Christ's Love for His Redeemed People

Christ's love for His Redeemed People

"As" and "So"

Archibald G. Brown

"AS the Father has loved Me — SO have I loved you; continue in My love." John 15:9

The reason for my selecting this portion for meditation can best be explained by a simple illustration, which will be understood by all present who are in any way acquainted with rural life. You will often have observed, while walking along some footpath that winds its way amid the fields, a flock of sheep quietly feeding within an enclosure made by portable fences. Instead of roaming the whole field over, they are located on one small spot, until the shepherd shifting the simple fence, makes the furthest boundary the commencement of another plot of feeding ground — and so on, until every portion of the field has, in its turn, yielded food and sweetness to the flock. The different changes made are not from one pasture land to another — but from one portion to an adjoining plot of the same great field.

As under-shepherd of this flock, I desire this morning to do the same — to lead you to the green pastures, commencing from where we terminated last Lord's-day. The field is still the same, namely, the fifteenth chapter of John — but the portion of that field is a different one — yet adjacent to it.

Last week our souls found sweet refreshment in the thought of . . .
our union in Christ,
our communion with Christ, and
our fruitfulness through Christ.

We beheld ourselves as the branches of the vine — indeed, part of the vine itself, drawing all our life from the sap flowing through the parent stem. We heard our Savior's voice telling us to abide in the vine — to have His life continually circulating in us. We saw that all the fruit the branch might ever bear, was simply the result of the vine's life abiding in it, and not the result of any separate life possessed by the branch apart from its union with the stem.

We then closed by observing that according to the statement of Jesus, it is not the fruit — but the abundance of it, that glorifies the Father. Grapes on a vine attract no particular notice; they are justly expected. It is the number and size of the bunches that attract the attention of the stranger. So it is with Christians. Every ordinary saint will bear some fruit — but it is much fruit that glorifies the Father by our fruitfulness. These thoughts brought us down to the eighth verse of this chapter. And I felt last week, when looking for a text, that having found the food so sweet, it would only be wise to lead the flock of God to the adjoining verse, and not altogether leave the pasture for another.

But here the illustration with which I commenced this discourse breaks down and fails, as must all earthly illustrations of heavenly truths. The shepherd moves his flock because the spot is eaten bare, and it fails to continue to give food. Not so with us. The pastures of the Word can never fail. Their fullness is never exhausted. Their supply never ceases to be equal to demand. The more they are made the subject of the feast, the more their fullness and their freshness grows. No spot in the entire meadowland of Scripture is one degree less clothed with verdure through the entertainments it has given to the flock of God. Always rich — always sweet — always wet with the dew of Heaven, are the green pastures into which the great Shepherd leads His sheep.

The subject for this morning's contemplation is pre-eminently a blessed one. It tells of a Savior's love, and it explains that love by the most marvelous type that Christ Himself could use. The whole verse revolves around the axis comprised in the two little words "as" and "so." "AS the Father has loved me — SO have I loved you."

Christ's love to us, is described as being identical with the Father's love to Him. Fathom the "as" — and you will have sounded the "so." Measure the former — and you will then have learned the dimensions of the latter. Grasp, if you can, what that love is that dwells in the heart of the Father toward the Son — and then, and not until then, will you know what is the love in the heart of Jesus toward you.

You will see at once, dear friends, that we have a subject vast and boundless. May the Holy Spirit direct the preacher into all truth, and put upon his lips such words as shall bring the divine comparison instituted in the text, home to every heart with power. There are two things found in the verse which shall serve us as divisions:
1. We have an amazing comparison, "As the Father has loved me — so have I loved you."
2. We have a loving admonition, "continue in my love."
 

I. First then, let us meditate on an Amazing Comparison. "AS the Father has loved Me — SO have I loved you." I have already said, that if we are able to understand the love of the Father to Christ — then we shall then be able to understand the love of Christ to us. Here is an "if" indeed. How can the finite measure that which, in itself, is infinite? The difficulty is increased also by the matter of contemplation. It is love — Divine love. The love of Him who is love. The love of God to Christ.

I find it easier to form in some measure, a conception of His power than I do of His love. True, both are infinite. But then one is a matter of His arm — while the other concerns His heart. On every hand I can perceive His might: the sun marching in its course by day, and the stars gliding along their paths by night. Both alike declare a power that is infinite, for it is He who has set "a tabernacle for the sun," and as for the stars, "He calls them all by name; by the greatness of His might, and being strong in power, not one fails." Isaiah 40.26. Moreover, power, wisdom and glory seem things that one may venture to speak about; but a peculiar sacredness, almost commanding silence, surrounds the deep love of God's heart. That heart, the heart of God and the object of that love, is His Son.

As we approach the subject with a feeling akin to awe, we almost imagine that we can hear with Moses, the voice of God, saying, "Take off your shoes from your feet, for the place on which you stand is holy ground." Exo 3.5.

The love of God to Christ — here is the "AS."

