real it is not
always lasting
(3) Even if it last through this life, it lasts no longer
unless it is sanctified by the love of God
(4) What is real prosperity? This question is reserved to be answered
this afternoon, and the answer confirmed by further views of the royal
preacher.
Perhaps
this suggestion, made in his notes, was not made in the pulpit. Yet he did not suspect that he would never
give publicly the answer to his question.
It was evident to his friends that he needed rest, and it seems that, at
their urgent solicitation, he consented to take it, inasmuch as a ministerial
brother was providentially at hand to supply his place in the afternoon. Disease had smitten him. He never preached again. Without knowing it he had delivered his last
sermon. He had not to endure the pang
of uttering a public farewell. Will any
say of his ministry, all is vanity?
Was it nothing but vexation of spirit? His short, earnest, blessed life answers his last recorded
question from the pulpit, What is prosperity?
His
solicitude for the welfare of his flock was uninterrupted and absorbing; and
his yearning for the salvation of sinners was, by day and by night like a
consuming fire in his bones. On one of
his discourses, which is noted as having been preached in the Third Church, are
written a few words which revealed the inmost heart of this devoted pastor:
TRACED ONE CONVERSION TO THIS SERMON.
TO GOD BE THE PRAISE.
The
Presbytery of New Brunswick, at their next meeting after his death, thus
recorded their estimate of Mr. Kirkpatrick:
The Presbytery would bear testimony to the singleness of heart with
which he devoted to Christ his superior talents and acquirements; to his
fidelity, prudence and zeal as an ambassador of Christ; and to the meek,
humble, patient, unostentatious, self-sacrificing, and benevolent spirit by
which he endeared himself to his brethren in the ministry, and presented to the
church and the world a bright example of Christian excellence.
A
model of sincerity, truthfulness, genuine modesty, submission to the will of
God, cheerfulness in affliction, disinterested sympathy for others, love to the
brethren, and burning love to the souls for Christs sake his example was a
living gospel, for he practiced what he preached. Like David Brainard and Henry Martyn, this devoted servant of God
went up to his reward at the age of thirty-one; but he being dead yet speaketh,
and long will it be before the last echoes of that voice affectionate and
earnest in its tones, and tremulous with emotion, will have died away from the
hearts of those to whom he ministered.
The
people of the Third Church joined by those of the Fourth, who were once under
the pastoral care of the Rev. J. Kirkpatrick, Jr., have erected a chaste and
appropriate monument over the remains of this beloved man and his companion in
life, on which are the following inscriptions:
IN MEMORY OF
THE CHRISTIAN LIFE
AND MINISTRY OF THE
REV. JACOB KIRKPATRICK, JR.
Born October 6, 1828
Died October 27, 1859
Pastor of the Third
Presbyterian
Church of Trenton,
From October 1853 to
January 1858
This monument was erected as a mark
Of affection by those who
enjoyed
The benefit of his ministry
In Trenton
SARAH C. VAN
LIEW,
WIFE OF
REV. JACOB KIRKPATRICK, JR.
Born June 14, 1829
Died March 20, 1859
Born again
A.D. 1848
.
Is not dead but sleepeth.
S E R M O N S
BY
THE REV. JACOB KIRKPATRICK,
JR.
I.
GODS
GLORY IN REDEMPTION.*
O Lord, our Lord, how
excellent is thy name in all the earth.
- Psalm viii. 9.
We observe that this Psalm commences and closes with the same words. But I have selected the last verse as the text, intentionally, and in preference to the first. Of course, the inquiry is awakened, at once, why the last is preferred, if they are verbally just alike? In the answer to that question lies the very point to which I desire ultimately to guide our minds. In order to reach it, it will be necessary to follow the writer through the whole Psalm; and to include the whole of it, in a general way, within the scope of these remarks, will not involve a departure from the unity of the text; inasmuch as this contains the theme, and therefore may be considered as containing the whole substance of the Psalm.
David
announces this theme at the beginning; then his quickened spirit proceeds to
explore the depths and heights, the length and breadth of the subject; then
overawed by its vastness and enraptured by its beauties and sublimities, he
pours out the overflowing abundance of his grateful praise, in a more fervent
and emphatic repetition of the theme.
Or, considering the Psalm as addressed to us, he places before us,
first, the casket still closed; we admire it for its own matchless beauty, and
the more we gaze upon it the more we admire, and the more we admire it the more
we feel that there must lie hidden within it jewels of unrivalled splendor, and
of priceless value; then he opens it, and spreads out before us its resplendent
treasures; and when our vague expectations have all been lost in the surpassing
brilliancy of the display, he replaces them in the casket, and while the vision
of what is there still lingers in our eyes, he places the whole before us
again, to be all taken into one conception, and to call forth a more
intelligent, and proportionally a more fervent exclamation of devout
gratitude. Thus, not only the whole
meaning, but the whole power and life and ardor of the Psalm are poured into
these closing words.
Let
us endeavor to see how this force is accumulated during the progress of the
Psalm; and in so doing, may we attain, by the grace of God, a livelier sense of
our own obligation to magnify the name of the Lord, and acquire a truer and
more ardent spirit of praise, a more cheerful trust in God, and a firmer and
more energetic purpose of consecration to his service.
The
glory the manifested excellency of God is the subject which David invites
us to examine with him.
First,
he directs our attention to the material universe. Hear his reverential address to Jehovah. When I consider thy heavens, the work of
thy fingers; the moon and the stars, which thou has ordained; What is man that
thou art mindful of him? And the son of
man, that thou visitest him? A single
glance at the starry heavens is enough to fill us with wonder, and speechless
admiration of the glory of God. But we
are so familiar with the scene that it awakens in our breasts, ordinarily no
true, much less any adequate response.
Let
us, for a moment, with reference to the end before us, consider the heavens,
the work of Gods fingers. World beyond
world, worlds beyond worlds, thousands upon thousands of worlds; worlds without number, and worlds without
measure; worlds at distances from us which confound our understandings as
easily as our senses, and at distances from one another which
suffocate the imagination; and all, notwithstanding the immensity of their
·
-
Preached before the Presbytery of New Brunswick, January, 1857
masses and the vastness and intricacy of their circuits, all moving perpetually with absolute precision.
How
great, how incomprehensible in majesty and wisdom and power must be He who
created all these things out of nothing; who devised all their complicated, yet
most harmonious arrangements, and who hat guided them all in their pauseless
movements through all the boundless labyrinth of intersecting orbits, without a
jar which even the subtile beams of light could feel! Even with the general view of the heavens, with hardly a definite
thought of the countless, brilliant links of mystery that unite them all in one
boundless but harmonious whole, well may we exclaim with the Psalmist, What is
man that thou art mindful of him?
For,
let us not fail to observe here, the real scope of the comparison. It is not between the material creation and
man. It is not between the material
creation and man. Man is in fact
superior to all this. The grandest
movement in nature, the vast simultaneous movements of all nature, are, in
themselves, immeasurably beneath a single thought of the human mind; and the
substantial greatness of all worlds, is still a microscopic thing, compared
with the greatness of a single immortal soul; and for enduring value, those
worlds, with all their wonders of wealth, mocking the wildest dreams of fable,
when compared with the spirit of man, are no more than a shred of an old
garment taken up by the rag-picker from the street, and offered for the power
and pride and worship of an empire.
But
the contrast is between frail man and the Creator of all the worlds. The reference to the heavens is introduced
here chiefly to set this contrast in bolder relief; and now, the feeble
creature sinks to an unsounded depth of insignificance, while the effulgent
glory of God rises up from all the earth, like a vast cloud with the sun in its
bosom, and spreads itself out over the very heights of all created being. Let us bow down and say, What is man that
thou are mindful of him?
In
addition to the glory which he has displayed in the visible creation, we have
now to turn our attention that which he exhibits in this condescension be
glorious? Is it not rather
humiliating? No, never, unless it
involves the sacrifice of moral excellency, or moral power. It is the transition from a higher to a
lower moral grade that gives to condescension its humiliating sense. If a man comes down from some elevated
social position, with the attitude and smile of benignity, to lift up one whom
misfortune has cast down, or to bind up some broken heart with kindly
charities, we instinctively feel the he merits honour by the act. If the sufferer is also morally degraded,
our estimate of the magnanimity of the deed may be lowered; but if so, it is
only, in the case of any right-minded man, on account of the feeling that the
benefactor is exposing himself to contamination, and endangering the true
dignity of his character, or weakening the efficiency of his moral influence.
Apart
from these considerations, the condescension is really the greater, in
proportion as moral degradation is lower than social insignificance. It is our false pride, perverting our notion
of true dignity it is sin, which has so closely associated in our minds the
ideas of condescension and degrading humiliation. They are not synonymous; they are necessarily inseparable above
the region of sin; they are not possibly incompatible. There is, then, before us, a reality, and
one worthy of our contemplation, in the glory manifested in the condescension of
God.
There
is no reference here to the love which prompted it, nor to the administration
of mercy, which has accompanied it, nor to the magnificent results which are to
follow it; but our attention is now
called to the praise-worthiness of this condescension, in itself considered.
In
the simple act of condescension, if we may designate it as an act, the being
mindful of man, the stooping to visit the son of man, in this there is a
grandeur not only surpassing any that the world exhibits, but a grandeur too
great for any scope which the world presents, and commensurate with the
distance from heaven to earth, from God to man. It is all-worthy of divinity.
Yet great as this condescension is, low as it comes, it involves no loss
of majesty upon the part of God; and in this fact there is a mystery of
excellence which demands our most reverential praise; praise not only in view
of the infinite majesty which he retains but in view of the wondrous fact that
his condescension is real, and yet involves no sacrifice of his most exalted
greatness. In stooping to the depraved
he gives no countenance to sin, and in the midst of a world reeking with
corruption, the stainless splendor of his purity repels every touch of evil, every
breath of pollution.
Now,
the more he does for this insignificant and unholy creature, man, the more
conspicuous his condescension, and the greater the glory of it. What is it?
For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned
him with glory and honor. Thou madest
him to have dominion over the works of thy hands; thou hast put all things
under his feet: All sheep and oxen,
yea, and the beasts of the field; they fowl of the air, and fish of the sea,
and whatsoever passeth through the paths of the seas.
But
is this true? How, or when, or where,
has this description ever been realized?
True, it was realized in paradise; but is the Psalmists design to
awaken a cruel, mocking memory of excellence and regal authority that have been
irrecoverably lost? No, but to direct
the eager eye of faith to the opening vision of a future state like that which
seemed to have receded from the remotest memory of man still backward into the
rayless darkness of eternal oblivion.
This description has been realized again, for the apostle Paul so
declares in Hebrews: For unto the
angels hath he not put in subjection the world to come whereof we speak. But one in a certain place testified,
saying, What is man, that thou art mindful of him? Or the son of man, that thou visitest him? Thou madest him a little lower than the
angels; thou crownedst him with glory and honor, and didst set him over the
works of thy hands; Thou hast put all things in subjection under his feet. For in that he put all in subjection under
him, he left nothing that is not put under him. But now we see not yet all things put under him: but we see
Jesus, who was made a little lower than the angels for the suffering of death,
crowned with glory and honour; that he by the grace of God should taste death
for every man. For it became him, for
whom are all things, and by whom are all things, in bringing many sons unto
glory, to make the Captain of their salvation perfect through sufferings. For both he that sanctifieth, and they who
are sanctified, are all of one: for
which cause he is not ashamed to call them brethren, saying, I will declare thy
name unto my brethren, in the midst of the church will I sing praise unto
thee.
It
has been realized in Him who is pre-eminently the Son of man. In Him we see the perfection of man
restored. All who are in Christ by
faith shall be made like unto Him. This
description shall again be realized in the race of redeemed mankind. We have now to turn our attention to the
glory of Gods condescension as exhibited in this exaltation of man. Let us behold it:
I. In the means of his exaltation. All these are such as to make the most
marvelous display of his excellency.
The gift of his only-begotten and well-beloved Son is the infinite
munificence of infinite love. The
person and character of Christ constitute the brightest and clearest revelation
of himself. The life of Christ
culminating upon the Mount of Transfiguration, exhibits the perfection of
heaven, unstained by the world of pollution, untarnished by the hot, fetid breath
of the worlds fiery passions, and undimmed by early darkness. While the self-sacrifice of Christ pours
into the ocean of divine love another ocean of divine love till it overflows
the world, it exhibits in the clearest possible light the justice and the
holiness of God, and irradiates the earth with the beams of infinite
mercy. And while the sacrifice of
Christ exhibits the holiness of God in an abhorrence of sin, the converting and
sanctifying influences of the Holy Spirit, which were procured by that
sacrifice, transforming man into the image of God, exhibit the same holiness in
its sublime out-going after the fellowship of holiness.
II. This brings us to behold the glory of God as
exhibited in the exalted man. The means just alluded to, derive their
chief excellency from the motives which originated them, and from the end to
which they are directed. God so loved
the world that he gave his only-begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him
might not perish but have everlasting life.
This it is that makes the gift of Christ an exhibition of the divine
glory; and the life of Christ assumes its loftiest character only when we
regard it as the example for man to imitate, and the character for man to
attain. The secret of its highest
excellency is in these words, Be ye perfect, for I am perfect. The death of Christ assumes its loftiest
character only when we regard it as procuring not only the justification of man
but also the descent of the Holy Spirit to aid him in the imitation of that
example, and to transform him into that likeness. Thus all these means are to be viewed in immediate connection
with the end to be accomplished, which is the complete redemption of man. So, this end accomplished is the highest
display of the glory of God, yea this end accomplished takes up into itself
every subordinate manifestation of his excellency.
The
heavens declare the glory of God, and the firmament showeth his handiwork unto
man. The material world is designed for
his uses. The condescension of the great
Creator is toward him and for him. The
means of redemption are adapted and appropriated to him. The end of all is his restoration to the
image of God, and exaltation to his presence; and when Christ in his glorified
humanity shall stand before the eternal throne with all his ransomed people,
and say, Here am I and the children whom thou has given me, then God will
breathe his fiat of destruction upon the material world, and waft it away upon
the wings of devouring fire, and then will he gather the rays of his glory,
which have been dispersed through the world, all together again to irradiate
and emblazon the eternal home of himself and his people.
In
view of this whole process, and in view of its consummation in heaven, how can
we fail to exclaim with the emphasis of ecstatic adoration, O Lord, our Lord,
how excellent is thy name in all the earth!
But
alas! There are many who cannot join in
this exclamation because they have no true appreciation of all this manifested
excellency of God. They have no
well-founded hope of being raised to this blissful height. There may be some such here. Can you, my friend, say with the people of
God, O Lord, how excellent is thy name?
Can
you compass the visible creation in your view, and with a spiritual apprehension
of the glory which it displays, and with the tranquillizing conviction that the
same wisdom and power and goodness, which gleam forth throughout the scene, are
engaged in your behalf, can you take up the theme and ascribe all this
excellence to our Lord?
Can
you clasp the gospel to your heart, -- can you go up high upon the Pisgah of
faith, and catch the truant gleams of celestial light, and the truant whispers
of celestial harmony and say, O Lord, our Lord, how excellent is thy name?
O
my brethren in the ministry, let us be duly affected by the conditions of the
unbelieving! We know that it is only
through the enlightening influences of the Holy Spirit that they can ever see,
and though inadequately, yet truly appreciate the accumulated glory of
God. We know that it is only by a
living union with Christ, the Son of Man, only by this living union through
faith in his blood, that they can ever realize in themselves this description
of the Psalmist, this divine theory of redemption, this central promise of the
gospel, this only hope of immortality.
If they continue in unbelief, what will be their ultimate condition as
seen in the light of this subject?
All
these displays of divine glory will be lost upon them. If the legitimate end and consummation of
all is mans complete redemption, then, -- not upon the part of God, indeed,
but upon their part, this whole scheme and process of creation and redemption,
will have been a total, ruinous failure.
And though this enormous, incalculable loss may be unappreciated, unfelt
as yet, still it will be found in the end to constitute a terrible doom. For when God shall have gathered all these
scattered beams of his glory together in the home of his people, they will be
left in outer darkness. The world lost,
on the one hand, heaven lost on the other; the world wasted, heaven rejected,
and themselves lost in eternal blank despair.
Whatever may be meant by the fire that is not quenched, and the worm
that never dies, is there not enough in this everlasting failure and
destitution; in the full consciousness of this loss; in this blackness of
darkness, this abandonment, this eternal emptiness, and cast-off worthlessness,
this wild conflict between exasperated memories and relentless despair, is
there not enough in these to move our deepest sympathies? Let us be moved by the greatness of their
uncertain unsettled destiny. Let us
preach the word, be instant in season, out of season, let us urge them, with
all the earnestness of which we are capable, to flee to Christ, and by a living
faith in him, to rise up in newness of life, into the full eternal glory of
Gods completed redemption.
II.
MOTIVES TO EFFORT.
Let him know that he which converteth the sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins.
James v. 20.
These words refer directly to the case of an apostate professor of religion. This is manifest from its connection with the preceding verse; Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth. Nevertheless, it includes the case of every unbeliever who has never become untied with the brethren in Christian fellowship. The fallen professor, and the avowedly unconverted man are alike in the particulars here mentioned; both have need to be converted, both have a multitude of sins exposed to the view of divine justice, and both are on the way to death. In our mediations upon these words, therefore, we may leave such distinctions entirely out of view, and allow our minds to turn to any case that comes within the scope of these general terms, Let any one know that he who converteth a sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins.
This is not a mere item of information, as the form of the expression seems to indicate. It is, in reality, the offer of a reward as an incitement to the performance of a good work. The future and complete recompense is not indeed, mentioned; there is no definite allusion, even, to the promise that they who turn many to righteousness shall shine as stars in the firmament forever; but it is tacitly assumed that the consciousness of doing good is in itself a great reward, and to the right-minded, a sufficient inducement. Such it out to be and such it is to those whose motives are entirely in-corrupted. It is not, by any means, intended that we are not to look for any addition positive recompense, nor that the uncontaminated desire of being useful is absolutely the only thing which should prompt us to good works. The Scriptures plainly recognize the correctness of other motives, and actually appeal to them, when they attach a promise of blessing to any of the divine requirements. For example, when it is said that the liberal soul shall be made fat; and he that watereth shall be watered also himself, it is directly implied that, in the exercise of beneficence, we may properly be influenced, in some measure, by the desire of prosperity. And so, all in the conditional promises of the word of God, involve the concession that the hope of future reward may combine with a sense of duty to determine and regulate our conduct.