While pondering this mighty "as" in the quiet of my study, the scene around me changed. Familiar objects seemed to fade away, and in imagination, I stood upon ashore. Stretching out before me was an ocean. Far as the eye could reach there was water everywhere. As I stood contemplating this vast expanse, I thought I heard a voice saying to me, "The ocean on which you are gazing has no other shore. Before you — to the right — to the left — it has no bound, no limit — form an idea of its extent." My mind was staggered, and I answered, "How can I measure what has no boundary, knows no end?" The voice again said, "The ocean on which you look has no bottom — fathom it." Overwhelmed, I replied, "How can I sound that which is all depth?"

This ocean awed me by its calm. No wave, no ripple broke or murmured on the shore on which I stood. I felt as if it was too vast to heave, too deep to know disquiet. It was the ocean of the Father's love to Christ.

Again, the scene changed, and I found myself standing at the foot of a giant mountain. Beside it all other mountain ranges were dwarfed to mole hills. Astonished, I looked upwards to the towering peaks only to find there were higher still. Sight failed and the spirit quailed, while the same voice I had heard before said, "This mountain has no top — climb it." Ah! how? Who can gain a summit when there is none? It was the love of God to Christ which in its height and depth, and length and breadth, is measureless.

Behold, beloved, the boundlessness of the "AS" — to fathom it — to encircle it — to scale it — are but impossibilities. All we can hope to do is just mention some of its leading features, and then try and show you that the leading features of the "as," are also the leading features of the "so."

First then, the love of the Father to the Son was a SUPREME love. It is . . .
higher than the highest,
deeper than the deepest,
longer than the longest,
broader than the broadest.

It was love beyond all love — the greatest love with which the God of love could love. It was a love into which the whole divine power of loving was thrown. It would be the foulest blasphemy to imagine it is possible for Christ to be loved with a greater love. Here is the "AS."

Now turn to the "SO." "So have I loved you." Christ loves His people with an affection that is incapable of increase. It is no comparative love — but a superlativelove. The whole heart of Christ loves every saint to its utmost power. I know this is hard to realize. Painfully conscious of our own utter unworthiness, and of our ten-thousand inconsistencies — we often feel that if Jesus will show us just bare mercy and pity — it is all we can dare to ask.

But, dear friend, this is wrong. It is judging our Lord's love by our own — it is bringing Him down to our own low level. We have nothing to do with what we feel— but what he has said — and he has declared that His love to us is the same as His Father's love to Him. You dare not doubt the latter — then do not doubt theformer.

The only true way of judging love, is by what love will do. O, try the love of Jesus by this test. See if it is possible for Him to give higher or deeper proofs than those he has given. The greatest exhibition of love is for a man to lay down his life for his friends — but Jesus far exceeded this proof. He gave His life for His enemies. He endured Gethsemane and stooped to Calvary, for His foes.

"And griefs and torments numberless,
And sweat of agony,
Yes, death itself and all for me,
Who was your enemy!"

And now, although exalted high, "his love is still as great." Poor trembling down-cast saint, take this thought into your heart this morning, and let it be a solace to you: Jesus loves you with a love as infinite as the Father's love to Him!

The love of the Father to the Son was also an ETERNAL love. If you will turn with me to the seventeenth chapter of this Gospel, and the twenty-fourth verse, you will read, "For you loved me before the foundation of the world." Here we are brought face to face with one of those truths that can never be grasped by the mind — but only believed in the heart.

Who can form a conception of what eternity is? Who can explain in language, the meaning of the word "everlasting?" There is something transcendent in the depth of a past eternity. Go back as far as the mind can imagine — it is always infinitely before that. What ages have rolled their courses since the solid foundations of the world were laid — how far remote is that time when "in the beginning, God created the Heaven and the earth."

But the Father loved the Son before the foundation of the world. If we go back in thought to the time when no world existed, when space did not know a star; yes, further back than that, when an angel did not exist, when not a single "son of the morning" had ever raised his voice — we find that the Father loved the Son. From all eternity, when God alone was everywhere, and everything was nowhere — the Son dwelt in the bosom of the Father. There never was a moment when Christ was not the well-beloved. Here, dear friends, you have the "as," and that was an eternal one.

Now turn to the "SO." "So have I loved you." As eternal as the Father's love to the Son — is the Son's love to His people. Child of God, the love of Jesus to you is no love of yesterday. Listen to His word: "I have loved you with an everlasting love; therefore, with loving-kindness I have drawn you." Jeremiah 31.3. Before the foundation of the world, He had thoughts of love to you — for even then He was in purpose "the Lamb slain." In the council chamber of eternity, His heart yearned over you, and made Him cry, "Save from going down into the pit, for I have found a ransom." Job 33.24.

The "so" has ever run parallel with the "as." There never was a time when Jesus did not love you. O, what infinite value does this thought give to "the love of Christ to me!" I would abide under its influence. I would revel in its sweetness. The love I know and feel He has to me this morning, dates back with the love the Father ever had to Him!

"His love, from eternity fixed upon you,
Broke forth, and discovered its flame,
When each with the cords of His kindness He drew,
And brought you to love His great name."

The Father's love to the Son was also an UNFLUCTUATING love. Our Savior says, concerning it, "I always abide in His love." John 15.10. It is impossible to imagine a momentary alteration in the divine love of the Father. It is a deep, deep ocean, that knows no flow or ebb. It is love that rests in infinite delight in Christ. It is always at the fullest.

There you have the "as," now listen to the "so." "So have I loved you." I frankly confess, dear friends, that it is this view of Christ's love that I find most difficult to realize in my own soul. I can far easier imagine a love that has no end — than a love that knows no variation in degree of intensity. When one looks within, and watches the changing experience of the heart — when one finds it today burning with a returning love, and tomorrow frozen up and coated with the ice of indifference — it is indeed hard to realize that the love of Jesus has known no corresponding alterations. It is so natural to measure our Savior's love to us — by ours to Him; and think that because we feel more of His love, therefore there is more. But blessed be God, although we cannot always grasp the fact — yet the fact remains.

"His is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above;
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death!"

"What," I think I can hear one of you saying, "Do you mean to say that Jesus loves me just as much when I am depressed, and deep down in the dark valley — as when I am full of sunshine, and standing on the mount of God?" Yes, I do, dear friend, quite as much. His love was never begotten by anything he saw in you — and can therefore never be changed by anything about you. The roots of love are deep within His own heart — and therefore the fruits are never increased or diminished by anything in you. Surely, of all thoughts one can possibly have of the love of Jesus, it would be impossible to find one more full of refreshment and joy to the sorrowing saint, than the thought of its unchangeableness.

Jesus finds His joy in loving His people! Is it bliss to me to be beloved by Him? It is also a cause for song on His part to love me. He finds satisfaction in His love. He rests in it. "The Lord your God, in the midst of you, is mighty; He will save, he will rejoice over you with joy; He will rest in His love, He will rejoice over you with singing." Zeph 3.17.

Yes, child of God, your Savior's love, unlike your own, is a resting love. It rests on the person, never leaving him. It rests in degree, never varying in itself. Until the Father's love to the Son fluctuates, and not until then — you need not fear the love of Christ ever altering in its intensity towards you.

The Father's love, moreover, was one of DELIGHT. This is the highest kind of love — far beyond the love of compassion or the love of pity. It is a love full of pleasure and satisfaction in the person loved. "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." These words give us an insight into the nature of the Father's love. It is love unmingled with sorrow or disappointment. It is love reposing — love rejoicing — love singing.

Now turn to its counterpart. "So have I loved you." The love of Jesus is something far more than compassionate love. Let me illustrate what I mean by compassionate love. Walking through the streets, I may perchance come across some little lost boy, crying enough to break its heart. The big tears roll down the little dirty cheeks in quick succession. Something makes me stop and ask the little fellow the cause for all this grief.

Broken by many a sob, he tells me he has lost his way, and wants to find his mother. I cannot leave him in his piteous distress. Compassionate love says, "Wipe his eyes, take his little grimy hand in yours; never mind if you do look odd with such a companion; don't leave him until you find his home, and return him to his half-distraught mother."

Now perhaps this work may occupy many an hour, and overthrow a dozen plans I have drawn out for the day. Never mind! It cannot be helped. The child must be looked after. Now this is the love of compassion — but not delight; for all during the time there is no sweet fellowship between us. I may not even be pleased with the child. It was his state, not himself, that was the object and the care of love.

This is far different from the walk of bosom friends, who find mutual delight in each other's company. That is the love of delight.

Dear friend, Jesus finds His delight in you, if you are His redeemed child. True, His love commenced as the love of compassion. He "found us wandering;" but now that love has mellowed into one of infinite satisfaction. He not only refreshes — but he is refreshed by communion with His people. Not only does He make and keep His church as His garden — but walking in that garden, He is himself refreshed. This truth is most beautifully and poetically taught in the Canticles. "Where has your beloved gone, that we may seek Him?" is the question asked of the spouse. Mark the answer, "My beloved has gone down into His garden, to the beds of spices, to feed in the gardens, and to gather bliss. I am my Beloved's, and my Beloved is mine; he feeds among the lilies." Song 6.1-3

Believer in Jesus, try and grasp this thought, it will be a source of unbounded joy to you. Your Savior rests in His love, and reposes in His affection towards you. He delights in you, as much as you ever delight in Him. He says concerning you, as the Father said concerning Him, "In whom I am well pleased."

It was also a love manifested in the time of HUMILIATION. Not only is love precious — but also the time and way in which love declares itself. The deeper our state of trial and humiliation — the more valued will the manifestation of an unaltered affection become.

When was it that the Father first gave from Heaven the glorious declaration of His love of delight in Jesus? I answer, at Christ's baptism. It was at the moment of our Lord's condescending obedience that the Father broke silence, and declared, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." The Father's love remained unaltered by the Son's humiliation. The same love that had rested on Christ during an eternity of glory, followed Him through the shame of earth, and refused to leave him at the cross.

Here is the "as," now turn to the "so." "So have I loved you." Christ's love to His people is never withdrawn on account of any humiliation or suffering they may be called to bear. You may be called to pass through a very baptism of fiery trial, the heat of which will scorch almost all the professed friendship now made; but hovering over you like a dove, it will still remain the love of Jesus. Like the Hebrew youths, there may be in store for you a furnace seven times heated; but you will find, when cast into its flaming mouth, that there is one "like the Son of God," who will walk the furnace with you.