But here two qualifying remarks are demanded. The first is, that a sense of duty ought to be, of itself, sufficient to keep us constantly in the service of God. The other is that, apart from any other consideration of advantage, the consciousness of being useful is, in itself, a reward adequate to any effort, or to any sacrifice. He, who does a good deed under the influence of unhallowed ambition, will not be content until the fame of the act shall have been sounded abroad; he will expect his compensation in the applause of men, and will consider himself virtually a loser, until that applause shall have actually begun to delight his vanity. He, who performs a good deed merely for the sake of personal aggrandizement, in some form or other, will chide himself for the risk until he attains is object, and even then, in all probability, he will be disappointed in its value, for sheer selfishness is too mean to enjoy what it has, or what it seizes. But he, who does a good work with a right spirit, although no one should have an opportunity to praise him for it; although his left hand should not know what his right has done, and lo0ng before the final plaudit and reward come to greet him; in the very performance of the deed, and afterward in view of its happy results, will find ample compensation in the unspoken consciousness of being useful. It will not be in the proud and self-complacent reflection that he has been able to lay some insignificant sufferer, or poor dependent fellow-creature under lasting obligation, and has merited all heaven; but it will consist in the benevolent and humble reflection that he has done good, and has been enabled to please his heavenly Father. This is genuine enjoyment; this is one great reason why it is more blessed to give than to receive. This is worthy, and when rightly viewed, a very strong inducement to exertion and self-denial, and accordingly the Apostle says not, he that converteth the sinner from the error of his way shall be the object of special favor, or shall be the more abundantly blessed hereafter, -- but, Let him know that he is thereby accomplishing great and lasting good.
It is also implied in the text, that the real gratification springing out of the conviction of having been useful, will be graduated according to the amount of good which one has been instrumental in accomplishing. If a man, from purely benevolent motives, should perform merely an ordinary act of neighborly accommodation for another, he would find comparatively little pleasure, however real it might be, in the consciousness of having conferred the favor. If he should relieve some groaning sufferer from his distress, his inward compensation would be proportionally greater; and if he should afterwards learn that by that act of kindness he had not only relieved the individual sufferer, but filled the bosom of his family with joy, surely his inward compensation would be not a little enhanced; and if, in after time, he should ascertain, that by his timely interposition he had rescued the sufferer from despair and from consequent suicide, and had turned him, with his energies revived, and his lost hopes restored, into the path of honest prosperity, along which he had gathered up a fortune for himself and for the charitable uses of a grateful and generous heart, he would feel still more lavishly repaid by the reflection and he had done the deed of kindness years before. And this idea, of a sort of proportion between the satisfaction of doing good and the magnitude of the results accomplished, seems to have been in the mind of the apostle James when he penned the words of the text.
What an inducement to seek the conversion of others is here presented! He who instrumentally converts a sinner from the error of his way, hides a multitude of sins. No his own sins; apparent devotion to the service of God, efforts fro the conversion of sinners, may indeed, blind some human eyes, for awhile, to many of the faults and sins of him by whom those efforts are put forth. These efforts, especially if they are successful, being deemed of themselves satisfactory evidence of his sincerity and pious zeal, may serve to avert from him the scrutiny of many. They may lead others to look upon him with the illuded eye of partiality, and thus indirectly hid many of his sins from human view. But this falls far below the meaning of the apostle. And no endeavors to do good even to lead men to the knowledge of the truth, whatever be the motive, can hide any of our sins, not even the least, directly or indirectly, from the inevitable and impartial view of God. He does not overlook the sins of the best of men, for the sake of what they do, although in labors and success they be not behind the very chief of the Apostles, for after they have done all they have reason to own we are unprofitable servants. Not only are the impenitent unable to merit forgiveness or indulgence, but the regenerated, even the most pious among them, are equally unable, for they are still constrained to acknowledge by the grace of God I am what I am; and when all their labors and successes are wrought together into one broad mantle of righteousness, the whole of it is the workmanship of the gracious strength of God working in them, and cannot be stretched over their positive obligations, much less can it be drawn beyond them, and made to cover the least of their transgressions or faults. Nay, more, a man may preach to others and yet be himself a cast-a-way; this possibility, this danger, even Paul did not fail to recognize with humility and fear. Nay, nay, no may can hide his own sins from God, in any sense of the word, even by converting sinners.
But still he shall hide a multitude of sins, the sins of that man whom he is instrumental in leading to the Lamb of God. When a man who is hurrying onward, impelled by the restless passions of a depraved nature, and by the stimulants of manifold temptations, in a career of wickedness, strengthening his habits, and hardening his heart, and acquiring more and more unholy skill by the practice of iniquity, and enlarging his plans of evil-doing, when such a man is mercifully arrested, and transformed by the regenerating power of God, what a multitude of sins is thus prevented! Such was his sinful disposition, by nature; such was the fixedness of his character; such his purposes of continued impenitency and disobedience; such was the moral certainty that, if he lived on unconverted, his future experience would be essentially a repetition of the past, and that he would commit a multitude of sins, that those sins may be said to have had an existence already; an existence in his imaginations, and liabilities, and designs, and plans, a germinal existence in his carnal disposition; and consequently they may be said to have been hidden by his conversion, covered up, confined to their secrecy, destroyed before they came to the light. Is not this an object worthy of our diligent instrumentality? Take the case of any unconverted individual to whom your mind reverts; how many more sins he is likely yet to commit, how many more he will yet commit, if the forbearance of God spare his life, and he continue in unbelief! How his guilt will increase, his liability to deeper and deeper woe! And as his sins are multiplied, as he grows old in sin, how the likelihood of his conversion in all human probability will diminish! His sins are rapidly increasing, and is not that fact, in all its aspects and bearings, enough to urge you mightily to seek his conversion earnestly at once, and thus throw a veil over the future developments of his unregenerate disposition? Thus, on a larger scale, what great multitudes of sins will yet be committed by the unconverted round about us, if they be not speedily turned into God. And if the multiplication of crimes, the prevalence of iniquity is an evil and a bitter thing, fatal in its ultimate results, full of dire contagion, and detrimental to all the interests of mankind, how anxious and earnest should we be to convert men from darkness to light, and thus hid a multitude of sins, confining them forever in their embryonic secrecy.
The expression we are now considering includes much more than the idea which has just been suggested. To hide sins, or to cover sins, in Scripture phraseology, is upon the part of God to remove them from the view of his vindictive justice. It is to overlook them, to forgive them; and in the case before us, instrumentally to procure their pardon. God is angry with the wicked every day. He looks constantly upon their sins with holy indignation. No plea modifies their hateful aspect; no excuse intercepts his view. O, it is a fearful thing to be thus exposed to the searching gaze of the offended God, as the unbeliever is. There is no concealment for him, in his sinful state. If he ascend up into heaven, God is there; if he make his bed in hell, god is there; if he take the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea, behold! The Omnipresent is there; and wherever he goes the same retributive justice frowns upon his sins. O the misery, the danger of such an exposure! Those sins are odious in the sight of God. They are objects of abhorrence; yea, more, they are provocations of his wrath; they cry unto him like the blood of Abel, and if they continue thus in full view, like so many challenges of his justice, the unmitigated penalty of the righteous law must descend upon the transgressor. How shall he escape? So long as Jehovah looks upon those sins, there is no escape for him. O, that those sins were hidden! Then he might be relieved from the peace-destroying consciousness that the eye of the Lord is upon him for evil. Then he might draw near to God without dread, in close and holy fellowship. Then his heart might be filled with that peace which passeth understanding; a tranquillizing and delightful sense of that favor which is life and that loving-kindness which is better than life. O that those sins were hidden! Then God would regard him differently. He would look upon him with complacency. Now his wrath abideth upon him, but then he would treat him as righteous, and admit him to all the privileges and joys of sonship. Fellow Christians, you know much, and can imagine much more of the blessedness of that man whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered. How many dangers would be averted, and how much felicity secured, in the case supposed, if those sins were only hidden! But how can they be? If he say surely the darkness shall cover me, the darkness and the light are both alike to God. No early veil is thick enough, no earthly retreat is secret enough, no earthly night is dark enough. But let it be known that he who converteth him from the error of his way shall hide effectually the multitude of his sins. He shall lead him to appropriate, by faith, the righteousness of Christ, which will cover them all for ever from the view of retributive justice. How low an estimate should we place upon our solicitude, and pains-taking, and self-denial, if it be requisite, in comparison with such a result!
Nor is this, by any means, the whole of the result to be accomplished; he shall save a soul from death. To save a mans body from death, when it is imminently threatened, by casualty or disease, is deemed a great achievement. How much greater to save a soul from death! What is the mortal body compared with the soul? And even in an extreme case, the body is saved from death only for a little while, for soon will come the crisis in which no human power or skill can baffle the all-conquering destroyer. But the soul once saved is saved for ever; on such the second death hath no power. To save a mind from ignorance, by conferring upon it the benefits of education, is a noble work; to save a heart from grief by preventing calamity, or affording consolation is an invaluable favor; but what are these things compared with saving a soul from death? Many of you, doubtless, have read or heard some account of that remarkable case of education which occurred some time ago, in one of our cities. There was a poor, idiotic boy whose case was deemed hopeless even by his parents, who might have been expected to hope against hope; he was deformed, helpless, apparently without ideas, without emotions, and almost without a spark of reason; but through the kindness and wise judgment, and marvelous patience, and preserving labors of a philanthropic gentleman, he was gradually raised to a considerable degree of mental vigor and intelligence?
But what is that even compared with saving a soul from death? Estimate if you can the value of the soul; you might as well attempt to count the grains of sand upon the sea-shore. Consider what it is saved from; our worst conception of physical death is almost without significancy here. That death from which the ransomed soul is saved from death that is not all. It is exalted to the beautific presence of God, and filled full of the rapture of everlasting life.
How can we be so indifferent about the conversion of men, or do so little to secure it, when we know that he who comverteth the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death; Is not this a motive sufficient to thrust us out of our slothfulness, to awaken our deepest sympathies, and incite us to the eager seizure and diligent improvement of every opportunity of effecting our contributing towards the conversion of our fellow men? And when the souls of those we love are in question how much stronger the inducement to pray and labor for their conversion. Let parents look upon their unregenerate children, and children upon their unregenerate parents; let brother look upon their unbelieving sisters, and sisters upon their unbelieving brothers, and let them know, and let them meditate upon it, that he who converteth a sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul from death.
We are not left to be moved merely by the exceeding desirableness and importance of the conversion of our fellow men, considered with reference to their own interests, and to our sympathies and afflictions. We are plied here, also, by the offer of a great reward. If we are instrumental in converting any from the error of his way, not only will the results be such as have been alluded to, but we have the happiness of knowing it. How great is that happiness, even here, disturbed as it often is by uncertainty about the genuineness of conversion, and limited as it is by our imperfect knowledge of its glorious results! How that happiness will be enhanced hereafter, when we come to view those results in the light of eternity! When we come to rejoice in perfect purity, and behold the glories of a peopled world all without a stain, then we shall know more truly what it is to hide a multitude of sins. When we come to estimate the soul according to the standard employed in heaven, by Him who sacrificed himself to save it, and by the angels who minister to the heirs of salvation, and when we come to exult, by the grace of God, in the safety and ecstasy of immortal life, then we shall know more truly what it is to save a soul from death. And then, with our enlarged knowledge of these things, what, think you, will it be worth to reflect that we have been instrumental in converting some sinners from the error of their ways? Even if it does now require some effort and self denial to gain such a result, what then will those things be in our estimation? .
Suppose we should meet in heaven some soul converted through our instrumentality! .
Though not mentioned here, yet it is distinctly revealed elsewhere, and is not to be overlooked in our meditations upon this subject, that special rewards will be bestowed hereafter upon special efforts . . . .
III.
OPPORTUNIES LOST
And as thy
servant was busy here and there, he was gone.
1 Kings XX.40
In order to ascertain the significancy of these words, and to make a legitimate and proper use of them, let us trace the tenor of the narrative in which we find them. Benhadad, the King of Syria, gathered all his host together, and with the aid of thirty and two kings, or princes of the neighboring countries, who were probably his allies or vassals, went up and besieged Samaria, and warred against it. After some messages had passed between him and Ahab, the King of Israel; boasting and insolent upon the part of Benhadad; pusillanimous and fickle at first, but finally decided upon the part of Ahab, the battle commenced. Although the Syrians had a vast advantage in numbers and strength, yet by the miraculous interposition of the Lord of Hosts, they were defeated with enormous slaughter. The king, however, escaped alive. His servants, attributing the victory of the Israelites to the fact that their gods were gods of the hills, and convincing him that he could overcome them upon the plains induced him to reorganize his army, and renew the war at the return of the year. But with all the advantages of their position, upon which they placed so much reliance, they were utterly discomfited before the little band of Gods chosen people, and Benhadad himself sought refuge in an inner chamber in the city of Aphek. Yielding again to the urgent advice of his servants, he suffered them to go to Ahab, wearing the emblems of deep mourning and humble submission, to implore his clemency. This wicked king, contrary to the instructions of the Lords special prophet, showed favor to the enemy of Gods people, mad a disadvantageous covenant with him, and sent him away. For this he was reproved by one of the prophets in the parable which follows: And a certain main of the sons of the prophets said unto his neighbor in the word of the Lord, Smite me, I pray thee. And the man refused to smite him. Then said he unto him, Because thou has not obeyed the voice of the Lord, behold, as soon as thou art departed from me a lion shall slay thee. And as soon as he was departed from him, a lion found him, and slew him. The found another man, and said, Smite me, I pray thee. And the man smote him, so that in smiting he wounded him. So the prophet departed, and waited for the king by the way, and disguised himself with ashes upon his face. And as the king passed by, he cried unto the king: and he said, Thy servant went out into the midst of the battle; and behold, a man turned aside, and brought a man unto me, and said, Keep this man: if by any means he be missing, then shall thy life be for his life, or else thou shalt pay a talent of silver. And as they servant was busy here and there, he was gone. And the king of Israel said unto him, So shall thy judgment be; thyself has decided it. And he hasted, and took the ashes away from his face; and the king of Israel discerned him that he was of the prophets. And he said unto him, Thus saith the Lord, Because thou has let go out of thy hand a man whom I appointed to utter destruction, therefore thy life shall go for his life, and thy people for his people.
The main features of this whole narrative, as you will readily perceive, are these; God had committed to Ahab an important trust. He had proved recreant to the obligation, the opportunity of discharging it had passed, and the forfeit has to be paid. He perceived, and by his immediate sadness and displeasure acknowledged the application of the parable to himself. He felt the inevitable closeness of that application far more severely afterward, no doubt, when the forfeit of his life was demanded and obtained in the carnage of unsuccessful war.
And now, my friends, does it not become us to inquire whether this reproof may not have some application to ourselves? As Ahab was acting in an official capacity and in a matter involving the welfare of Israel, the closest analogy is to be found in the administration of justice, and the control of national interests. God has committed to American rulers and American people a most important and sacred trust, even the guardianship of the rights, the safety, the altars, the homes, the character, the true welfare, the highest and dearest interests of a great Christian nation. The enemies to be repelled and utterly overthrown are many and dangerous, -- they are not only the Benhadads of foreign dominion, but more especially such as these, ignorance, crime, insubordination, fanaticism. If intelligence be not widely diffused; if the benefits of education be not liberally disseminated; if men do not contend earnestly for the faith once delivered to the saints; if laws be not made, or when made, be not enforced, against those who, fearing not God, neighbor regarding man, would make the Sabbath a day of business in our streets; if the tables of these money-changers in the temple of God be not overthrown; if the distinct and special laws of God, even though they require the shedding of blood, be modified by the morbid sympathies of a false philanthropy; if justice be not dispensed to the guilty as well as the innocent; if we enter into a covenant with our enemies, who have been appointed to destruction by God himself, upon any such dishonorable and ruinous terms, they will insidiously gather strength and triumph over us. Ignorance will stalk abroad with instruments of cruelty putting out the very eyes of men for whom God has prepared bright visions of truth; fanaticism, crime and anarchy will follow on, like hundred-handed monsters, to complete the ruin, and at last the only account we can give of that prosperity which has been entrusted to us, will be in words like these, As thy servants were busy here and there, it was gone.
This national field of observation is so vast, and the objects it presents are so many and various that it is difficult, at least in a brief view, to keep their impressions distinct, -- the responsibility is shared by so many that admonitions seen to lose their power. But there are narrower applications of these words in which each of us may feel a more definite, individual interest. For example, there have been entrusted to us opportunities of usefulness. First, to those over whom we can exert an immediate influence. If you are a parent, the spiritual welfare of your child has been, in a large measure, committed to you as a most precious trust. Fearful dangers surround him. Cunning and malignant enemies lie in wait for him. His liabilities to ruin are such as are devised by the great adversary of souls. They are such as the hazards of the worlds great battle-strife; such as the strong, evil propensities of an apostate nature. Here, moreover, are the unnumbered temptations peculiar to large towns and cities; those insidious temptations that have marred so many fair characters, drowned with their syren music the warning voices of so many consciences, unbound so many resolutions made so many outcasts, blighted so many hopes, crushed so many joys, broken so many hearts, eternally ruined so many souls. If you leave your children unnecessarily exposed to these temptations; if you do not exercise a watchful Christian guardianship over them; if you neglect their religious instruction; if you neglect to take them with you to the throne of grace and commend them to the omniscient guardian of spirits; if you do not endeavor to warn them of their danger, and lead them to the Lamb of God, the time may come when the only account you can give of them will be in such mournful words as these: As thy servant was busy here and there he was gone.