The deeper the trial, the nearer the Savior. When most needed, the Savior's love is always most felt. Fear not, tried child of God, that Jesus will ever be afraid to own you for His friend, for as the Father loved Him in His deepest abasement — so He will ever manifest His love to you in your times of greatest grief.

Once more, and lastly, upon this amazing comparison. The Father's love only found its CULMINATION IN GLORY. He raised up Christ on the third day, and shortly after, our Savior ascended to enter into His mediatorial glory. O! who can describe that triumphal entry, when the everlasting gates lift up their heads to let the King of glory in? Who can tell the honors paid to the Son when he ascended the throne, and took His place at the Father's right hand? His prayer is answered, "Glorify me with yourself, with the glory which I had with You before the world was." John 17.5.

The "as" is one that reaches Heaven. The "so" meets it there. Christ so loves us that He will have us by His side. As He shares the glory of the Father — so He will have us share His glory.

Listen to the wondrous yearning of His heart for his peoples' company. "Father, I will that they also, whom you have given me, be with me where I am; that they may behold my glory which you have given me; for you loved me before the foundation of the world." John 17.24. Here you have the Father's love to Christ linked with Christ's prayer for our glory. O, blessed love of Jesus!!

"Love, which will not let Him rest,
Until His chosen all are blessed;
Until they all for whom he died
Live rejoicing by His side!"

Thus much for our first division, on which we have dwelt longer than we anticipated — but too shortly to satisfy our desire. Christ's love to us, like the Father's love to Him, is . . .
supreme,
eternal,
unfluctuating,
full of delight,
manifested in time of humiliation,
and culminating in glory!

　

II. A Loving Admonition. "Continue in my love." I can well imagine one of you saying, "Whatever does that mean? Have you not just been telling us that the love of Jesus knows no variation, and never ceases to encircle the saint? Why then are we told to continue in that love? I will try and explain what I think our Lord meant by these words.

Although His love abides always upon us — yet we are not always consciously living in it. Our Savior having just described to his disciples what His love was, now gently admonishes them to live in its influence. Our appreciation of, and joy in, His love — is a very different thing to the love itself. The latter never changes, the former hardly ever remains the same. Yet it is only in proportion, as we live in the love of Jesus, that we can live a happy and useful life.

It is a sad, sad fact, that many seem almost ignorant of such a life. There are most Christians — and there are some Christians who live under the influence of the love of Jesus. Have we not all come across many whom we could not dare to unchristianize — and yet who seem ignorant of the fact that there is such a thing as living, walking, and working under the influence of a realized Savior's love!

To live under this influence is to live within a charmed circle of light. O, do not be content to dwell outside this happy sphere. To be saved — but only just saved. To enter Heaven at last — but never to know what it is to have Heaven in your own soul on earth. If up to the present you have been a Christian living in an atmosphere other than that of Christ's love — do not be content to remain in it any longer. Listen to the gentle admonition of Jesus this morning, "Continue in my love."

Do you ask, "What is the secret of doing so?" I answer, or rather your Savior does, obedience. Kindly turn with me to the tenth verse of this chapter, and there you will read, "If you keep my commandments — then you shall abide in my love; even as I have kept my Father's commandments and abide in his love." Turn also to the previous chapter, the twenty-first verse, and onwards, "He who has my commandments and keeps them — is the one that loves me; and he who loves me shall be loved by my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him."

One said to Him, "Lord, how is it that you will manifest yourself to us, and not to the world?" Now mark the answer. "Jesus answered, and said to him, if a man loves me, he will keep my word; and my Father will love him, and we will come to him and make our abode with him."

The disobedient child will never have the sweet manifestations of a Savior's love that the one will have who keeps the words of Jesus. If my life is not in harmony with the Savior's commandments, it is foolish to expect the Father and the Son to come and make their abode with me. A disobedient walk will ever prove a barrier to my entering and dwelling within the bright region of a Savior's realized love. Grieving the Spirit of God, and resisting His gentle drawings to a higher life, will render my continuing in Christ's love an impossibility.

Beloved friends, permit me to plead with you and my own heart to no longer be strangers to this heavenly experience. If we are, we are strangers to a joy that is unutterable in its fullness. It was Christ's love to his disciples, and His desire for their joy that made him admonish them this way, for he says, in the eleventh verse, "These things I have spoken to you, that my joy might remain in you, and that your joy might be full."

May God, in His mercy, give to us a daily increase of this fullness of joy which comes from abiding in that amazing love, concerning which our dear Redeemer says, "As the Father has loved me, so have I loved you." Amen.

The Family Discipline

The Family Discipline

by Horatius Bonar (1808-1889)
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"And ye have forgotten the exhortation which speaketh unto you as unto children, My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord, nor faint when thou art rebuked of him: For whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth. If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons; for what son is he whom the father chasteneth not? But if ye be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons. "
—Hebrews 12:5-8

"Train up a child in the way he should go" is the injunction God lays on us. But it is, moreover, the principle on which He Himself is acting with His Church. He is training up His children here. This is the true character of His dealings with them. The education of His saints is the object He has in view. It is training for the kingdom; it is education for eternity.

How momentous, then, is the training! It is God who is carrying it on by the Holy Spirit. It is the Church, which is the Body of Christ, that is the subject of it. And it is to prepare her for an everlasting kingdom! In bringing many sons unto glory, it was needful that even the Captain of their salvation should be made perfect through suffering. Surely, then, God lays vast stress upon this discipline. In His estimation it is no unimportant nor unmeaning exercise. Knowing this, the apostle exhorts us on this very point, "My son, despise not the chastening of the Lord." It is too solemn to be despised, too momentous to be overlooked. The education of God's family is concerned with it. The preparation of an heir of glory depends on it.

This discipline begins at our conversion. The moment we are taken into the family it commences. "He scourges every son whom he receives." It is not always visible; neither are we at all times conscious of its operation. Nevertheless, from the very day that "we are begotten again to a lively hope" it begins.

It ends only with life, or in the case of the last generation of the Church, with their being "caught up to meet the Lord in the air." It is a whole lifetime's process. It is a daily, an hourly discipline which admits of no cessation. The rod may not always be applied, but still the discipline goes on.

1. It is the discipline of love. Every step of it is kindness. There is no wrath or vengeance in any part of the process. The discipline of the school may be harsh and stern, but that of the family is love. We are sure of this; and the consolation which it affords is unutterable. Love will not wrong us. There will be no needless suffering. Were this but kept in mind there would be fewer hard thoughts of God among men, even when His strokes are most severe. I know not a better illustration of what the feelings of a saint should be, in the hour of bitterness, than the case of Richard Cameron's father. The aged saint was in prison "for the Word of God and the testimony of Jesus Christ." The bleeding head of his martyred son was brought to him by his unfeeling persecutors, and he was asked derisively if he knew it. "I know it, I know it," said the father, as he kissed the mangled forehead of his fair-haired son, "it is my son's; my own dear son's! It is the Lord! good is the will of the Lord, who cannot wrong me or mine, but who has made goodness and mercy to follow us all our days."

2. It is the discipline of wisdom. He who administers it is the "God only wise." What deep wisdom then must there be in all His dealings! He knows exactly what we need and how to supply it. He knows what evils are to be found in us, and how these may be best removed. His training is no random work. It is carried on with exquisite skill. The time and the way and the instrument are all according to the perfect wisdom of God. The fittest time is chosen, just the very moment when discipline is called for, and when it would be most profitable. The surest, most direct, and at the same time gentlest method is devised. The instrument which will be surest yet safest, most effectual yet least painful, is brought into operation. For all is wisdom in the discipline of God.

3. It is the discipline of faithfulness. "In faithfulness you have afflicted me," said David. All is the doing of a faithful God- a God who is faithful to us as well as faithful to Himself. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend," says Solomon; and the believer finds in trouble the faithfulness of the truest of friends. He is so faithful that He will not pass by a single fault that He sees in us, but will forthwith make it known that it may be removed. He gave this command to Israel, "You shall in any wise rebuke your neighbor, and not suffer sin upon him," (Lev_19:17) and He Himself acts upon the command He gave. He is too faithful a Father to suffer sin upon His children unreproved. He is true to us, whether in sending the evil or the good; shall we not say, truer and more faithful when He inflicts the evil than when He bestows the good? It almost at times seems to break the heart of a loving friend to be obliged to say or do anything severe toward the friend he loves. Yet for love's sake he will do it. In faithfulness he will not shrink from it. And in doing so, is he not true to his friend? So with a chastening God. He is faithful when He blesses- more faithful when He chastens. This surely is consolation. It may well allay all murmuring and establish our hearts in peace.

4. It is the discipline of power. He who is carrying it on is not one who can be baffled and forced to give up His design. He is able to carry it out in the unlikeliest circumstances and against the most resolute resistance. Everything must give way before Him. This thought is, I confess, to me one of the most comforting connected with the discipline. If it could fail! If God could be frustrated in His designs after we have suffered so much, it would be awful! To be scourged and suffer pain by one who is not able to make good to us the profit of this would add inconceivable bitterness to the trial. And then our hearts are so hard, our wills so stubborn, that nothing save an Almighty pressure applied to them can work the desired change. Oh, when the soul is at strife within itself, battling in desperate conflict with its stormy lusts, when the flesh rises up in its strength and refuses to yield, when the whole heart appears like iron or is adamant, it is most blessed to think upon God's chastisements as the discipline of power! It is this that assures us that all shall yet be well. And it is in the strength of this assurance that we gird ourselves for the battle, knowing that we must be more than conquerors through Him that loved us.

There might be love in the dealing- love to the uttermost- and yet all be in vain. For love is oftentimes helpless, unable to do anything for the beloved object. There might be wisdom, too, and yet it might prove wholly ineffectual. There might also be untiring faithfulness, yet no results. It might be altogether impotent even in its fondest vigilance. It might be baffled in its most earnest attempts to bless. But when it is infinite power that is at work, we are sure of every obstacle being surmounted, and everything that is blessed coming most surely to pass. My sickbed may be most lovingly tended, most skillfully provided for, most faithfully watched, and I may be most sweetly soothed by this fond and unwearied care; yet, if there be no power to heal, no resistless energy such as sweeps all hindrances before it, then I may still lie hopeless there; but, if the power to heal be present, the power that makes all diseases flee its touch, the power that, if need be, can raise the dead, then I know of a truth that all is well.