How many are there who could not subscribe to some such narrative as this? I knew a father and mother to whom was committed the responsibility of training up a son for life-long, extended usefulness and a blessed immortality. Parental indulgence eagerly gratified all the changing desires of his childhood and lavished upon him caresses of fondness, and smiles of pride. It carefully supplied all his wants, except the most urgent of all, the wants of his moral nature. Unhappily free from restraint, he followed his own inclinations; frequently, in their dangerous tendency to evil, they directed his rambles to the places where idlers resort, or to scenes fo wicked amusement. He caught the phrases of profanity as they floated along the street. He loitered around those places where scenes of iniquity are partially concealed by suspicious-looking curtains; where the ribald jest and the loud laugh, and the rattling of dice may be heard mingling together. He went with the multitude to do evil. The temptations became stronger and more numerous as he grew older. In his gaily painted boat he glided at first at a distance, and as he thought safely, around the whirlpool, listening to the far-off roar and watching the sunlight as it danced upon the foam; then gradually he drew nearer to trace the bright pathway of the outer circle, and then he followed circle after circle as they became narrower and narrower; faster and faster flew his fragile bark, and intoxicated by the excitement of the whirl and the roar of the dashing current, he threw down his useless oars, and sent up thought the sparkling spray loud and louder laughs of recklessness, until in the very midst of his hilarity he was caught by the maniac and hurled into the boiling vortex; and as his parents were busy here and there, he was gone.
In ten thousand such narratives the blanks might be filled up with names that are seldom mentioned, and then always with a sigh; names that lie in some memories like pieces of ice upon the wrist. O ye who are parents, beware lest through your inadvertence or neglect your sons should be snatched away as so many have been, and you be left to make the sad acknowledgement of the text. How often in a city, at the corners of the streets is the attention called to the fact that while some parents or servants have been busy here and there a child has been lost? What would be your feelings, think you, if your child should be thus lost, and search should be made in vain? And, can you go from one to another of the ordinary, perhaps trifling engagements of everyday life and neglect the souls of your children until suddenly they be gone forever beyond the call of any messenger?
Perhaps you have a brother or a sister, or some near friend over whom you can exert a powerful influence. In just so far as that influence may extend that brother or friend is entrusted to you. Oh, be not recreant to your obligation; turn not neglectfully away. That friend is in danger; the battle is raging around him. He may be snatched away before you are aware, and what then will be your account of the trust? Will you be justifiable upon the ground that he was never directly and formally committed to your care? Suppose that same relative or friend had fallen into the river, and you were standing upon the bank, looking at him as he struggled in the pitiless waters, as he caught at useless straws, and he sank and rose again, as he turned a last momentary glance of hopeless agony toward the home of those he loved, would you turn away and say he has never been specially committed to my care; I esteem him highly but I have never been formally constituted his guardian, and therefore I need not offer him any assistance? No; unless your heart has already become the frozen sepulcher of all your sympathies, you would forget all such miserable sophistry, the ignoble excuses of cowardice, perhaps even your own safety, and exert your utmost strength to rescue him from his peril. If unconverted, he is even now in danger of a far more terrible doom than drowning in the waters whose mournful roar can be heard where his loved ones vainly await his return. He is in danger of sinking amid the surging billows of everlasting fire. Your influence may do much toward saving him, and will you turn away and leave him sliding recklessly toward the fatal brink? Will you leave him to perish without an effort upon your part, because no audible voice from Heaven has entrusted him to your sole guardianship, repeating that first contemptuous inquiry of selfishness, Am I my brothers keeper?
Will you be justifiable upon the ground that you were busy here and there? Are you necessarily so occupied that you can make no special effort to lead to the Lamb of God those over whom his providence has given you an immediate influence? It is our duty to be diligent in business, but are the demands of business more important than the salvation of a soul? Let me suppose a case, by way of partial illustration. Your relative or friend is ill, and the house in which he is lying takes fire. The relentless destroyer rages more and more furiously, the winds eagerly join in the work of ruin. The flames leap up as if with the fiendish laughter of conscious malignity and cast their fatal contagion upon the roof. Clouds of smoke burst through every opening, here and there is heard the crash of falling timber, and soon the whole building seems to struggle like a thing of life in the deadly embrace of the fell destroyer. Do you pass by the scene of terror, regardless of the fate of your friend, and hurry away on some errand of business? You meet some one, prompted by mere ordinary sympathy, running with breathless haste toward the conflagration. He exclaims in amazement, Where are you going? Your friends house is in flames; the fire is furious, he is ill and helpless, hell be injured, suffocated, burned up! Do you reply, I have need to be busy here and there, and then go calmly on? No! You seize the first ladder that can be obtained, forgetful alike of business and danger. With a daring spirit you mount to the window; you buffet the mingling flames and smoke; you hold your breath; you leap into the room and with the strength of frenzy and the generous assistance of others, you drag the fainting sufferer out beyond the reach of harm, and the glad shout goes up from a hundred friendly hearts, He is safe, he is safe!
Have you not some friend who is in imminent danger of sinking to eternal perdition, where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched? It may be that your influence might be made the means of saving his soul. Is your conscience satisfied with the reflection, -- and if you should survive him to remember his dying agony, will your conscience then be satisfied with the reflection, that you were called to be busy here and there, and while you were busy he was gone? O, let not the demands of worldliness, however numerous and loud they may be, lead you to neglect the eternal welfare of those whom God has placed within the sphere of your immediate influence.
Finally, life has been entrusted to you as the time to prepare for eternity. It is passing rapidly away. Its duration is wholly uncertain, every moment is precious. You must account for it all, as an invaluable trust, at the bar of God. It is the time to serve the Lord; the time to be accounted for at the bar of God. O! What an account will this be to render to the Judge upon the great white throne! As thy servant was busy here and there, it was gone. And if the Judge should ask you with what were you busy, oh, what would be your answer? Standing so near those mansions that are to resound for ever with the impromptu songs of perfect bliss, will you dare to answer, I was busy enjoying the pleasures of the world the paltry, sickening, poisonous pleasures of the sinful world? Standing so near the jasper walls and pearly gates of the holy city, within which are laid up such stores of never-fading treasures, and looking first upon the flashing gems of every hue, the golden streets, the nameless riches and unguessed splendors of heaven, and then back upon the smoking, dying embers of the world, will you dare to answer, I was busy laying up treasures upon the earth? Standing in the very presence of that God who made you, in whom you lived and moved and had your being, by whose bounty you were fed and clothed, whose air you breathed; standing in the presence of that God, who had a sovereign claim upon your supreme affections, and all your powers, and who asserted that claim in every blessing of your life, and finally in you inevitable death, will you dare to answer, I was busy serving mammon?
Would you make a proper use of this life which has been entrusted to you, with all its privileges? Then cherish the influences of the gospel of the Holy Ghost of Christian friends of Sabbaths of divine ordinances . . .
IV.
THE HUMAN LEVEL.
The rich and poor
meet together; the Lord is the maker of them all.
Proverbs xxii. 2.
Some of the proverbs of Solomon are expressed in general terms, and have reference to abstract truths. The most of them are expressed in specific terms designed for general application. Such is the one now before us. The terms rich and poor have reference, not only to the difference in point of wealth, in the strict meaning of the term, but to the whole class of social inequalities which are included within the range of this familiar contrast. Nor does the latter clause, the Lord is the maker of them all, refer solely to our relation to God as the Creator, but to all the relations we sustain to Him; as if it were said, all classes of society meet together; they have all one God.
The whole force of the proverb depends upon the close and vital connection between the two clauses. Not merely are there two such classes as the rich and poor really existing; not merely do they meet together in the various walks of life, and in places of promiscuous resort it would be a meager proverb if that were all its meaning. The rich and poor do, indeed, meet together in many ways and many places, but the far greater truth to be found in the text is that they all meet at this one point; in this one immutable fact, viz.: that they sustain common relations to the same God. Whatever their social distinctions, and inequalities, here they stand upon common ground. The main object of this discourse is to bring to view some particulars included in this general statement: to bring to view some points in which they meet together, in order to show that the only effectual remedy of social evils and inequalities is the true religion of the gospel, and that all classes need that religion.
I. They have a common origin. The Lord is the maker of them all. He hath made of one blood all nations. This does not set at naught the value of descent from the noble, the great, the wise, the good.
There are family characteristics distinctly marked, estimable or contemptible, lovely or odious; there are hereditary excellences and defects; there are real advantages belonging to the lineage of true nobility; there are real disadvantages cleaving to the lineage of poverty, and obscure lowliness. The children of the rich may have access to means of improvement, and sometimes to positions of usefulness, from which the children of the poor are debarred by their circumstances. And yet, on the one hand, the advantages are often utterly squandered, or perverted into occasions of harm, while, on the other hand, the disadvantages are often triumphantly overcome. What then? one may ask; If my great-grandfather was a duke or a millionaire, am I not, on that account alone, superior to my neighbor whose ancestors were poor day-laborers? Not a whit, unless you are wiser and better on that account. What then, another may ask; Am I an heir of fortune and fame to be thrust down to a level with the nameless child of poverty? Not necessarily, and yet, you may sink lower in reality. That depends upon your character and his. But in regard to your origin alone; in regard to your origin considered apart from its actual results as they appear in your excellency of character, you can claim no sort of superiority. One boasts, I was born in a palace; another acknowledges, I was born in a hut; Solomon says, The rich and poor meet together; the Lord is the maker of them all.
Here let me disclaim any intention of rebuking that personal gratification which many enjoy in tracing their lineage through noble channels, back to noble sources. Let me disclaim any intention of undervaluing what men are pleased to call the science of heraldry, and any intention of undertaking to decide, either way, the long-continued controversy between the aristocracy and the commonalty. Without denying the reality, or the validity, or the importance, or even the necessity of such distinctions in society, but simply leaving them out of view, for the present, -- let us fall back upon the fundamental truth that all classes meet together in their proper origin, since the Lord is the maker of them all.
It follows, both logically and theologically, that all men are brethren. Do no recur at once to some ragged vagrant whom you have recently met, and ask, with indignation, is he my brother? Be calm, while I presume to answer. He is. He may be a degraded brother. You may be, by the sovereign pleasure of God, a favored brother; but remember who hath made you to differ; and remember, too, that this difference, wide though it be, does not dissolve the relationship. Though your brother be an outcast, though you may disown him, yet you cannot cut the lie of nature by which you are bound together. What follows? Manifestly this, -- that we should treat all men with whom we meet, as brethren by nature. This is not to be pressed to the extreme, even in theory. It does not necessarily mean that we are to treat all men alike under all circumstances. It is not incompatible with all preferences and partialities. The gospel itself sanctions a preference in our treatment of others. Do good unto all men, especially unto those who are of the household of faith. The principle is recognized in Scripture that some men have special claims upon our esteem and our beneficence. We are not required to regard the base and the honorable, the mean and the generous, the repulsive and the amiable with precisely the same feelings. But still, with modifications of this sort, which do not all affect the essential idea contained in the proposition, it remains true that we are bound to treat all men as brethren. Such is the true spirit of evangelical religion, and thus we see, from this point of view, how that religion is adapted to remove or correct innumerable social evils. For without dwelling upon the details of the matter, we may see at a glance what a great and glorious change would be wrought in the whole condition of society if it was only pervaded by this genuine, practical brotherly-kindness which the gospel enjoins.
Before leaving this topic, the sameness of original nature, let us take another point of observation. While it is true that the Lord is the maker of all classes of men, -- still, as was remarked a while ago, this does not set at nought the value of descent from the rich or the great. There are real advantages belonging to such a descent. But in what do those real advantages consist? In abundant means of self-improvement, and in the greater opportunities of exerting a widespread influence for good. And here, we may see again how true religion is adapted to remove the lamented evils of society; for if the rich and the great were also devotedly pious, and would train up their children in the nurture and admonition of the Lord, and dedicate them to his service, -- and if the children of the rich and the great were thoroughly imbued with the spirit of the gospel, who does not see how they would be led to use their distinguishing means, and their paramount influence, to relieve, and enlighten, and elevate their less-favored fellow-men? If the boasted advantages of birth, and the consequent facilities of usefulness were all sincerely consecrated to the honor of God and religion, what a blessed transformation would thus be wrought in the condition of society, and how many mere nominal, and yet deplorable distinctions would thus be obliterated!
II. The rich and poor meet together, as to their natural condition. All such classes are alike in this; they are all fallen, depraved, sinful creatures. It follows that they all need the religion of the gospel. They all need the transforming power of divine grace; they all need its consolations; they all need wisdom and righteousness, and sanctification and redemption. However affluent may be some, and however indigent others, -- however high, or however low, they are all burdened with the same necessity; they are all under condemnation; no worldly superiority can afford them exemption. God is no respecter of persons. In regard to their condition, and spiritual necessities, they meet together now; hereafter they must meet together at the bar of God, and if not forgiven and redeemed, they must meet together in the world of woe. Some who are overlooked, derided, spurned here, will be companions there; some who are looked upon with awe, or fear, or raging envy here, will be only companions there. But, if all classes meet together as to their natural condition, if all are depraved creatures, -- it follows, not only that all need religion as the only security for their everlasting welfare, but also that this same religion is adapted to remove the obstacles that exist between these different classes in this world, and to shorten the interval between them. The miserable condition of society is not due to the mere existence of different classes, but rather to their feelings and conduct toward one another; envy, jealousy, ambition, dejection, an oppressive sense of the contempt of others; pride, scorn, selfishness, false notions of honor, --these, and such as these, are the chief sources of what men are accustomed to call social evils. Their polluted fountain is in the depravity of human nature. The proper corrective is true religion. This tends to remove pride on the one hand, and envy on the other; it tends to beget a kindly charity on the one hand, and contentment on the other; it tends to nourish a magnanimous liberality on the one hand, and by this very means to effect a real elevation on the other. If a rich man is filled with the spirit of Christ, who veiled his Godhead, and ate with publicans and sinners, he will not look haughtily nor scornfully upon his indigent neighbor. If a poor man is filled with the spirit of Christ, who never complained though he had not where to lay his head, he will not be tortured with morbid jealousies, but cherish a quiet satisfaction with his lowly lot, while he actually rises in the esteem of all who estimate worth by the right standard. So, in general, in regard to all the extreme divisions of men; the real evils which belong to them are such as spring from the common depravity of men. Therefore, the remedy is regeneration and sanctification. If this remedy be applied to all classes, the needed comprise will be effected, -- and thus, true religion, though it may not bring all classes into one, is yet adapted to bring all classes into harmony.
III. The rich and poor meet together in this; they are all subject tot the same law. The sum of that law if this: Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all they heart, and thy neighbor as thyself. The high are bound to love the low, and the low are bound to love the high; the rich are bound to love the poor, and the poor the rich. Whatever the ground of distinction may be, and however wide the distinction, the command is that it shall be overreached by love. Love suffereth long and is kind, envieth not, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, beareth all things, beliveth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things, never faileth. Love is the fulfilling of the law; love is the heart of religion. The more this great obligation of the law is acknowledged and felt, the more pure religion abounds, the greater will be the prevalence of peace and concord, and mutual welfare, among all classes of men. Mere philanthropy will not answer the purpose. It is too impulsive and too feeble, because it is divorced from a sense of duty. The charity which is requisite to overcome the obstacles which lie between the different social departments is that which is the fulfilling of the law, that which springs out of supreme love to God, that which is characteristic of evangelical piety, and is to be found nowhere else. Hence, the more widely evangelical piety prevails, the more will men of all grades and conditions be led to keep the unity of the Spirit in the bond of peace.
IV. The rich and poor meet together in this; they must all be saved upon the same conditions. There is no royal road to heaven; there is no aristocratic way to salvation. They must kneel at the same mercy-seat; they must believe in the same Saviour; they must sit at the same communion table; they must carry on the same warfare; they must run the same race, and they look forward to the time when they shall stand together at the right hand of God. Thus religion gives men an identity of interests, a common experience, common hopes; it brings them into fellowship under the most solemn and sacred influences, and thus its direct tendency is to equalize, familiarize, and harmonize all ranks of men.
In the light of this subject we see (1) the importance of religion in its mere worldly bearings. Strange that men who profess to desire the peace and welfare of the community and the race, should contemn or overlook religion as the great means of securing that peace and welfare. Agrarianism, socialism, philanthropic associations, mere intellectual culture, all such schemes and agencies are inadequate because they are superficial; they endeavor to remove the evil effects while they leave the causes undisturbed, in active operation. Religion strikes at the root of all real social evils.
(2). The importance, the duty, of endeavoring to promote the prevalence of religion. The philanthropist, if he be nothing more, yet if he would do his utmost, if he would do that which is worth doing, for the benefit of his race, let him take this method of manifesting his philanthropy. The good citizen, if he be nothing more, yet if he would prove himself to be that, let him take this method of promoting the welfare of the community in which he lives. It is the surest method. It is the method by which he can accomplish most. The most injurious members of community, so far as their influence extends, are those who oppose or discountenance religion; the men most useful to the community are those who do most to encourage and promote vital godliness, and to maintain, and make successful, the ordained means of grace. It is a great mistake, to suppose that religion is solely a personal matter, and is designed to secure only the spiritual welfare of the soul. It is the greatest blessing that can be bestowed upon human society considered in reference to its common worldly interests.
Here it may be objected that Christianity has long been exerting its varied influences, and society is still infested by many and great evils. In answer to this objection, three remarks may be made.
First. The design of the foregoing remarks has been not so much to describe what religion has done or is doing, as to show what it is adapted to do.
Secondly. A candid examination of the history and present state of the world is enough to convince any one that the state of society is, in every sense of the word, better, in Christian than in heathen lands; that it is better where genuine Christianity prevails than where a corrupt Christianity is dominant; compare, for example, protestant Scotland with papal Ireland. Come to narrower fields of observation. Is there not far more of social equality, and social concord, and common social enjoyment in thoroughly religious, than in thoroughly irreligious communities? Do not these social blessings abound more in churches which are distinguished for godliness, than in those which are worldly and formal? Yes; true religion has, in very deed, greatly blessed society in the very ways that have been mentioned.
Thirdly. It is adapted to accomplish in those ways immensely more. The simple reason why it has effected so little, comparatively, is that there has been really so little of it at work; and therefore the fact that it has accomplished so little, should rather be regarded as the fat that there is so much yet to be accomplished in order to make society what it ought to be. Thus this fact, instead of being a valid objection to the view we have taken of the subject, is found, after all, to be the great reason why all who are interested in the mutual welfare of all classes should use their utmost influence to maintain, and promote, and give far greater success to the genuine religion of the gospel.
To Christians, especially, this subject presents a higher motive. The rich and poor meet together, and the Lord is the maker of them all. In other words, in their relations to God, they all stand upon the same ground. They are all sinners by nature and by practice; unless converted they are all condemned. They are all to stand before the judgment-seat of Christ. They are all to be saved or lost. Eternity will be as long, the second death will be as terrible, and everlasting life will be as precious, to one as to another. Hence it is our duty to exert ourselves for the salvation of all classes. When Christ came it was said, The poor have the gospel preached unto them. They ought to have, they must have, they will be for ever undone without it. We must preach the gospel to them; we must send the gospel to them. When Peter was sent to preach Christ to the Gentiles, a voice from Heaven said unto him, What God hath cleansed, that call not thou common or unclean. The gospel does not belong to the favored classes alone, -- it does not belong alone to those who can afford to build handsome churches. It is adapted to all; it is indispensable to all, and it is the solemn duty of those who enjoy its blessings to send it with all its treasures of life and immortality to those who are destitute in other lands, and in other parts of our own land, and to use all proper means to bring the neglected classes immediately around them under these transforming and saving influences.
Finally, this subject admits of a more directly personal application. The rich must become poor in spirit, and the poor must become rich in faith. Men of all classes and conditions must humble themselves before God, must acknowledge their guilt, must renounce the world, must accept salvation as a gift of free grace. . . . .
V.
THE TWO FORMS OF SORROW.
For godly sorrow
worketh repentance to salvation, not to be repented of; but the sorrow of the
world worketh death.
2 Corinthians vii.10.
This fallen world if full of sorrow. Go whither thou will, you will find its causes; its unmistakable tokens; its familiar emblems; its doleful, or its happy results. There are happy homes; but there is sorrow even in the midst of them. There are stories of Elysian fields and Utopian isles, and Fairy palaces, but no mortal has journeyed beyond the dark-shaded domain of sorrow, except in his dreams, waking or sleeping. It has a large share in the mighty work of swaying the world; it has a language of its own, common to all nations and all times, by which wanderers from the most distant lands can freely mingle their emotions of grief and sympathy.
The operations of sorrow are wonderfully various; to one, it is a burden, pressing the soul down into the deep of death, -- to another, it is a buoy upon which he floats over the sea of life into the haven of eternal rest; here it grows morbidly to madness, -- there it blooms into everlasting delight. While in every case, it is the consequence of sin; in one, it still leads on to sin; in another, it is the first step toward complete deliverance from evil. The Apostle here specifies two forms of sorrow.
I. Consider the sorrow of the world. Of this there are three kinds. (1) That which arises from a fear of the punishment due for sin, and yet not accompanied with any hatred of moral evil. Doubtless every man has known by experience something of this. For even without the gospel, and without the written law, men have a consciousness of guilt more or less distinct; For when the Gentiles which have not the law, do by nature the things contained in the law, these having not the law are a law unto themselves; which show the work of the law written in their hearts; their conscience also bearing witness, and their thoughts the meanwhile accusing or else excusing one another. No man is a stranger to this fear of punishment, this legal conviction; and it is vain for any man, infidel or moralist, utterly to disclaim the regrets that spring out of it. Whatever the obduracy and recklessness, which he would fain dignify with nobler names he has felt and mourned that he was under condemnation. This is indeed, as we shall see, one element of a better kind of sorrow, but of itself, it brings forth no good fruit. A man may possibly cherish it until he has no joy, no peace, no rest, and yet make no further advancement toward reconciliation with God. Whatever the depth of his sorrow, simply on account of his exposure to the penalty of Gods violated law, if that be all of it , and continue to be all, that penalty will surely yet overtake him in it resistless rush.
Indeed, it not only of itself fails to bring forth life, and ward off eternal wrath, but it sometimes literally worketh death. It is equally strange and true that men often rush most hastily upon the very edge and brunt of that which they most dread. The fate of him who sold the life of his Lord for thirty pieces of silver horribly illustrated the death-working power of this deep sorrow. When he saw that Jesus was condemned, he repented himself, and came to the chief priests and elders, saying, I have sinned in that I have betrayed the innocent blood; he cast down the pieces of silver in the temple, and departed, and went and hanged himself. Not a few have been driven by the same power to the same desperation and similar doom.
(2). That which arises from disappointment in regard to the accomplishment of some evil purposes, or from envy in view of the prosperity of others, or from the indulgence of some other unholy affection. This works death in so far as it is sinful in itself. To grieve because our evil designs have been baffled by God or man, is in itself a sin; to repine because the providence of God has passed us by to heap distinguishing favors in the lap of another, is itself a sin. The indulgences of any such sorrow, which springs from depraved affections or emotions, is sin, and the wages of all sin is death. But this is not all. The kind of sorrow which we are now considering acts by a reflex power upon the very emotions by which it was engendered; it stirs up the depths of depravity in the heart; it inflames evil passions; it gives new impulses in the path of iniquity. Grief for the disappointment of wicked desires, often prompts to the formation and execution of new plans for the accomplishment of the same desires. If a man grieve because his friend is more prosperous than he, that grief will hardly fail to beget jealousy, and may easily nourish that jealousy into the hideous maturity of hatred. If a man grieve because his ungodly lusts have been deprived of their polluted enjoyments, or because they have mistaken misery for pleasure, his grief will the more enrage those very lusts. In brief, sinful sorrow is like a festering wound in the heart; it stimulates and exasperates those very evil passions from which it springs, and thus indirectly, but with dreadful certainty, if left to have its course, it worketh death.
(3). The last of the three kinds included in the sorrow of the world is that which may be called natural in distinction from moral. It is that pain or uneasiness of the heart which is produced by the loss of any lawful good, or by disappointment in the expectation of any such good. In itself considered, this has no moral character. It is often mingled with godly sorrow; it is sometimes made the means of awakening godly sorrow. The heart is smitten; the man is brought to realize, in a new degree, the instability of mere earthly good. He is induced to look for more worthy and enduring objects of affection, and at the same time is made to feel that he is a sufferer because he is a sinner. He is led to look more deeply into his own heart, and to contrast himself and his life with the character, the law, the providence, and the forbearance of God, and thus, or by some similar process, he is led to the exercise of genuine repentance. Many a man has walked with downcast face and tearful eyes, through a dark and thorny path of sorrow, not knowing whither he went, until he emerged into the path of the just which is as the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day. Many a man has devoutly thanked God for the stroke which well nigh broke his heart, and thus constrained him to seek the great Physician who not only binds up the broken heart, but heals for ever all the deep-seated maladies of the spirit. On the same familiar principle, afflictions are often used as the means of sanctifying those who have believed. Natural sorrow is poured into their breasts to minister to their purification. It is a mysterious but a gracious arrangement. And, hence, being the subject of great afflictions does not necessarily prove one to be a conspicuously great sinner. This was the mistake into which the friends of Job fell; their reproachful advice was given upon this false assumption, and one great design of that book was, doubtless, to teach that we should not judge of the characters of men by Gods dealings with them in the present life. Many of his chosen, devoted servants are made to drink the cup of sorrow to the dregs, that thereby, through a process peculiar to Gods economy of grace, they may be prepared for larger and purer draughts of joy. There is mercy in the form of judgment; grief is sown, but the harvest is everlasting joy.
Still, when separated from the fear and love of God, and faith in Christ, even this natural sorrow of the heart worketh death. Not only does it drink up the spirits, and banish animating hopes, and derange the nervous system, and prey upon the energies, and thus, when inordinately indulged sometimes hasten temporal death; but unless restrained and sanctified by the Spirit of God, it has a tendency to work out everlasting death. It excites a spirit of rebellion against Jehovah. It is an unqualified declaration of Scripture and abundantly confirmed by human experience in its widest range, that men have a natural disposition to contend against God. Who does not know how alarmingly that disposition is quickened by sorrow? How hard it is to submit to mighty bereavements with an uncomplaining spirit? How prone we are to resist His will when it is embodied in the heartless forms of adversity? How a single stroke of his rod arouses a sudden rebellion in the bosom? And if this is often the actual result of sorrow, in its most violent operations, every smaller degree of it, has, in its own measure, the same dangerous tendency. It is a fearful tendency; at the very best, we have too strong an inclination to resist God, and we have reason to dread the force of such a stimulant. We have far more reason to deprecate sorrow, because of this danger, than because of the pain it brings; we have far more reason to seek the grace of God to counteract this tendency, than to seek his consolations for the mere relief they bring. This sorrow sometimes results in turning the current of affection with fatal certainty, and redoubled intensity toward some other earthly object which comes into the place of that which has been lost and mourned. How often does it occur, that when parents lose one child in their sadness, they cling with more fondness and increasing devotion to another that is left? So in a multitude of similar and various instances, sorrow for the loss of one object forges new chains and binds us more firmly to others. By nature, we are prone to idolatry as the sparks fly upward and when our idols are torn away, our very sorrow often makes us more idolatrous. In this particular, its tendency is to evil and to death.
Sometimes it begets a morbid disgust for the world, and leads to a misanthropic seclusion from its kindly and salutary influences. True, the world is full of temptations, and it might be thought, at first view, that seclusion was the best place for the cultivation of piety and spiritual life. Thus many have thought in every age, but the history of all such experiments has proved the notion a fallacy. Man is a social being, and even his spiritual nature has social relations which cannot be torn asunder with impunity. Occasional retirement is indispensable to growth in grace, but a soul in habitual seclusion is like a plant in a dark cellar. Although the world is full of temptations, there are many genial, and healthful, and converting, and purifying influences circulating through the varied channels of social and religious life, and when sorrow drives men into a misanthropic seclusion, it is exerting no trifling tendency to death.
Even in less conspicuous instances, in ordinary instances, it often tends to death. If it does not soften, it hardens the heart. Men are exhorted to rejoice with trembling, but sorrow is little less dangerous. These which have been mentioned are some of the ways in which it worketh death. O, how much need we have, in all our afflictions, to guard against the excessive indulgence of sorrow, and to seek the restraining and sanctifying grace of God to counteract its evil tendencies, and prevent its fatal working.
II. Let us now turn our attention to that which the apostle calls godly sorrow. In general, it is that of which God, the Holy Spirit, is the author. Like faith, it is his gift. It is that which is excited through certain views of God. He who does not behold God as a holy Being; he who has no correct views of his justice; he who despises the goodness of Him against whom his sins have been committed, can have no godly sorrow. It is that which in all exercises contemplates God as the ultimate object. Such sorrow David had when he exclaimed Against thee, thee only have I sinned. The great sin of his life was enormous, even as a sin against his fellowman; but its injustice and cruelty to him were completely absorbed in that heinousness which characterized it as a sin against God. If we do not perceive and feel that all our sins of every grade are committed against God, and that in that opposition consists the essence of their sinfulness we do not exercise a godly sorrow for them. The chief elements of godly sorrow are these:
1. A sense of guilt. Guilt is not synonymous with sin. It means a just exposure to the penalty of the violated law; desert of punishment. The sinner must not only feel that he is liable to punishment, that he is in danger of it, but that he deserves it, and that God would be just in his damnation. There may be a fearful looking for of judgment, and fiery indignation which shall devour the adversaries, and yet no true conviction of the personal desert of that judgment and indignation. But terror, apart from shame and self-condemnation, is no element of godly sorrow.
2. It includes, also a conviction of the intrinsic evil of sin, and its odiousness before God. Accordingly we find that the most moral and upright men in human estimation, when their eyes are opened to an humbling view of their own hearts, condemn themselves, not only as sinners, but as great sinners. They see that sin, all sin, any sin, is vile, miserably vile; and though the crimes of many other may be of deeper and blacker turpitude; although their sins are comparatively small, yet absolutely, they are exceedingly sinful, because they have been committed against the law, the will, the very nature of Him who is holiness itself. If any man have not such a sense and abhorrence of the evil nature of sin, apart from the number and magnitude of his transgressions, he has not genuine godly sorrow.
3. It includes, also a sense of base ingratitude. Who can have a just view of sin as committed against that God who is love, whose goodness and mercy have followed him all the days of his life, and indeed feel that his very life is but the protracted forbearance of God who is not willing that any should perish, but that all should be saved and come to the knowledge of the truth? Who can have a just view of his inequities in their contrast with infinite benevolence, and mercy, and love, without an overwhelming conviction that he has been grievously ungrateful? Such are the elements of godly sorrow.
III. It is a fatal mistake to confound sorrow and repentance; they are widely different. One is the cause, the other the effect. One is the tree, the other is the fruit. We can readily conceive of a man being sorry for sin all his life, and yet dying without repentance. It is not improbable that many a self-deceived soul has gone to everlasting perdition because he was content with sorrow under the name of repentance. Even godly sorrow is not enough to insure pardon, unless it progresses to its legitimate issue. It worketh repentance. Here is the grand for godly sorrow. If it be genuine, it will always produce this result. If it come short of this, it is worthless, year worse, it is the death-working sorrow of the world under a borrowed title.
What then is this repentance in which godly sorrow eventuates? The word literally means a change of mind, a change of the prevailing purpose, and inclination of the mind. And when a man changes his mind, he changes his plan and conduct. Thus genuine repentance is never separate from outward reformation. The man who professes to be sorry for his sins, and yet does not sincerely and habitually endeavor to forsake them, is false to his God, and false to himself, -- for godly sorrow worketh repentance. It worketh a change of mind, a change of the moral disposition and inclinations and desires, and moral habits of the soul, and a corresponding change in the tenor of the outward life. Of this process the final end is salvation. Sorrow is bitter, repentance is difficult; but salvation is what shall I say? It is an everlasting mystery of blissful glory. It is beyond description, and therefore the Apostle adds these words, not to be repented of. This phrase may have reference, either to the repentance or the salvation.
The word here translated not to be repented of is very different from the former word repentance. It occurs in only one other place in the New Testament where it is said that the gifts and calling of God are without repentance. There it is generally understood to mean secure, certain, unchangeable. Accordingly it might here mean that salvation thus effected is unchangeable; once obtained, it is secure for ever; for we may be well persuaded that neither death nor life, nor angels, no principalities, nor powers nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus our Lord. More probably, however, it refers to repentance, and means not to be regretted.
In this the Apostle has declared that invariable experience of all true penitents. There may have been victims of delusion, who in the black midnight of apostasy, have regretted that they ever united with the visible church of God without a spark of true religion. Many doubtless have regretted that they mistook the dangerous sorrow of the world for godly sorrow. But let the enemies of religion, and all ingenious antiquarian skeptics roll out and sift all the confessions, and pry into all the secrets of the universal scroll of history. They will search in vain for any man who has for a moment repented of genuine repentance.
When will a man repent of that? When he is struggling to be free from his sin because it is his worst enemy? As soon would a man repent of his fear while he was fleeing from the jaws of a roaring lion. Will he repent of it while he lives, rejoicing in the favor of that God whos frown rests upon the unbeliever; rejoicing in communion with Him whose loving kindness is better than life; rejoicing in that peach of conscience which the world can neither give nor take away; rejoicing in hope of the glory of God? Will he repent of it in the hour of death, when a new smile of heavenly love falls gently on him, and he exclaims to the praise of divine grace, I have fought a good fight; I have finished my course; henceforth there is laid up for me a crown of righteousness?
Will he repent of it when his transported spirit enters the gate of the celestial city, while a welcoming flood of light and music lifts him gently into the very presence of his heavenly Father? Will he repent of it when he sees his name in the Lambs book of Life? Will he repent of it when the crown is placed upon his brow and the harp is in his hand? Will he repent of it when his voice sells up spontaneously, and to his own rapturous amazement, harmoniously into the great choral song of redemption? Will he ever, ever in the lapse of ages, sit down wearied with the joys of heaven, tired of the beatific vision, and regret that he repented of his sins?
Converse.*
*This word is retained in its solitariness, as
a specimen of the suggestive terms frequently employed by Mr. Kirkpatrick in
his sermons, and especially there close.
With an unfettered spirit he addressed his exhortations to his hearers. Much of his power was manifested in these
extemporaneous appeals. Editor.
VI.
DO YE NOW BELIEVE?
Do ye now
believe? John xvi.31
The saviour knew the hearts of all. He needed not that any one should testify of man, for he himself knew what was in man. Yet he often asked questions. He did so for the benefit of others. He suggested questions which his disciples might repeat to one another and to themselves, with the design of bringing their own experience under review, and in order to show them the state of their own hearts through the candid answers of their own consciences. Under this category comes the question now before us. It was addressed to the disciples immediately after a decided profession, upon their part, of intelligent confidence in him. As the case often is, this question expresses different shades of meaning according to the emphasis with which it is pronounced. By looking at its different phases, we may, by the blessings of God, obtain varied instruction and profit. The original emphasis, or precise statement of the question as uttered by the Saviour, can hardly be determined with certainty; but we shall not fail, surely, to include it, if we duly consider the natural and profitable variations of the inquiry which accord with the context on the one hand, and with certain common varieties of human experience on the other.