Oh, it is blessed and comforting to remember that it is the discipline of power that is at work upon us! God's treatment must succeed. It cannot miscarry or be frustrated even in its most arduous efforts, even in reference to its minutest objects. It is the mighty power of God that is at work within us and upon us, and this is our consolation. It is the grasp of an infinite hand that is upon us, and nothing can resist its pressure. All is love, all is wisdom, and all is faithfulness, yet all is also power. The very possibility of failure is thus taken away. Were it not for this power there could be no certainty of blessing, and were it not for this certainty, how poor and partial would our comfort be! He, yes, He who chastises us is "able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think, according to the power that works in us" (Eph_3:20).

Hence to a soul, conscious of utter helplessness and weary of the struggle within, between the spirit and the flesh, there is "strong consolation" in remembering the power of Him whose hand is now grasping him so firmly on every side. His sorely tossed spirit finds peace in calling to mind "the years of the right hand of the Most High"- all the "works of the Lord and his wonders of old." The "strength of Israel" is the name he delights in, as the name of his Chastener. He thus bethinks himself, "The God who made these heavens and stretched them out in their vastness and majesty, who moves these stars in their courses and arrests them at a word, is the God who is chastening me. He who raises and stills the mighty deep and all the multitude of its waves, the God of the tempest and of the earthquake, the framer of light and dark, the wielder of the lightning and the builder of the everlasting hills, is the God who is now laying His rod so heavily upon me." Thus each new proof or aspect of Jehovah's power becomes a new source of consolation in the day of chastisement and sorrow.

Such, then, is the nature of the family discipline when viewed in reference to God. Love, wisdom, faithfulness, and power unite to devise and carry it out. It must, then, be perfect discipline, the completest and most successful that can be thought of or desired. It is well to look at it in this light, for it is thus that we become entirely satisfied with all that comes to pass and feel that "it is well." But let us consider it in another aspect. We have seen what it is when flowing out of God; let us see what it is when operating upon man.


As we observed before, God's object in chastisement is the education of His children, the training up of the saints. It is their imperfect spiritual condition that makes this so necessary. And now we proceed to inquire in what way it works, and toward what regions of the soul it is specially directed. For while, doubtless, it embraces the whole soul in all its parts and powers, it may be well to consider it as more especially set to work upon its mind, its will, its heart, and its conscience.

1. It is the training of the mind. We are naturally most unteachable as well as most ignorant, neither knowing anything nor willing to know. The ease of prosperous days augments the evil. God at length interposes and compels us to learn. "The rod and reproof give wisdom" (Pro_29:15). He sends trial and that makes us willing to learn. Our unteachableness gives way. We become aware of our ignorance. We seek teaching from on high. God begins his work of instruction. Light pours in on every side. We grow amazingly in knowledge. We learn the meaning of words now which we had hitherto used but as familiar sounds. Scripture shines out before us in new effulgence; it flashes into us; every verse seems to contain a sunbeam; dark places become light; every promise stands out in illuminated splendor; things hard to be understood become in a moment plain.

How fast we learn in a day of sorrow! It is as if affliction awoke our powers and lent them new quickness of perception. We advance more in the knowledge of Scripture in a single day than in years before. We learn "songs in the night," though such music was unknown before. A deeper experience has taken us down into the depths of Scripture and shown us its hidden wonders. Luther used to say, "Were it not for tribulation I should not understand Scripture." And every sorrowing saint responds to this, as having felt its truth- felt it as did David, when he said, "Blessed is the man whom you chasteness, . . . and teach him out of your law"(Psa_94:12). "It is good for me that I have been afflicted; that I might learn your statutes" (Psa_119:71). What teaching, what training of the mind goes on upon a sickbed, or under the pressure of grief! And, oh, what great and wondrous things will even some little trial whisper in the ear of a soul that is "learning of the Father"!

In some cases this profit is almost unfelt, at least during the continuance of the process. We think that we are learning nothing. Sorrow overwhelms us. Disaster stuns us. We become confused, nervous, agitated, or perhaps insensible. We seem to derive no profit. Yet before long we begin to feel the blessed results. Maturity of judgment, patience in listening to the voice of God, a keener appetite for His Word, a quicker discernment of its meaning- these are soon realized as the gracious results of chastisement. The mind has undergone a most thorough discipline, and has, moreover, made wondrous progress in the knowledge of divine truth through the teaching of the Holy Spirit.

2. It is the training of the will. The will is the seat of rebelliousness. Here the warfare is carried on. "The flesh lusts against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh." At conversion the will is bent in the right direction, but it is still crooked and rigid. Rebelliousness is still there. Prosperous days may sometimes conceal it so that we are almost unconscious of its strength. But it still exists. Furnace heat is needed for softening and strengthening it. No milder remedy will do. "It requires," says a suffering saint, "all the energy of God to bend my will to His." Yet it must be done. The will is the soul's citadel. Hence, it is the will that God seems so specially to aim at in chastisement. Fire after fire does He kindle in order to soften it; and blow after blow does He fetch down on it to straighten it. Nor does He rest until He has made it thoroughly flexible and hammered out of it the many relics of self which it contains. He will not stop His hand until He has thoroughly marred our self-formed plans and shown us the folly of our self-chosen ways.

This is specially the case in long-continued trials; either when these come stroke after stroke in sad succession, or when one fearful stroke at the outset has left behind it consequences which years perhaps will not fully unfold. The bending and straightening of the will is often a long process, during which the soul has to pass through waters deep and many, through fires hot and ever kindling up anew. Protracted trials seem specially aimed at the will. Its perversity and stiffness can only be wrought out of it by a long succession of trials. It is only by degrees that it becomes truly pliable and is brought into harmony with the will of God. We can at a stroke lop off the unseemly branch; but to give a proper bent to the tree itself, we require time and assiduous appliances for months or years. Yet the will must give way. However proud, however forward, it must bend. God will not leave it until He has made it one with His own.

3. It is the training of the heart. Man's heart beats false to God. It is true to many things but false to Him. When first the Holy Spirit touches it, and shows it "the exceeding riches of the grace of God," then it becomes in some measure true. Yet it is only in part. Much falseheartedness still remains. It clings too fondly to the creature. It cleaves to the dust. It is not wholly God's. But this cannot be. God must have the heart; no, and He must have it beating truly toward Him. He is jealous of our love, and grieves over its feebleness or its falling away. It is love that He wants, and with nothing but truehearted love will He be satisfied. For this it is that He chastises.

These false throbbings of the heart; these goings out after other objects than Himself He cannot allow, but must correct or else forego His claim. Hence, He smites and spares not until He has made us sensible of our guilt in this respect. He strips off the leaves whose beauty attracted us; He cuts down the flowers whose fragrance fascinated us; He tears off one string after another from the lyre whose music charmed us. Then when He has showed us each object of earth in its nakedness or deformity, then He presents Himself to us in the brightness of His own surpassing glory. And thus He wins the heart. Thus He makes it true to Him. Thus He makes us ashamed of our falseheartedness to Himself and to the Son of His love.

Yet this is no easy process. This training is hard and sore. The heart bleeds under it. Yet it must go on. No part of it can be spared. Nor will it cease until the heart is won! If the Chastener should stop His hand before this is effected, where would be His love? What poor, what foolish affection! He knew this when He said, "Let them alone"; and it was the last thing that His love consented to do, after all else had failed. One of the sharpest, sorest words He ever spoke to Israel was, "Why should you be stricken any more?" Let us remember this, and not faint, even though the heart has been long bleeding. Let us remember it, and seek to make the sorrow shorter by gladly joining with Him in His plan for getting possession of our whole heart. We need not grudge it. He has "good measure" to give us in return. His love will taste the sweeter, and it will abide and satisfy us forever. It is well for us to be thus trained to love Him here, with whom, in love and fellowship unbroken, we are to spend the everlasting day.

4. It is the training of the conscience. A seared conscience is the sinner's heritage. It is upon this that the Holy Spirit first lays His hand when He awakens the soul from its sleep of death. He touches the conscience, and then the struggles of conviction come. He then pacifies it by the sprinkling of the blood, showing it Jesus and His cross. Then giving it to taste forgiveness, it rests from all its tumults and fears. Thoughts of peace are ever breathed into it from the sight of the bleeding sacrifice. It trembles no more, for it sees that that which made it tremble is the very thing concerning which the blood of Christ speaks peace. "Their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more." Thus it is softened. Its first terrors upon awakening could not be called a softening. But now conscious forgiveness and realized peace with God have been to it like the mild breath of spring to the ice of winter. It has become soft and tender. Yet only so in part.

God's desire, however, is to make it altogether tender. He wishes it to be sensitive in regard to the very touch of sin, and earnest in its pantings after perfect holiness. To effect this, He afflicts; and affliction goes directly home to the conscience. The death of the widow's son at Sarepta immediately awakened her conscience, and she cried to the prophet, "O man of God, are you come to call my sin to remembrance?"(1Ki_17:18). So God by chastisement lays His finger upon the conscience, and forthwith it springs up into new life. We are made to feel as if God had now come down to us, as if He were now looking into our hearts and commencing a narrow search. Moreover, we see in this affliction God's estimate of sin. Not, indeed, the full estimate. No, that we only learn from the sufferings of Jesus. But still we gather from this new specimen of sin's bitter fruits somewhat of His mind regarding sin. This teaches the conscience by making the knowledge of sin a thing of experience- an experience that is deepening with every new trial. "If they be bound in fetters, and be holden in cords of affliction; then he shows them their work, and their transgressions that they have exceeded. He opens also their ear to discipline, and commands that they return from iniquity"(Job_36:8 - Job_36:10).