I. We may understand this question as having reference to the reality of faith, to saving faith as distinguished from other grades of belief. Do ye now believe, in the highest sense; in the gospel sense? Shortly before these words were uttered, in his interview with the disciples, Christ had made this declaration, A little while, and ye shall not see me; and again a little while, and ye shall see me; because I go to the Father. Then said some of his disciples among themselves, what is this that he saith unto us, a little while. We cannot tell what he saith. Jesus followed with an explanation of his saying, and the explanation ended thus, I came forth from the Father and am come into the world; again, I leave the world and go to the Father. This explanation was unasked. Jesus perceived their need of it, and their desire for it, and to their astonishment had precisely met that desire. They replied, Lo now speakest thou plainly, and speakest no proverb. Now we are sure that thou knowest all things, and needest not that any man should ask thee; by this we believe that thou camest forth from God. Jesus answered in substance thus; Ye believe that I have an insight into the heart; ye believe that I came forth from God; but do you exercise an implicit trust in me as your only and all-sufficient Saviour? The question in this form comes home to us. Belief in the Scriptures, as the word of God, is indeed indispensable to salvation. It is the first step, without which, most assuredly, the goal cannot be reached. No man who rejects the Bible can go to heaven, whether he be a heathen groping in darkness, or an infidel blind in the midst of light. Therein, the way of life is made known. Without it that way is unknown, and how can a man travel to the region of immortal bliss unless he know the way? It is in vain that men talk about the religion of nature, or the light of reason, or special revelations, or the eternal verities that are latent in the consciousness, or the claims of human virtue, or the untrammeled goodness of God, which must by a logical necessity, confer happiness upon all men. All religion is as unstable and useless, for everlasting purposes, as chaff, except the religion of the Bible. You, doubtless, believe in the Bible, but that is not enough. Though your convictions in this respect be unwavering; though you may be able to defend them with impregnable arguments; though you may be accustomed to maintain them with reasons as familiar to you as household words, and as strong as the testimony of the senses; still the question recurs, Do you believe? Important, essential as it is, yet comparatively, a mere faith in the evidences of Christianity may be regarded as no faith at all, and as though that were entirely beneath the view, it may still be asked, do you now believe? Not, do you believe the Scriptures? But do you believe in the Saviour?
It is worth our while to dwell upon this point, plain as it is, because such a dangerous practical mistake is so commonly made just here. So many who would shrink with horror from the dismal abyss of infidelity, are yet satisfied with a mere nominal Christianity; so many yielding the assent of their understandings merely, are resting in a false and perilous security. You might not only believe the Scriptures, commit them all to memory, and choose to die with the well-worn volume beneath your head, and yet, if you went no farther, if you did not repent, and discard your own righteousness, and receive the Saviour, your everlasting experience would be but the fulfillment of that awful denunciation, He that believeth not shall be damned.
And there is another thought in connection with this, which we cannot overlook. Your acquaintance with the word of God, if not followed by a saving faith, will enhance your condemnation. That servant which knew his Lords will, and prepare not himself, neither did according to his will, shall be beaten with many stripes; while he that knew not and did commit things worthy of stripes, shall be beaten with few. Do you doubt it? Do you hesitate about the application of it? Go ye and learn what this meaneth, Unto whomsoever much is given, of him will much be required.
The disciples had just declared their faith in the divinity of Christ. Now we are sure that thou knowest all things, and needest not that any man should ask thee. Omniscience is an attribute of Deity alone. It cannot belong to any creature. To believe, as the disciples did, that Jesus knoweth all things is to believe that he is Divine. This is essential to salvation. The Scriptures make it an express condition; Who is he that overcometh the world, but he that believeth that Jesus is the Son of God? But this is not enough. The remarks just made upon the foregoing topic would be applicable here. Here is the same danger of false security, and even a greater danger. You may believe that Jesus is the Son of God; you may admire his exhibitions of the Godhead; you may admire the glorious perfection of his character; that admiration may even be such as to prompt you to imitate, in some respects, his beautiful example, and yet, in reality, you may reject him and perish. O, be not satisfied with correct intellectual apprehensions of the Saviour! Cast away your own righteousness; abandon every scheme of salvation by works; receive the Saviour; embrace him with love; with a sense of your lost condition cast yourself into his arms for safety; banish every other hope of salvation that would cheat your soul of heaven; with humility, and penitence, and simple implicit trust, rely upon Him; give him your heart and all your powers; give yourself unreservedly to him to be saved by his grace, and to be used for his glory. In this sense, do ye now believe?
II. We may understand this question as intended to remind us of the possibility of being self-deceived, and to incite us to a renewed investigation of the matter. Do ye now believe? Are you assured of that? Let us not repel the inquiry as an uncharitable insinuation; but aware of our liability to err even in so vital a matter, let us humbly and sternly ask ourselves the question, Do I indeed believe? In order to answer this correctly, let us look for the Scriptural evidences of genuine faith.
It is the gift of God; it is wrought in us by his Holy Sprit; and there are certain exercises antecedent and preparatory to the introduction and exercise of faith. (1). Illumination. This is the first requisite, in time, if not in importance. When Christ sent Paul to preach to the Gentiles, his commission was in these words: To open their eyes, and to turn them from darkness to light, and from the power of Satan unto God, that they may receive forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them which are sanctified by faith that is in me. How can a man receive Christ while he is blind, or in darkness? If we have not been enlightened we have not believed. It is comparatively easy to determine whether we have been enlightened; if so, our views of sin, and holiness, of truth and error, of justice and the mercy of God in Christ have been vastly changed. If we regard these things as we formerly did, we have not been enlightened; if our views are not materially changed, we have sad reason to fear that our illumination has been only a hallucination; for, as one* has well said, If God has opened our
*Flavel.
Eyes by saving illumination, we will find as great a difference betwixt our former and present apprehensions of sin and danger as betwixt a painted lion upon the wall or a sign-post, and the real living lion that meets us roaring in the way.
(2). Conviction, also, must precede faith. The Sprit first convinces of sin, then of righteousness. Repent and believe, is the invariable form of the command. Men must have some sick days and restless nights for sin before they rightly close with Christ by faith. True, convictions are more pungent and distressing in some cases than others; some are left to writhe in agony for days, or weeks, but this is not the experience of every true convert. This is not necessary, not indispensable. And yet if we have not been thoroughly convicted of sin; if we have not seen our exposure to divine vengeance with alarm; if we have not looked upon sin with abhorrence; if we have not looked upon our own sins with deep contrition; if we have not come to a practical willingness and determination to forsake sin, then, we have not believed.
(3). Self-distrust, self-despair must also precede faith. Men and brethren, what shall we do? Exclaimed the stricken multitude upon the day of Pentecost. It was the language of men who felt that they were lost; who felt, in the depth of their souls, that they could not save themselves, and that there was no way of escape by any chance, or any possibility, through the sympathies and interposition of any creature on earth or in heaven. It is the language which must break forth from the fullness of every heart before it will rest upon Christ. No man will truly rely upon the Saviour until he is deeply and practically convinced of his own desperate condition. If we have not felt as really that we were lost, and as utterly distrustful of our own powers as though we were falling from an overhanging precipice, of almost measureless height, into the raging sea, then it is to be feared, we have not believed.
(4). The consequence of this sense of ruin, and absolute helplessness must be earnest, agonizing prayer to God for faith. Not an indifferent petition, with a lie in its bosom; not a mere spasmodic shriek of anguish shaped into a prayer; but vehement, importunate, persevering supplication. One who is passing through a genuine experience of conversion will prostrate himself before the throne of grace, with the burden of some such prayer as this: Lord, help my unbelief, God be merciful to me a sinner, I am undone; O, give me Christ or I perish forever; deny me not; give me Christ if thou take away every earthly friend. Lead me to the cross, even though I should be compelled to bear the cross until I sink into death. Give me faith, even if thou take away, in return, everything I have; give me faith, even if thou take away my life. How can I let the go without thy blessing! If we have not been led to call upon God for faith, with all the earnestness of which our souls were capable, then, it is to be feared, we have not believed.
Let us look further at some of the effects of genuine faith. (1). One is sincere gratitude; a melting of the heart under the apprehensions of grace and mercy. Who can believe that Christ is able and willing to save him; who can contemplate the awful humiliation of the Son of God; who can trace his life of toil, and privation and suffering; who can behold him in the garden, in the midst of the maddened mob, on the cross, and believe that he suffered all that for him; who can believe that Jesus is actually bearing him in his arms above the scene of ruin, above the carnage of death, above the mighty sweep of wrath, upholding him in safety while the ministers of vengeance strive together in their ravages below, and carrying him up, up into the invigorating uncontaminated air; up, up into the purifying light of eternal rest, and sanctity and life; who can believe all this without unspeakable gratitude? Such thankfulness as cannot be awakened by any proofs of human friendship; such as cannot be awakened by the bestowment of any temporal good.
(2). Faith without works is dead. What doth it profit, my brethren, though a man say he hat faith, and have not works; can faith save him? Can such a faith save him? If a brother or sister be naked, and destitute of daily food, and one of you say unto them depart in peace, be ye warmed and filled, notwithstanding ye give them not those things which are needful to the body, what doth it profit? What is such love worth? What would the sufferer deem it, but a mockery of his misery? Even so, faith, if it does not prove its genuineness by works is dead, worthless, deceptive, dangerous. Faith without obedience is a dream. We might as well talk of a living tree in summer, without fruit or foliage; we might as well talk of a sun without light or heat. Paul speaks of the obedience of faith, almost as though the two were identical. If we do not make it the great business of our lives to do the will of Christ, then, assuredly, we have not believed.
(3). Faith works by love. It will show its energy in the heart by love to Christ, love to his cause, love to his followers. It works through love; it prompts not only to obedience but to a willing, cheerful discharge of duty. It manifests itself in the form of love, which yields its appropriate fruits. Would you be satisfied with the affection of a professed friend who did nothing for your welfare, manifested no sympathy with your feelings, no concern for your interests? Our love to God is an empty name, if it does not flow out into a life of cordial devotion to his services, and thus assert the genuineness of our faith.
(4). Faith purifies the heart. Other motives selfish, or legal, or moral, may cleanse the hands and may regulate the conduct, but they cannot purify the heart. Morality may partially conceal inward corruption, but it cannot remove it. While the Holy Spirit is the efficient cause, faith is the instrument of purification. Where unholy passions rage and reign; where the natural corruption remains undiminished; where the sin sores are still festering with unabated virulence; where the heart is not purer than it was, there is no true faith.
(5). Faith overcomes the world, The world in this sense, is an enemy to be conquered. We must overcome the inordinate influences of its honors, and treasures, and pleasures, and decorations, and friendship. We must overcome our fear of the frowns, and rage, and contempt of worldly men. It is faith that does this. If the world has hitherto overcome us, we have not yet believed. If we have not overcome the world, we have not rightly believed.
Such are the evidences of saving faith. In view of them the solemn question recurs to us, Do ye now believe? Let us not shrink from it; let us not repel it; let us repeat it to ourselves, and search our experience for the answer.
III. This question may be understood as rebuking a former want or weakness of faith. Before this particular interview with his disciples, Christ had sufficiently manifested his character as a ground of confidence. They had believed, but their faith had been weak. Upon this new and striking display of his omniscience, they exclaimed Now we are sure. Is not our faith produced, or awakened, and renewed sometimes by special and remarkable exhibitions of his power and mercy? Such a marked increase of faith presupposes former doubt; at such a time the Saviour saith unto us, Do ye now believe? Ye had before abundant reason to believe; ye have always reason; why should your faith pass through such frequent vacillations? Why should it waiver and recover, fail and revive, wane and wax, so much? Why do ye not always believe more firmly, without extraordinary causes? Do we not deserve this rebuke for our habitual or frequent deficiency in this particular?
IV. This question may be understood as an admonition not to boast of our faith presumptuously, but to beware lest it should fail in the hour of trial. This was most probably the original design of the inquiry. Jesus answered them Do ye now believe? Behold the hour cometh, yea, is no com, that ye shall be scattered, every man to his own, and shall leave me alone! An so it came to pass; when he was arrested they all forsook him and fled. Let us profit by that; Do ye now believe? Be not to well satisfied with your present faith; when it shall be weighed in the balance, it may be found wanting; at the time of severe testing, it may fail. Lest it should fail, let us seek to have it strengthened. Let us not be content with what we have; let us cry out frequently and earnestly in prayer, Lord, increase our faith. Enable us to stand in the evil day, lest we be scattered, and leave thee alone! Our trials are many; we need much faith. It is the gift of God; conscious of our dependence upon him for it, let us not cease to seek importunately for more and more faith.
Unconverted friends, It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners. God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son that whosoever believeth in Him might not perish, but have everlasting life. He has given himself a sacrifice; the sacrifice has been accepted; the foundation of Gospel hopes is as firm as eternal truth. Do ye now believe? Witness the love of Jesus; behold his condescension in the manger, his life of labor and heavenly kindness; see him in his agony; counting blood-like drops upon his brow; see him on the cross; hear him groan; see the light of life fading away from his eye of innocence; Do ye now believe?
Witness the power of Jesus; see him opening blind eyes to the streaming light; hear him speaking to sad souls which deafness had long kept shut up in their silent cells away from every accent of sympathy and every cadence of melody; hear him calling Lazarus from the tomb, and driving foul spirits into darkness with a word, and rebuking to silence the mad sea; behold him folding up and laying aside the cerements of death and coming forth from the sepulcher as the resurrection and the life; Do ye now believe?
He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life; he that believeth not the Son shall not see life, but the wrath of God abideth on him. Do ye now believe? Not now? Not yet? When then will ye believe? What additional reason, proof, and motive do you demand? There is reason enough, proof enough, motive enough; they are high as heaven, deep as hell, vast as eternity. Why will ye not believe? Why not now? Now is the accepted time, this is the day of salvation.
VII.
THE SEVERE DENIAL OF SELF.
If thy hand offend
thee, cut it off. . . . If thy foot offend thee, cut it off. . . . And if thine
eye offend thee, pluck it out.
Mark ix. 43, 45,
47
When the Christian courage of Cranmer was brought fairly to the test of persecution it gave 2way, and in his timidity he signed an instrument retracting the protestant sentiments he had avowed. Soon after, by the grace of God repented of his recantation, and determined again, with more than his former firmness, to advocate the cause of Christ, if need be, at the sacrifice of life. When he was brought to the stake, deeply grieved on account of his late defection, he deliberately thrust his right hand into the flames, saying, that hand which did the wicked deed, shall suffer first; that unworthy hand! That was a strong expression of his self-condemnation and repentance, and a noble testimony in favor of the cause to which he was a martyr; but although it conformed so nearly to the letter of the text, it was not strictly an exemplification of its spirit.
The descendants and co-religionists of those who put Cranmer to death, fast often, afflict their bodies and make sacrifices, and perform difficult works, and pay large sums, and enslave themselves to the power of priestcraft, in order to secure the pardon of their sins, and work out their salvation meritoriously; but that is very far from complying with the sense of the injunction in our text. Some, yes, great multitudes have lacerated their bodies, and subjected themselves to constant physical suffering, in one form or another, in order to bring their unholy propensities into subjection, and free their souls from the evil which they supposed originated, and held its dominion in their bodies. This, of course, is still farther from the meaning of the Saviour.
If we could merit salvation by literally cutting off our right hand, it would infinitely compensate the sacrifice. If a mans eyes were the source and seat of sin, he might well afford to pluck it out literally, to get rid of such an enemy. But, alas! The seat of sin is deeper; it is not so easily reached; and when reached, it can neither be cut off nor plucked out by a physical act. It is so identified with the soul that it cannot be separated from it, except by the thorough change that is wrought in regeneration, and the process of sanctification carried on by the Almighty Spirit of God. But the Saviour does not refer in these words directly to the eradication of sin as a principle, but rather to acts of sin, instruments of sin, occasions of sin, and the indulgence of sin.
Let not this be misunderstood; it is not intimated that he refers solely to outward reformation, apart from inward sanctification; but he refers to outward reformation as indicative of the sanctification of the heart, and as a reacting means under God, of promoting that sanctification. The holier men are at heart, the less sinful will be their lives. The more they check, and deny their evil passions and desires, the more those passions and desires will be weakened, and the more nearly they will be brought to destruction. Accordingly when the Scriptures enjoin holy living, they imply the idea of holiness of heart; and when they inculcate holiness, they include the whole duty of holy living. So, in the passage before us the Saviour refers primarily and directly to the occasions of sin, those things which lead to sin, but through these he refers also to the actual indulgence of sin. For example, when he says, avoid those thing which lead to covetousness, he says, in the most emphatical way, abstain from covetousness. And, therefore, in this discourse, we may cross and re-cross at pleasure this line of distinction between the external and the internal, and speak to the same purpose about stumbling blocks, and about evil passions, about any thing which conflicts with the everlasting interests of the soul. If thy hand offend thee, cut it off. For convenience of arrangement, the hand and foot and eye, may each be regarded as representing with more or less accuracy, a distinct class of sins and stumbling-blocks.
The hand, as the ordinary instrument of work, suggests (1) that class of passions and desires which develop themselves into deeds of iniquity, together with those deeds themselves. Light has come into the world, but men love darkness rather than light, because their deeds are evil. If we, through the Spirit do mortify the deeds of the body we shall live. We must put off the old man with his deeds. For all the workers of iniquity shall be scattered; the terrible sentence at last will be, Depart from me ye that work iniquity. All those positive acts in which the natural man takes pleasure, contrary to the will of God, we must renounce. They are too numerous to be specified; they are too various to be classified; but whatever they be we must abandon them. That hand which works iniquity, we must cut it off. We all have by nature a spirit of rebellion against God. The carnal mind is enmity against God. The natural man desires not the knowledge of his ways. He deems the service of the Lord an uninviting and a hard service. Jehovah proclaims his law amid the thunders and lightnings of Sinai, but notwithstanding his high authority, and those terrible sanctions, men willfully and habitually disobey it. The nations rage, and the people imagine a vain thing; the kings of the earth set themselves and the rulers take counsel together against the Lord and against his anointed, saying, Let us break their bands asunder, and cast away their cords from us. The Lord Jehovah speaks, but men refuse to hearken, and pull away the shoulder, and stop their ears. This is his testimony concerning them; I have called and ye refused, I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at naught all my counsel, and would none of my reproof. Such is the natural disposition of man; he is disobedient, self-willed, opposed to God, opposed to his law, and opposed to his gospel.
A familiar Scriptural phrase for rebellion is the defiatory uplifting of the hands. This spirit of opposition we must renounce; this high hand of rebellion, we must cut it off. Even after we become reconciled to God through his Son, our conformity to his will is liable to many disturbances; our spirit of submission is prone to fickleness. While prosperity cheers us, while the current of our affairs runs smoothly, while our health is untouched, while those we love are preserved, our love to God is placid and constant. But the aspect of providence changes; some heavy affliction comes upon us, perhaps, taking us by surprise, and up goes the hand of rebellion. We must cut it off; It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good. It was predicted concerning Ishmael, His hand will be against every man, and every mans hand against him. It is a figurative mode of expressing a spirit of contention, unfriendliness, a disposition to injure others. This disposition, though pre-eminently characteristic of Ishmael, has been by no means confined to him. In a less degree it belongs to many; in some degree to all. Selfishness belongs to human nature everywhere; and not only do men seek their own welfare, and endeavor to secure their own interests first; not only do they seek their own, often, to the culpable neglect of others; selfishness is not always satisfied even with that it often prompts them to take advantage of others, to strengthen or distinguish, or enrich or aggrandize, or in some way aid themselves at the expense of others. It often begets a jealousy of others, makes light of them, throws obstacles in their way, defeats their plans, and devises ways to do them wrong, in order to accomplish its own ends. Nor is this form of selfishness the only instigator of opposition to neighbors. Sometimes men endeavor to injure others under the influence of revenge, sometimes even from malice, sometimes from prejudice. They not unfrequently do injure others without any such deliberate intention. They do it from a mere passion for gossiping; from a restless disposition to busy themselves about other mens matters; from a censorious spirit; from a morbid indulgence of suspicion, or from an excessive fondness for ridicule. All these injurious propensities we are bound to mortify. This hand of opposition to others, we must cut it off; As ye would that men should do unto you, do ye even so to them.
The most frequent use of the hand, viz.: in the act of grasping, is significant of another propensity of our nature which we must subdue. The love of gain is not rare; it is not unfrequently the ruling passion; perhaps few are wholly free from it. If indulged, it leads to a multitude of sins; frauds, great and little, embezzlement, forgery, robbery, commercial dishonesty, petty cheating. Many a young man has it, seized and branded even in his youth with the stigma of a peculator or forger. Many a man who enjoyed the confidence of the community, and sustained a fair reputation for integrity, has been hurried by it into that wholesale robbery which men are wont to call by some such name as defalcation, and overwhelmed with lasting infamy. They who will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts which drown men in destruction and perdition.
Not only does it lead to many sins; in itself it is forbidden, it is dangerous. Christ said unto his hearers, Take heed and beware of covetousness; for a mans life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth. And he spake a parable unto them saying, The ground of a certain rich man brought forth plentifully; and he thought within himself, saying, What shall I do? Because I have no room where to bestow my fruits. And he said, This will I do; I will pull down my barns and build greater; and there will I bestow all my fruits and my goods, and I will say to my soul, Soul, thou hast much goods laid up for many years; take thine ease, eat, drink, and be merry. But God said unto him, Thou fool! This night thy soul shall be required of thee; then whose shall those things be which thou hast provided? So is he that layeth up treasure for himself, and is not rich toward God. This grasping hand this hand of covetousness we must cut it off; it will grasp too much, it will fill our bosoms with burning coals. If a man is engaged in any business, which from its very character interferes with the welfare of his soul, it behooves him to abandon it. Or if he is engaged in business so extensively, if he is so engrossed with it, that he cannot find time nor opportunity to attend properly to his spiritual concerns, he is wrong. His excessive devotion to business is a sinful form of worldliness. It is endangering his soul; it is hurrying him on through the bustle and turmoil, and shifting crowds of a great thoroughfare down toward the region of everlasting unrest. If he is wise he will abandon it; If thy hand offend thee, cut it off.
And if thy foot offend thee, cut it off. As the feet are the instruments of locomotion, the word here suggest all that class of sins which consist in transgressions of the prohibitory commands of God. He has marked out certain limits beyond which we may not go. Those things which induce us to transcend these limits we must discard; our excesses we must forego. We are prone to wander from the right way; that disposition to go astray we must check and subdue. Many things around us present strong attractions to draw us away from the paths of duty; those things we must renounce; those attractions we must resist. My son, says Solomon, If sinners entice thee, consent thou not. Walk not thou in the way with them; refrain thy foot from their path.
One great cause of the ruin of many, is their fondness for the company of those who devise mischief, and stimulate one another to evil, and exert a corrupting influence; that fondness we should check at the sacrifice of social partialities. If need be, even at the sacrifice of the friendship of those who are dangerous companions; Go not in the way of evil men. Perhaps they will think it strange that ye run not with them to the same excess of riot, speaking evil of you. Ah, this dread of contempt and scorn, this false sense of same, this fear of men; how many has it destroyed; cast it away; it will lead you into a multitude of sins; it is an offense; it will prove your ruin. Whoever is ashamed of Christ, of him will Christ be ashamed. This false pride, natural as it is, deny it, subdue it; whatever they may say, Go not with the multitude to do evil.
If thy foot offend thee, cut it off.
And if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out. Let us take a suggestion or two from this. The eye, in the style of the sacred writers, is often used for the understanding. Pride of reason, a disposition to rely upon our own judgment, and to make it the ultimate standard of truth and right, is a common characteristic of men. And it is both sinful and dangerous. It begets impatience of restraint; it fortifies us against salutary reproofs; it leads us to think more highly of ourselves than we ought to think; it leads to neglect of the true standard of truth in the Scriptures. If often leads to perversions of the truth, and not unfrequently to skepticism and infidelity. The admonition of the Saviour is, subdue it, reject it; agreeable as it is to the depraved heart, abandon it. Cast down imaginations, and every high thing that exalteth itself against the knowledge of God, and bring into captivity every thought to the obedience of Christ. Lean not to thine own understanding.
The eye, as the instrument of vision, suggests among other things our undue readiness to perceive the faults of others. And why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brothers eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye? Judge not, that ye be not judged. This morbid disposition to judge, this censorious spirit; let us renounce it, it is an evil eye, let us pluck it out.
The love of pleasure often proves a stumbling block, especially to the young. It stimulates to excessive indulgence; it often prompts to the enjoyment of sinful amusements; it weakens the attractions of religion; it sadly interferes with heavenly-mindedness; it connives at the deceitfulness of the world; it divorces the heart from the Saviour. As the Bright jeweled gateway of delights, as the chief inlet of pleasure to the soul, the eye may fitly represent this love of pleasure. It is prone to extravagance; it demands our constant vigilance; let us check it; let us keep it by force if need be, within the restraints of true Christian consistency. The undue love of pleasure, the love of sinful pleasure; let us divest ourselves of it; let us cast it away; If thine eye offend thee, pluck it out.
Now it is plain that the way to heaven is narrow; the gate is strait. And, perhaps, some have been thinking already, that the sacrifices to be made are many and great. So they are many, and in the view of the natural man, they are great. The gospel does not conceal that; the chief peculiarity of the text is its recognition of the fact. If thy hand or foot lead thee into sin, cut it off; indispensable as it seems to your enjoyment, cut it off; painful as the operation may be, cut it off. Additional intensity is given to the idea, by the very repetition of it; if thine eye offend thee, or lead thee into sin, pluck it out; hesitate not for the present suffering, but pluck it out; though i6t spoil half the value of the light, and mar half the beauty of the world, pluck it out. It is not implied herein, that everything which we are called upon to abandon is as valuable as a hand or an eye, -- nor that every sacrifice which we are called upon to make will be as painful as amputation; but it is taught that if they were we would still be called upon to bear the self denial. It is taught that whatever self denial may be required, more or less, we are not to shrink from it; that we are to part with our sins and stumbling blocks, however we may delight in them, by nature, however closely they may be connected with our evil hearts. Now, if there be something repulsive about this, we must remember that this surgery is for the saving of life. Who would not rather lose a limb, if it were necessary, than his life? It is better for thee, in a spiritual sense, to enter half into heaven than to go with the whole body into hell . . . .
These unholy things, we shall not need in heaven. . . . .
They will do us no good in the world of woe. . . . .
VIII.
LESSONS FROM THE MANNA.
And did all eat the
same spiritual meat. 1 Corinthians x.
3.
For a purpose which will be brought to view in the sequel, the Apostle reminds the Corinthians of several prominent particulars in the remarkable history of the ancient Israelites. Moreover, brethren, I would not that ye should be ignorant, how that all our fathers were under the cloud, and all passed through the sea; and were all baptized unto Moses in the cloud and in the sea; and did all eat the same spiritual meat. In an early stage of our language the word meat was used in a much more general sense than that to which it is now usually limited; like the word which it is here employed to translate it meant food in general. There can be no doubt that the meat hear spoken of was the manna with which the children of Israel were fed in the wilderness. Why it is called spiritual meat is not so easily determined; as it was designed for the nourishment of the body, we must depart at once from the ordinary meaning of the word spiritual. Some have understood it to mean refined, in opposition to gross; others have supposed it to be so called because it typified spiritual things; others, because it was miraculously bestowed immediately from God, without the intervention of physical agencies. Spiritual has various phases of meaning. It is used in opposition to physical, to carnal, to temporal; it is used to denote that which belongs to the spirit of man, or that which proceeds directly from the Spirit of God. This last general idea seems to have been the one which led the Apostle to call the manna spiritual meat.
It may not be amiss, here, to refresh our memories concerning the manna itself, and the historical circumstances of its first appearance. When the provisions which the children of Israel had brought with them from the land of Egypt were consumed, they at once became apprehensive of starvation, and began to murmur. The Lord did not, at that time, punish them for their sinful distrust and complaints, but promised them, through Moses, a speedy supply of their wants. The next morning, when the dew was gone up, behold upon the face of the wilderness there lay a small round thing, small as the hoar-frost upon the ground. There was a great profusion of these whitish particles which are compared to coriander seeds, and to pearls. And when the children of Israel saw it, they said one to another, it is manna, for they knew not what it was. Or, they said one to another man hu, what is it? That question, doubtless, ran throughout the camp, man hu? Man hu? And that seems to have been the origin of the name manna. Or the words man hu, may be translated this is a portion. The Lord had previously said unto them, I will rain bread for you, and the people shall go out and gather a certain rate every day. Then when they saw it as they knew no specific name for it, they naturally exclaimed this is a portion, and hence it was called manna, that which is given in prescribed portions.
In some parts of Arabia, and especially in the neighborhood of Mount Sinai, there is a natural substance, answering in some respects to the description which Moses has given to Manna. Indeed, it is called manna, undoubtedly on account of that resemblance. It is a gum which oozes from a kind of tamarisk tree during the month of June. Modern rationalists have endeavored to show, from that, that there was no miracle in the case, and that the Israelites merely collected the natural production of the region in which they were sojourning. But it may be answered first, that the natural manna is essentially different, in several particulars, from that which fell upon the camp of Israel. And secondly, supposing them to have been precisely the same, it could not have been less than a miracle that furnished it is such enormous quantities; for the entire produce of manna found in the whole peninsula of Arabia in a year would not be equal to a thousandth part of what was necessary to supply the host of Israel for one day; and if all the tamarisk trees in the world had been gathered together there they would not have furnished manna enough for the tenth part of the multitude, even while the yield continued, and that would have been only one month in the year.
The partial resemblance between the natural and miraculous manna is not wholly uninstructive. It is a confirmation of the miracle; it is in accordance with what we know of the ways of God. His miracles were not designed to startle and astonish men, but partly to convince them of his wisdom and power, and to show that he who wrought them was at the same time the God of nature. Hence there is in most of his miracles a combination of the natural and supernatural, the familiar and the extraordinary, which makes them more convincing than if they were wholly at variance with what we are accustomed to call nature. So when Christ came to feed the hungry multitudes who had gathered around him, he did not create some unknown or rare article of food, but inquired for what they had already, and increased their own loaves and fishes to an adequate supply. There was wisdom in that plan. The effect was doubtless greater and better than if there had been a much wider distinction apparent between the natural and the miraculous. So in the case before us, the force of the miracle is by no means diminished, but rather increased, by the fact that a substance in some respects similar to the manna is known to have existed, in a small quantity, in the same region.
There are two classes of lessons which we may learn from the manna in connection with its historical circumstances. The former, it teaches simply by way of illustration, in regard to the interests of the present life; the latter it teaches by way of typical signification, in regard to the higher interests of the soul. Let me simply allude to some of the former, and then dwell chiefly upon the latter.
In the eighth chapter of 2nd Corinthians, Paul refer refers to the distribution of the manna to enforce the duty of Christian liberality. For I mean not, said he, that other men be eased and ye burdened; but by an equality, that now at this time your abundance may be supply for their wants, that their abundance also may be a supply for your want; that there may be equality; as it is written, He that had gathered much had nothing over, and he that had gathered little had no lack. In that disposal of the manna by which wasteful excess was avoided on the one hand, and suffering on the other, and the wants of all were supplied, the Apostle perceived a plain lesson of Christian charity. Lest we should overlook it, he has pointed it out to us, and we shall do well to reduce it to judicious practice. If under the favor of heaven, we have gathered much, let us not turn away with cold hearts and closed hands, from those who, in the providence of God, have been able to gather but little and are suffering from want.
The giving of the manna may be regarded as illustrative of our dependence upon God for the supply of our temporal wants. Even those who acknowledge their dependence upon God for spiritual good, are prone to attribute their physical support to their own industry and prudence. Doubtless many of the children of Israel manifested the same self-confidence, -- but at last their ordinary resources failed, and their self trust was put to shame by the very mode of their deliverance. By thus teaching them, God has taught us confidently and gratefully to acknowledge our dependence upon him for temporal support, in prosperity as well as in adversity; to receive our worldly possessions as almoners upon his bounty, even though they do not come immediately from heaven, and to use them as his stewards.
Again, the manna became a mass of living corruption when it was unnecessarily hoarded up; we need not look to that fact for any authoritative teaching, but we may see it in an illustration of the folly of heaping up possessions, with an avaricious spirit, which instead of answering profitable uses, to the glory of God, will engender temptations and sorrows. Such instructions may be legitimately drawn from the occurrence in question considered as a part of Scripture history.
But considered as a part of the preparatory dispensation it was intended to teach lessons of a higher kind, and not merely to illustrate, but to typify more specific Gospel truths. On one occasion when the Jews were plying Jesus for some special sign, they enforced their plea by this reference, -- Our fathers did eat manna in the desert, as it is written he gave them bread from heaven to eat. Instead of complying with their unreasonable request for a sign, the Saviour seized that opportunity to instruct them in regard to the significancy of the event to which they had alluded. He replied, Moses gave you not that bread from heaven, but my Father giveth you the true bread from heaven. For the bread of God is he who cometh down from heaven and giveth life unto the world. The meaning of which is manifestly this; that was not the true spiritual bread from heaven, it was only a type of that; it prefigured me; I am the bread of life. The history of the giving and receiving of the manna assumes a new importance when we come to regard it as a type of Christ. With this view of it, let us select a few points of instruction.
I. The manna was in a peculiar sense, and most manifestly the gift of God. It was the product of no sanctioned means, or blessed endeavors upon the part of the needy. When the dew fell upon the camp in the night, the manna fell upon it. It came directly from the bountiful hand of Him who controls the operations of nature. In this it was fitly representative of Christ. As the Saviour, he is the gift of God, completely out of analogy with all his ordinary bestowments. He is emphatically the gift by grace. They who would be saved must receive him as such. Imagine a self-willed company of Israelites ploughing the sterile soil of the desert, and sowing the dust to raise manna. There is a fit representation of sinners laboring to obtain salvation without acceptance of Christ; upon the gracious terms of the gospel. Would the one have been pitiably absurd and futile? How then does the other appear? The bread of life comes down from heaven; no earthly toil, no natural process can produce it. Are there any who reject it, or hesitate to accept it because it is a gift, placing the stigma of helplessness upon human nature, and of worthlessness upon human merits? Let them picture to themselves a high-minded Israelite disdaining to stoop and pick up the manna because it did not grow upon trees which he himself had planted and nurtured. Let them follow the wandering host, till they stumble over the proud mans bleaching bones, lying where starvation left them. They who are saved are saved by grace. Let the righteous sing for ever, Thanks be unto God for his unspeakable gift. Let not our gratitude be checked by a single emotion of our gratitude be checked by a single emotion of self-complacency; the praise belongs unto God. Give unto him the glory due unto his name.
II. The manna was abundant as well as free. There was enough for all; even he who had gathered least had no lack. So is it with the bread of life; the grace of God in Christ is an ample supply for all the wants of all sinners. In him personally dwelt all the fullness of the Godhead; in his work were included all the requisites to complete and universal redemption. We know not that his sacrifice with any abatement, or any less suffering would have sufficed for the salvation of a single sinner; but this we know, that the sacrifice was adequate for all; -- that Christ as he is, is able to save to the uttermost, all that come unto God through him. Convicted sinners, while they assent to this, are sometimes disposed to modify their assent in regard to their own case. They say Yes, he is able to save all, but I cannot believe that he is willing to save me.
The point of analogy we are now considering is the abundance of the supply. It is adequate for every case and every peculiarity of destitution. The bread of life is inexhaustible. There is a mystery here, a blessed, glorious mystery; it is enough for us to know that each of us may receive Christ, and all the blessings that attend him, and yet the bread of life will be left undiminished for other famishing souls, now and hereafter.
III. The manna scattered in profusion round about the camps was within the reach of all. So is the bread of life. Suppose one of the Israelites had died of starvation while his fellows were living luxuriantly upon the heaven-sent food, free alike to all; how much sympathy for him could you awaken in your heart? He would not receive the means of sustenance that lay at his feet, and so he died; he was to be blamed more than pitied, you would say. Therefore, thou are inexcusable, O man, whosoever thou art that judgest; for wherein thou judgest another, thou condemnest thyself, for thou that judges doest the same thing. The bread of life is just as really within the reach of each of us as the manna was within their reach. If we reject it, or neglect it; if we do not want it, and will not have it, then we shall die with the stifling consciousness of self-destruction, and our only complaints at last will be self-reproaches.
IV. Although the manna was within the reach of all, still it was worthless for their purposes until it was voluntarily received and appropriated. Jehovah might have sustained them by his immediate agency; it would have required no greater expenditure of power to sustain them without food, than to supply food by a miracle. He chose the latter; it was more in accordance with the usual economy of his works, and it served to teach a valuable lesson in connection with the type of Christ. The bread of life must be voluntarily received and appropriated; we must accept and live upon Christ by faith. How long could the Israelites have nourished and sustained themselves by gazing at and admiring the manna as it lay like pearls sprinkled on the ground? Just long enough to starve. Think what you may of Christ; treat him as you may; it will be of no avail, unless you receive him by an appropriating faith as the only bread of life.
V. The manna was given daily. There must needs have been a constant exercise of faith in the providence of God. The people were left to believe, from day to day, that Jehovah would continue to renew the supply as long as it was needed. They were left to look for it with a trusting spirit. So the child of God must look for new measures of spiritual nourishment and strength day by day. He can lay up no supply of grace for the future. With a spiritual, as well as a physical reference, he must use this seasonable prayer, Give me this day my daily bread. If they attempted to hoard up manna for the morrow, their store soon became a mass of corruption; and so if the Christian abandon the divinely-appointed method of continual seeking for new supplies; if he think that in his past or present experiences there is a superabundance of nourishment, and endeavor to live, for awhile, upon that, he will soon find that his very mercies in their fullness have become sources of trouble, and temptation and crimination. Peter found it so; he was satisfied with the strength he had acquired; he deemed it sufficient to meet his future trials, and confidently exclaimed Though all men forsake thee, yet will not I; but, afterwards, he found that the store of strength upon which he had reckoned not only failed, but through his undue reliance upon it, even proved to have been the means of aggravating his sin. O, let us never imagine that we have grace enough for another day, but ever seek new supplies as new wants repeatedly occur.
That was not a mere arbitrary arrangement by which the manna was bestowed in daily portions. It was full of typical significance. The true bread of life was to be sought in daily portions for daily necessities. Alas, for those who fail to apply the instruction! They will find sad days of hungering and weakness!
Such are the points of analogy between the typical food of the Israelites and the true bread that cometh down from heaven. But a just view of the comparison requires, at least, an additional glance at the vast diversities, between the type and the antitype. The one was for the body, and the other was for the soul; the one for a brief sojourn in the wilderness, the other for all time and eternity; the one was confined to a few, the other is offered to the world; the one was to maintain and prolong life, and the other to impart it; the life maintained by the one was a mere natural life, that imparted by the other is spiritual and eternal life. Said Christ, Your fathers did eat manna in the wilderness, and are dead; this is the bread which cometh down from heaven, that a man may eat thereof and not die. Let us confine our attention, for a moment, to this one phase of the contrast. It is particularly suggested by the connection in which we find the text. The enjoyment of the manna is here classed among the external advantages and distinctions of the ancient Jews; the inadequacy of those outward advantages alone, for the purposes of salvation, is what the Apostle aims to set before us. Moreover, brethren, I would not that ye should be ignorant how that all our fathers were under the cloud, and all passed through the sea; and were all baptized unto Moses in the cloud and in the sea; and did all eat the same spiritual meat; and did all drink the same spiritual drink: (for they drank of that spiritual Rock that followed them: and that Rock was Christ.) But with many of them God was not well pleased: for they were overthrown in the wilderness. Now these things were our examples, to the intent we should not lust after evil things, as they also lusted. The sum and substance of those admonitions, the great lesson to be learned from those examples, is that it is dangerous, it is fatal to rely upon mere external privileges, however numerous and distinguished. In addition to all their other peculiar favors, they were fed with that bread from heaven which was the type of the blessed Savior; for those who rested there, it was all of no avail. And now, since the type has been fulfilled, it is no less true, that the outward privileges of the Christian dispensation, with all their number and magnitude, are in themselves of no avail. Gospel hearers are in danger of this false trust. . . .
Professing Christians have need to take advantage of the same admonitions. Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall. We may eat the bread of the sacrament and yet share the fate of the children of Israel, against whom the Apostle warns us. We must feed by faith upon the Son of God. It is an inward exercise. Let us give diligence to assure ourselves that we are living upon this spiritual participation of the true bread of life.
And, in regard to others, let us not rest satisfied because they have free access to the means of grace. . . .
IX.
THE DUTY OF SPECIFIC PRAYER.
What wilt thou
that I shall do unto thee? Luke
xviii.41.
These are the words of the Lord Jesus. Then, whether we regard him as divine, or only as the commissioned, faithful, and unerr8ing representative of God, sent to manifest his character, this may be understood as the language of God. Or, more definitely, it may and must be understood as characteristic of the compassion and mercy of God. The question was addressed to a suppliant. It was not the expression of a sudden and temporary emotion of pity, but was a manifestation of that sympathizing and compassionate spirit which belonged to the very nature, and pervaded the whole life of the Saviour. We need not regard it therefore, by any means, as confined to the circumstances in which it was uttered. Here speaks the tender mercy of God; -- the unfailing and unchanging mercy of God, for all ages, and for all persons. The poor blind man at Jericho was a sort of type of humanity. He is lost to view in the midst of the poverty stricken, helpless, groping race. When Christ spoke to him, God ion Christ was speaking to us all, -- and this address we may appropriate without presumption, as the language of our heavenly Father to each of us, What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee?
In its most general sense, this is an invitation to pray. As such, it opens before us a theme too vast to be explored in a few minutes, at which we shall simply glance before proceeding to examine the peculiar and most striking feature of the text. In this heavenly invitation to pray, there is implied:
First, our dependence upon God. A sense of dependence belongs to the very nature of man as a self-conscious creature. Fellow-mortal, -- are you accustomed to deem yourself independent? Then take care of yourself; supply your own wants; hold your circumstances at your own disposal; carry out your own plans; baffle disappointment; never fail; replenish the wasting fountain of your life; never die; --or if you must die, -- then, when your earthly instruments of support are taken away, when your grasp is wrested from the things of sense, then buoy up your naked spirit in the boundless ocean of immaterial existence. You cannot do all this, -- you feel that you cannot.
One great misery of the heathen is this; -- that while he feels his dependence, and cannot banish that feeling, yet he knows not upon what, or upon whom, he must depend. One of the most precious felicities of our lot is that we know upon whom we must depend. And yet that would be but little more of a blessing than a calamity, if with all our felt dependence, we could not approach nor address him with confidence; -- or, if with all his control over us and our interests, he were known to us only as some distant personification of fate.
Secondly. There is implied a willingness upon the part of God to secure our welfare. An unintelligent sense of dependence is, in itself, humbling and distressing; but a sense of dependence upon the eternal God is ennobling to a creature and a sense of dependence upon our heavenly Father is soothing and cheering to a filial spirit. He is kind, he is merciful, he is gracious, he is willing to make our true and highest interest secure. The Bible is fraught with assurances of this, and God is faithful and true. Then, let it be said that we are helpless creatures, incapable of self-support; be it so, --yet our minds are relieved from torturing uncertainty, because we know Him in whom we live and move and have our being; and we may be as effectually relieved from fear as from uncertainty, because we know that he is our Father, as truly as our God.
But thirdly; this is by no means the limit of our privilege; these familiar thoughts have been suggested rather to prepare us for the contemplation of our highest privilege. We are permitted to draw near to his throne of grace, and implore his blessings; we are permitted to present our wants and ask for their supply. This, in itself, apart from its results, is the highest honor which a mortal can enjoy. For, let us remember, it is not merely to approach God, it is not merely to address him by permission and with acceptance; but it is confidently to ask favors at his hand. In this there is limited a much closer intimacy. In this there is implied a much greater condescension upon the part of God, and consequently much greater distinction upon our part; yea, in this there is implied, if it may be so expressed without irreverence, a kind of influence exerted by us upon the ever blessed Father of mercies. True, God is unchangeable; his purposes are no less so than his nature; our petitions can not avail to alter the determinations of his will. No matter; let us arrest that captious thought; we will not be led away by the questions of half-skeptical reason to discuss the doctrine of decrees.
The point for consideration now is simply the honor of the supplicant. God invites us to pray, he is sincere. The invitation is not mockery nor irony. To imagine that prayer is an unmeaning or useless ceremony is virtually to charge God with the cruelty of heaping sarcasm upon the needy and wretched. Since he is sincere prayer must effectual. Therefore confining our attention to the suppliant, we are brought right upon the conclusion that he is blessed with the same honor, the same in substance, as if his petitions did, in the most literal sense, exert a controlling influence upon the Dispenser of all good.
This leads me to remark, in the same general way, upon the benefit of prayer. One simple proof that it is of real advantage has already been suggested. It is that God has invited us to pray, and therefore prayer is effectual, because God cannot be the author of deception. No train of argumentation could add certainty or stability to that conclusion. But we are not left to rely upon that infallible inference alone; we may amass around it, in adamantine combination, promise upon promise, all direct, unmistakable, and confirmed by the seal of eternal truth.
How strange and dishonoring to God, that creature, who are so entirely dependent, should live so much as if they were self-dependent! God graciously asks What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee? and they virtually answer, We will provide for ourselves. How strange and dishonoring to God, that needy creatures who are so kindly invited to present their wants before the throne of grace, should treat that privilege with scorn or cold neglect! God graciously asks them What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee? And they virtually answer, It makes no difference, we will take what we can get, without thanksgiving, -- and do without that which we cannot get without asking. This is no caricature; it may be fairly said of those who will not pray, event when the Hearer of prayer invites them.
But let us pass from the general privilege and duty of prayer, to a particular characteristic of prayer suggested by the text. We are not only invited to pray, but we are invited to specify our wants. What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee? It is a remark frequently made, and with much justice, concerning the prayers which we are accustomed to offer in public, -- that they are made up too largely of generalities. It might be said, often, of those which we do not offer in public. Particularly of petition, and thanksgiving, and confession is a most desirable feature of prayer. Indeed the proper design of prayer is not fully answered without it. It is supposed to be the expression of our wants, -- and when men express their wants naturally, they express them definitely. When we desire a favor from a friend we do no go and simply ask him to accommodate us, but we tell him precisely what we want, we are specific; so we should be in our supplications to God. So we shall be if we are sincere and earnest, -- except in so far as we are under the influence of bad habits of prayer acquired in times of coldness and indifference; -- habits from which it will be well if the ardor of genuine, lively emotion release us. If we offer the same prayer in different states of mind, the conclusion is inevitable that our prayers do not express our state of mind, as they ought, -- and as they will, if we are honest and earnest, and untrammeled by burdensome forms.
It is a valid argument against prescribed forms of prayer that they do not meet with sufficient precision, the peculiarities and change of our conditions and wants; but the same becomes an argument of equal force, against extemporaneous prayers, when they are habitually the same in all circumstances. We ought to be specific in our prayers; not only when we meet together to pray for some distinctly specified object, but in our more private and ordinary supplications. If this is unimportant, then we might make one petition answer for ourselves, and one more for all the race besides, and the business of prayer would soon be completed. We might simply ask the Lord to grant us all needed good for this life and the life to come, and to adapt his mercies to the wants of all classes of men, and rest satisfied with that. But who does not feel that more is required. The very dissatisfaction that we feel in regard to grouping our desires under a few such comprehensive requests, is an acknowledgement of the importance of this rule, -- that we should be definite in our petitions. What wilt thou that I should do unto thee?
If we have special wants, let us give them special mention. Nothing is detracted from the importance of this rule by the fact that God is perfectly acquainted with all our peculiar circumstances and wants. This objection would lie equally against all prayer. If he is acquainted with our wants in particular, so he is acquainted with them in general. Why then express our wants in comprehensive terms, if not in detail? The Saviour well knew the condition of the blind beggar who sat by the way-side, and he intended to go and give him relief, but he did not see fit to do so until the sufferer had prayed. The blind man heard the noise of the multitude passing by, and asked what it meant, and they told him that Jesus of Nazareth was passing, and then he began to cry out, -- Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me; Jesus well knew what he needed, and what he sought, but he demanded more than such an indefinite petition. Instead of granting the boon at once, he asked him as though he had been wholly ignorant, What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee? The application of this has been anticipated; the lesson is that of specific prayer.
These considerations may serve to exhibit in a clearer light the advantages of secret prayer. In the closet that pointed question of the text can be more fully and freely answered than in the presence of others, however intimate. In the closet, there can be made explicit confessions of particular sins, which in the presence of others would be timidly hidden in the bosom of some general acknowledgement. There free utterance can be given to anxieties and fears which would be pent up by the restraints of any society. There we can pour forth, through the simple forms of unaffected supplication, peculiar wants and cherished desires, which in the presence of others would be lost to view in some comprehensive phrase, or vain repetitions. There, in short, there is a far more intimate, and satisfactory, and profitable communion between the suppliant spirit and the Hearer of prayer. Great indeed is the loss they suffer who neglect frequent, secret prayer, however often or long, or earnestly they may pray in the family or social circle; there they cannot be free or minute enough to secure the greatest good. What wilt thou that I should do unto thee? asks the Saviour. To answer to the best advantage, we must tell him secretly, and there tell him all.
There is expressed in these words of the Saviour a sublime consciousness of power and willingness to meet the requirements of any and every case. In this view, it is replete with consolation. The heart knoweth its own bitterness. Every man has his own peculiarities of character and condition; and it is in regard to them that he is always most solicitous. The question with him is not chiefly whether there is an adequate supply for the wants which are common to all, but whether any provision has been made for the particular exigency of his own case. All his ordinary wants combined sink into insignificance often, in comparison with some one pressing necessity; and then it matters little what abundance of other blessings may be accessible, so long as that indispensable one is beyond his reach. What great difference did it make to the blind wayfarer at Jericho, how skillfully Jesus of Nazareth could unstop the ears of the deaf, or how he could give faculties of speech to the dumb, or how he could raise the dead? He was not dead, nor dumb, nor deaf, but he was blind. The object of his longing was sight, he wanted some one who could open his eyes, and pour light into the dark chambers of his should; nothing else would have sufficed. If they had mad him king, he would still have been blind. What was any doer of mighty deeds to him, unless he could dissipate the suffocating darkness that had not only gathered densely around him, but had gone down into the very depths of his being? What wilt thou that I should do unto thee, said Jesus, and out of the excessive abundance of his heart, he abruptly answered, Lord that I may receive my sight.
An Arab had lost his way in the desert and was in danger of dying from hunger and thirst. After wandering long, he found one of the cisterns or water-pits out of which the pilgrims water their camels, and found a little leathern sack lying near it upon the sands. God be praised, said he, as he raised it up and felt of it; these are certainly dates or nuts, how I will quicken and refresh myself with these! In this sweet home he quickly opened the sack, saw what it contained, and then cried out with the utmost sadness, Alas, it is nothing but pearls! Have not your ardent longings been disappointed, many a time, in some way similar to that? Have you not some insatiable hungerings in the midst of the greatest abundance? Have you not some individual wants which pearls cannot satisfy, which the world cannot satisfy, which all the quick-eyed ingenuity, and faithful devotion of earthly friendship leave empty still? Even when our wants are but the common wants of humanity, yet we know our own so much more fully, and we feel them so much more sensibly, that they seem to be peculiar. Is there not, then a large store of consolation in this pointed question of the Saviour? It is like saying to each of us, If you have some special desire; if you are giving way before the pressure of some particular necessity, if some peculiar emergency has overtaken you, come unto me; what wilt thou that I shall do unto thee?
Let us regard this question as addressed to each of us. If we ask bread he will not give us stone. If, indeed, under some worldly delusion, we ask a stone, he may give us bread; if we be deceived about our wants, he may, indeed, disappoint us, but by that very disappointment he will mercifully correct our error. But if we go to him with our real wants, whatever they may be, we shall find him able and willing to supply them. Here, however, we must not forget that the Lords compassion does not overrule his wisdom; that his condescension does not take the place of his sovereignty. Hence it follow that this question is to be subjected to some modification in our understanding of it. The Lord has no where promised to make any human will the standard of his providential government. He has no where promised directly, nor by implication, to grant us every temporal good, real or imaginary, which we are disposed to ask. When he said to the blind man, What wilt thou that I shall do unto thee? he did not thereby pledge himself to comply with his request, whatever it might be, or however it might be presented. Suppose the man had simply asked for alms, the Saviour might, without insincerity, have refused him. His omniscience might have seen an error in that, and he might according to his sovereign choice, have passed by and left him as he was, or have transcended his request by enriching him still with the blessing of sight. We must not only ask aright, we must not only ask in sincerity, and in earnestness, and in faith, but we must ask for things agreeable to his will.
There is a two-fold distinction here between temporal and spiritual things. (1.) In regard to temporal things we cannot know in advance, what is the will of God. It may be his will that we shall suffer adversity, or enjoy prosperity, that we shall lose or that we shall gain, etc. . . Therefore our prayers for temporal good must be brought within narrow limits, and subjected to strict restraints. But in regard to spiritual things the case is somewhat different; God will have all men to pray. What wilt thou, fellow-sinner, that he should do for thee? (2.) God gives many temporal blessings without prayer. He sends the rain. . . . Not so with spiritual good. . . . He saves no man, till he desires it and seeks it. . . .
He is willing to save, but we must ask him!
The prayer of the blind man did not make Jesus willing to give the sight, for the willingness preceded the request. But the prayer secured the gift of sight.
To be let alone, when Jesus is passing by! That what that would be! . . . .
X.
THE FUTURE SATISFACTION.
I shall be
satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness. Ps xvii. 15.
It is a well established rule in the interpretation of the word of God, -- that the sense of Scripture, is in general, one and that our object, in interpreting any passage, should be to bring out the very thought which the sacred writer intended to express. This is a canon of fundamental importance; the neglect or abuse of it has led to a multitude of extravagancies, and perversions, and vagaries. Whenever men depart from it, in their pretended explanations of the word of God, they assume the bold and dangerous prerogative of assigning whatever meaning they please to the words which the Holy Ghost teacheth. But while it is true that every passage has one specific meaning, and strictly speaking, only one; and while it is true that it is the business of the professed interpreter to find that one meaning, and not to devise others; still, it is not only allowable, but may be highly profitable, to make various applications of that meaning, and to follow out the ideas which are merely suggested by it; provided we do not go beyond the analogy of Scripture, and provided we confine ourselves to truths which are elsewhere taught, and conclusions elsewhere reached by inspired reasoning.
It is designed to make use of the text before us upon this general principle. The ambiguity of construction in the original, as well as in the translation, is such as to leave us in some uncertainty concerning the precise idea which the Psalmist intended to express. This affords no ground of objection or suspicion as to the adequacy of inspiration, nor should it start a momentary tremor in which the words may be understood is natural, consistent with other truths, and highly valuable. Besides, this very ambiguity furnishes an occasion of giving greater variety to our meditations.
I. We may read the text in this way; When I awake, I shall be satisfied with thy likeness. This word, likeness, does not necessarily meant abstract resemblance. It is the same word which is used in the law, --Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in the heaven above or that is in the earth beneath. It signifies the visible form, the image, -- the appearance. When I awake, I shall be satisfied with thine appearance. This refers us to the manifestations of God. There are clear manifestations of God which are just as accessible and perceptible to the unconverted as to the Christian. Any man who is surrounded with the light of the Gospel can behold in the works of creation, on every hand, displays of Divine power, and the wisdom, and goodness. Any man, who reads the word of God, can find represented there those attributes which characterize Jehovah as a moral Being, as the central object of all true religion. Any man, who traces the character of the Lord Jesus Christ, can discover, in all its features of unblemished loveliness, the glory of the Godhead. Still, in all these, the unregenerate see but little. What is dim and vague to them is clear and sun-bright to the enlightened believer. He may be unskilled in natural science; he may know but little about the wonders of the heavens: the technicalities of philosophy may be unknown or unmeaning to him; he may know but little of the multitudinous phenomena which arrange themselves in accordance with the sublime laws of the universe; he may be acquainted with only those instances of wise formation, provision, and adaptation which have fallen within the range of his own observation, and yet he may be far better pleased and more profited by the appearance of God in the world than the most successful votary of science, who is destitute of his spiritual vision. And so, although he may have but little critical knowledge, and no more than an ordinary faculty of discovering character in truthful biography, yet he may see far more of the glory of God in his word and in his Son than the ripest scholar, and the acutest discerner, whose eyes are still covered by the film of natural depravity. While the one looks at the Bible only as a remarkable book, the other gazes at it as a luminous revelation of Deity. While the one glances at God manifest in the flesh, and turns away, with ill-concealed indifference, as from a root out of dry ground without form or comeliness, the other, with reverential admiration, gazes upon him as the chief among ten thousand, and altogether lovely. While the one may indeed be said to have only indistinct imaginations as incorrect as they are indistinct, -- the other has views of him, actual and clear. While the one either ignores His existence, and is insanely content with the blind ignorance, -- or vainly speculates about His undiscoverable nature, and with a complaining spirit, wonders at His hidden majesty, -- the other is satisfied with his appearance.
But those, which have been, alluded to are, by no means, the only manifestations of God. He presents himself to our view in the dispensations of Providence. There the wicked, perhaps do not see him, unless it be in some time of sore trouble, and then he seems to stand before them as a stern ruler with the lifted rod of justice, and the stern frown of righteous indignation, and from that sight they shrink away with trembling dread, or muttered displeasure. The true believer never loses sight of Him in the sphere of providence. In prosperity he sees Him smile and rejoices; in adversity he peers through the gloom and finds that even in his aspect of parental severity there is enough of the warm light of compassion first to beautify, and then to dry up his tears; and distinguishing between the fearful glances of judicial anger, and the reproving gaze of fatherly displeasure, he is still satisfied with his appearance. There is still another sense in which God in Christ is visible to the Christian. The aggregate of spiritual blessings on earth is expressed by the Saviour as a manifestation of himself. In that cheering valedictory address to his disciples, by which he quieted the grief he had excited by the mournful prophecy of his death, he said, He that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him and will manifest myself to him. Judas said unto him, Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us and not unto the world? Jesus answered, If a man love me, he will keep my words, and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him and make our abode with him. In this sense he is hidden from the view of the world; but to his own people he is graciously present; he dwells with them. The inward assurance of this favorable presence is the source of their peace and conscious security, and joy and hope; he is with them, in their going out, and their coming in, as a friend that sticketh closer than a brother. While they walk with him, and hold communion with him, and behold these special manifestations of himself in the midst of the ungodly world and yet beyond their sight, they themselves being shut up with Him, as it were, in a little sphere of light inaccessible to others, they are satisfied with his appearance.
II. When I awake, said the Psalmist. From this it has been inferred that this was composed and designed as an evening song, and that these joyful words were uttered in anticipation of a tranquil, happy rising from the rest of night. By some it has been understood to signify whenever I awake. As if he had said, after having spoken in the last verse of the prosperity of the men of the world, and having described them as seeking their portion in this life, while they think, day and night, of their possessions and their pleasures, I sleep in the quietude of safety beneath the shield of Gods protection, and rejoice, whenever I awake, in the sight of his reconciled countenance, and the consciousness of friendship with him. This satisfaction is not confined to any occasion, nor to any season. It is the grand peculiarity of the Christians earthly portion, the distinguishing characteristic of his daily experience, the solace of his waking hours. If, indeed, through spiritual declension, he be deprived of it for a while, as long as that privation lasts it is night with him, and though he seems to be awake he is still asleep. When the day again breaks in upon him, and startles him from his slumber, then he beholds the face of God in righteousness, and is satisfied with his appearance.
Still, our views of God in this life are partial at the most, and vague at the best. The heavens declare his glory, in a measure, but his full glory is displayed only above the heavens. Here all his manifestations are distant, or incomplete, or occasional through defects of our vision; here, we cannot even behold him as he is revealed, nor can we appreciate what we do behold. Though our views of him are not delusions; though he does manifest himself unto us as he does not unto the world ; though he does come and make his abode with us; though we are richly blessed in the enjoyment of his presence and communion, yet, after all, we are but partially satisfied with his appearance here. But there is to be another awakening, an awakening from the sleep of death, an awakening upon the morning of the eternal day. Then we shall see God. Then we shall see him upon his throne; then we shall see him in the midst of the heavenly host; then we shall see him in his own dwelling-place where he displays the brightest effulgence of his glory; then we shall see no longer through a glass, darkly, but face to face; then we shall look with unbeclouded eyes upon his unshaded splendor; then we shall be satisfied, completely and forever satisfied with his appearance.
To wake up from a refreshing sleep and look out upon a dazzling winter scene, where thousands of snow-wreaths sparkling and flashing in the morning light, hang in festoons upon the bending branches, and in graceful drapery around the leafless shrubs, and deck every unsightly thing in charming attire, and illude the eye with the mimicry of all that is beautiful; that is exhilarating indeed. To wake up from a refreshing sleep and look out at once upon the sun as he rises above the horizon, in gorgeous sheen, and scatters his gems upon the hill tops until in their profusion they roll down into the grassy vales, and pours his treasures of rosy light into the bosoms of the sentinel clouds that have lingered around the place of his appearing; that is enough to fill the sensitive souls with refined delight. But who taking advantage of those emotions of the highest grade to which a human experience has attained, who can, for a moment, imagine the rapture that will vibrate through and through the sons of immortality, when they awake from the sleep of death to behold the Son of God coming in the gilded clouds of heaven, in a chariot of fire, with the glory of his Father, and with all the holy angels in their majestic flight and dazzling array? O, when we awake at last, we shall be satisfied indeed with the appearance of God.
My unconverted friend, you too must awake! For the trumpet shall sound, and the slumber of every victim of death shall be broken. At that awakening will you be satisfied with his appearance? If you die as you now are, will you exult in the sight when the Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven with his mighty angels, in flaming fire, taking vengeance on them that know not God and that obey not the Gospel? Will you be satisfied with his appearance when he sits upon his great white throne and the heavens and the earth are fleeing away from before his face and you yourself, though longing to escape even by joining in that rush, are spell-bound with dismay in the very blaze of his holy wrath? Will not the very sight of the offended God upon his awful tribunal of justice and judgment, be enough to blast the guilty soul into a shrunken victim of eternal death? Would you avoid that view, would you stand upon his right hand, would you stand upon his right hand, would you catch his gracious smile of recognition that shall send an everlasting thrill of pleasure through the immortal spirit? Then hasten to be reconciled unto him, as he is now willing to be reconciled unto you through the death of his Son. Hasten to seek his favor now; hasten to secure your final acceptance; abandon your course of rebellion, and make your peace with God. Then you may rejoice in every manifestation of his presence here and admire and adore in the beatific vision for ever.
III. The Christian is not only to awake to behold the appearance of God, but to awaken in the likeness of the incarnate Son. It doth not yet appear what we shall be; but we know that when he shall appear, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is. The words of the text may be appropriately regarded as pointing to that glorious assimilation, and the believer may look forward to the resurrection morning and exclaim, I shall be satisfied, when I awake in thy likeness.
IV. Now in what will this satisfaction consist?
1. he will be satisfied with himself. If there be a man on earth who is satisfied with himself now, he is one to be singled out as the miserable object of universal pity. He does not know himself; he is the victim of a pleasing but most dangerous delusion. When we look with an impartial eye upon ourselves as we are, our minds depraved, our hearts corrupt, our bodies frail, the sport of pains, and diseases which are but the harbingers of death, how can we be satisfied with ourselves? As mortals we are well called worms of the dust; as moral being we are by nature polluted, and at the very best mournfully imperfect. Although it is not needful nor well for any man to cherish a morbid disgust of himself, -- yet our only appropriate egotism is the language of deep humility and self-condemnation. It is a thousand pities that a sinful dying man should be satisfied with himself. But if we awake in the likeness of Christ, we shall have abundant reason to be satisfied; for we shall be pure as he is pure; we shall be perfect as he is perfect; immortal as he is immortal; all-glorious as he is all-glorious. There will be no pride in heaven, but as the ransomed look with adoring wonder upon the Lord Jesus, in whose image they have been immortalized, every soul will be sweetly soothed by a holy self-complacency: self-complacency, without pride.
2. He will be satisfied with his residence. Now he is ready to exclaim,
I would not live always, I ask not to stay,
Where storm after storm rises dark oer the way.
True, when God cursed the earth, he did not deface all the beauty of the world; he left oases in the deserts, flowers among the thorns; fruits hanging on the very briers; he sent spring and summer to repair the wastes of winter. There are many things to admire, many things to love, many things to enjoy; yet we see, on every hand plain proofs of the fall, unsightly indications of ruin, diligent ministers of suffering and deep sources of misery. This world is a far better place than sinful man deserves, but it is not a suitable home for the happy. Even with our partly developed susceptibilities, we are not satisfied with it. But in heaven there will be no complaint; there are no imperfections or marks of ruin nor signs of decay in the architecture or decorations of the holy city. Not only are the mansions in our Fathers house beautiful beyond description, with lavish richness ministering to the taste in its celestial refinement, but that house is the believers home; there all the comforts of home abound; all the conceivable delights of a redeemed spirits home are there in rich profusion, and there is no outward occasion of momentary disquietude. As the believer walks the golden streets of the holy Jerusalem, and looks upon its gem-built walls as they glitter in the light of the glory of God, and glances from one to another of the uncounted beauties and splendor that surround him, he will be satisfied with his abode.
3. He will be satisfied with his company. There will be no contention there, no bickerings, no jealousy, no censure, no scorn, no contempt, no cold indifference; but love, sacred love in its gentleness and strength, will sway all hearts in perfect unison of feeling. The fellowship will be intimate, unselfish, ennobling. In that exchange of lofty thoughts, and holy sympathies, no inquiry of the Christians mind, nor longing of his heart will be left to seek in vain for its full, and appropriate pleasure.
4. He will be satisfied with his employment. To worship and praise Jehovah will be his highest delight. There is no weariness in heaven. The service is rest; the duties are rapturous enjoyments; the songs of adoration will be mingled with outbursts of sanctified gladness. Yes, he will be satisfied, in all respects; completely and for ever satisfied. Ye who have had so many wishes denied; so many desires left to devour themselves by their own unavailing ardor: so many hopes disappointed; imagine if you can, what it is to be satisfied; in all things satisfied. Would you know what it is, by blissful and everlasting experience? Then prepare to awake in the likeness of Christ. As you fall asleep so you will awake. If you die in your sins, and under the frown of God, you will awake to shame and everlasting contempt; you will awake never to rest again; you will awake in some distorted form; the victim of insatiable despair. If you fall asleep in Jesus, you will awake in his likeness, and be forever satisfied. And now, lest you should fall asleep unexpectedly, speedily, and awake to weep when it is too late, seek at once to be united to Christ by a saving faith. . . .
Let us consider some of the circumstances in which the Christian, in view of ordinary term of human life, may innocently say, and with earnest emphasis, I would not live always. The afflictions of this world; all forms of suffering and privation and toil are such circumstances. Although they afford no sufficient excuse for impatience and restlessness und4er the burden of life, still, in the light in which we are now viewing the subje4ct, they do furnish a strong reason why the Christian may use these words. True, chastening afterward yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness; true, Our light affliction which is for a moment, worketh for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory; true, the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us, but these very consolations all point to another and a better world, and thus furnish a reason why we should not wish to linger for ever in this. Separated from their grand, eternal results, and perpetuated here, they would become an intolerable burden. Linked, as they are, with those results, they direct our loftiest aspirations to the world of perfect bliss, and thus in either view, on the one hand repelling, and on the other attracting, they prompt us to say, I would not live always.
We have reason to desire not only deliverance from the ills of this life, but the actual possession of far greater good than this world can afford. Heaven is before us. Who, then, would desire to live always upon earth? The crown is before us; who, then, would desire to bear the cross for ever? The palm of victory is before us; who, then, would wish the conflict to be everlasting? The prize of our high calling is held up in view; who, then would wish to run forever in the earthly race? Live always among the shadows of this world, with the unclouded glories of heaven receding in the prospect! Live always with the stains and corruption of sin cleaving to us, and forego the purity of the sanctified! Live always this dying life, while we catch but the echoes of those songs, which break forth from the sons of a blissful immortality above! Live always this lonely life, away from God; away from our ransomed friends, who have gone to glory; away from the Saviour whose presence irradiates the city of God!
Ah, no, to depart, to depart and be with Christ is far better. The contrast is too great to leave us indifferent. We would not live always. But it must not be forgotten here that the deliberate and the honest expression of this preference can spring only from a well-grounded and satisfactory hope of a happy immortality. It were better to continue a tired pilgrim journeying on for ever, than to hasten to the door of our Fathers house and be met there by a stern rebuke and denial and the decree of everlasting banishment. It were better to retain this world, if it were possible, with all its sorrows, than to leave it, and then fail of heaven. It were better to live always even here, than to die always in hell. With the fear of such an alternative; with the apprehension of such an exchange, we cannot sincerely wish not to live always. Just in proportion as our faith wavers and our fears gather strength and prevail we shall be less disposed to use this language. We may properly say, I would not live always, when we thereby express a willingness to leave this vale of tears as soon as the sweet voice of heaven shall call us to the scenes above; or as an expression of rejoicing that this is not our everlasting home; but we may not employ such words in a spirit of complaint that we are obliged to live at all in this stormy world. On the contrary, we should be ready to say even in the saddest hour as job said, at a time of calm resignation, All the days of my appointed time will I wait until my change come. O, then let us give all diligence to make our calling and election sure. Let us labor diligently and prayerfully to gain the full assurance of faith, such a confidence in the Saviour that we need not fear to die.
We cannot live always if we would. We may express a cordial and perfect acquiescence in the degree of God, but in no other sense is it really a matter of choice, after all. There is no man that hat power over the spirit to retain the spirit neither hath he power in the day of death; and there is no discharge in that war. No truth is more certain, none more momentous, and yet none perhaps is less appreciated. Multitudes live as though they were never to die; and they die, at last, with the bitter, burning wish that they had never lived. We need something frequently to startle us into the practical conviction of our mortality. It is related of Philip of Macedon, that he kept one servant whose business it was to come into his room every morning and solemnly repeat these words, -- Remember, Philip, thou art mortal. That was a mark of wisdom, and it doubtless produced an effect; still it soon became a familiar story, and doubtless lost much of its power. Ever and anon the messenger of death comes into the midst of us and strikes down a relative, or friend, or acquaintance, and as he passes along he whispers to each of us, Remember thou too art mortal, but we go to bury the dead and return with little more of salutary meditation than may be prompted by the thought that all men are mortal but ourselves. Different and less frequent occurrences, bringing similar suggestions, may be more effective. There is no event, perhaps, better adapted to this end, than the closing of one year, and the beginning of another. Our life is limited; its end is appointed. In that respect we are like criminals in prison awaiting their execution, only we know not when that appointed time will come; our years are like their hours.
Again the great clock of time is striking. Listen to it; this may be the last. The summons may be on its way. At most but few such hours can be left; at all events there is now one less to come than when we last recorded the number. We shall soon hear the footsteps of the messenger. We cannot live always; we may not live another year. Are we prepared to die? Ah, it is the mournful answer to this question that forbids the ungodly to use the words of the text. They dare not sincerely repeat them, unless it be under the spell of some desperate indifference. Go stand by the bed of the dying, and see the light of life flickering and going out, and the feverish flush fading into the pallor of death, and think of the spirit on its rapid, trackless flight to the judgment throne, and say, if you can, I would not live always. Go, stand in the silent graveyard and think of the great white throne, and think of the books that shall be opened, and think of the words that will be spoken, and think of the door that will be shut, and think of the blackness of darkness for ever, and say, if you can, I would not live always! And yet if you repent not, the time will come, when these words will spring up irrepressibly from the depth of your tortured soul; for it shall come to pass that in those days men shall seek death and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from the,. Did you ever see a poor man dying reluctantly, gathering all his failing strength and wrestling and struggling with the last enemy, declaring in agony, he would not die? Feebly defying the irresistible relentless monster . . . . Oh, it is a fearful site, the conflict of life and death! . . . .
The End.