In these last days how little is there of tenderness of conscience! The world seems to know nothing of it save the name. It is a world without a conscience! And how much do we find the Church of Christ a partaker in the world's sins! "Evil communications corrupt good manners." It is sad to observe in many saints, amid much zeal and energy and love, the lack of a tender conscience. For this God is smiting us, and will smite us yet more heavily until He has made it thoroughly tender and sensitive all over, "hating even the garments spotted by the flesh." This training of the conscience is a thing of far greater moment than many deem it. God will not rest until He has wrought it. And if the saints still continue to overlook it, if they will not set themselves in good earnest to ask for it, and to strive against everything that would tend to produce searedness and insensibility, they may yet expect some of the sharpest strokes that the hand of God has ever yet administered.

Such, then, is the family discipline! We have seen it as it comes forth from God, and we have seen it as it operates upon man. And is it not all well? What is there about it that should disquiet us, or call forth one murmur either of the lip or heart? That which opens up to us so much more of God and lets us more fully into the secrets of His heart must be blessed, however hard to bear. That which discovers to us the evils within ourselves, which makes us teachable and wise, which gives to the stiff will, flexibility and obedience, which teaches the cold heart to love and expands each narrowed affection, which melts the callous conscience into tender sensitiveness, which trains up the whole soul for the glorious kingdom- that must be precious indeed.

Besides, it is the Father's will; and is not this enough for the trustful child? Is not chastisement just one of the methods by which He intimates to us what He would have us to be? Is not His way of leading us to the kingdom the safest, surest, shortest way? It is still the fatherly hand that is guiding us. What though in seeking to lift us up to a higher level, it has to lay hold of us with a firmer, or it may be a rougher grasp? It is still the paternal voice "that speaks unto us as unto children"- dear children- only in a louder, sharper tone to constrain the obedience of His too reluctant sons.

One remark more would I add to these concerning this family discipline. It is not designed even for a moment to separate them and their God, or to overshadow their souls with one suspicion of their Father's heart. That it has done so at times, I know; but that it ought never to do so I am most firmly persuaded. Is it not one of the tests of sonship, and shall that, without which we are not accounted sons, make us doubt our sonship, or suspect the love of our God? That love claims at all times, whether in sorrow or in joy, our simple, fullhearted, peaceful confidence. It is at all times the same, and chastisement is but a more earnest expression of its infinite sincerity and depth. Let us do justice to it, and to Him out of whom it flows. Let us not give it the unworthy treatment which it too often receives at our thankless hands. Let us beware of "falling from grace" at the very time when God is coming down to us to spread out before us more largely than before all the treasures of His grace. "We have known and believed the love that God has to us," is to be our song. It ought always to be the family song! And shall it cease or sink low at the very time when it ought to be loudest and strongest? Should not trial just draw from us the apostle's triumphant boast: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?" "No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us; for I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor 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" (Rom_8:35 - Rom_8:39). For is it not just when we are brought under chastening that we enter upon the realities of consolation, the certainties of love, and the joys of heavenly fellowship in ways unknown and unimagined before?

The Family Rods

God's rods may seem to speak in frowns and anger, but it is not so; there is not a glance of vengeance in the Chastener's eye. It is a correcting rod, but not a destroying one. Its object is not to punish but to chasten; not to injure but to bless. God has, however, not one rod for His children, but many. For each child He has a peculiar rod, and at different times He uses different rods. It will be profitable for us to consider what those are, and how they are applied.

1. Bodily sickness. The body operates very powerfully upon the soul both for good and for evil. In what way or to what extent we cannot tell. Nor do I wish to discuss this question at all. But, knowing how the soul is acted on by the body, I cannot help think that one of God's designs in sickness is to operate upon the soul through the body. We are not conscious of this; we cannot analyze the process; the effects are hidden from view. Yet it does seem as if sickness of body were made to contribute directly to the health of the soul in some way or other known only to God. Hence, the apostle speaks of delivering "such an one unto Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord Jesus" (1Co_5:5). On this point, however, I do not dwell; only it would be well for us to consider whether God is not by this intimating to us the exceeding danger of pampering the flesh: for the weakening of the flesh does help forward the strengthening of the spirit; and the mortifying of our members which are upon the earth- the crucifying the flesh with its affections and lusts- does tend to quicken and invigorate the soul. Apart from this, however, there are other things to be kept in view.

Sickness prostrates us. It cuts into the very center of our carnal nature; it exposes in all their deformity "the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life." What vanity is seen in these upon a sickbed! These are our three idols; and these, sickness dashes down into the dust.

Sickness takes us aside and sets us alone with God. We are taken into His private chamber, and there He converses with us face to face. The world is far off, our relish for it is gone, and we are alone with God. Many are the words of grace and truth which He then speaks to us. All our former props are struck away, and we must now lean on God alone. The things of earth are felt to be vanity; man's help useless. Man's praise and man's sympathy desert us; we are cast wholly upon God that we may learn that His praise and His sympathy are enough. "If it were not for pain," says one, "I should spend less time with God. If I had not been kept awake with pain, I should have lost one of the sweetest experiences I ever had in my life. The disorder of my body is the very help I want from God; and if it does its work before it lays me in the dust, it will raise me up to Heaven." It was thus that Job was "chastened upon his bed with pain, and the multitude of his bones with strong pain," that after being tried he might "come forth as gold" (Job_23:10).

Sickness teaches that activity of service is not the only way in which God is glorified. "They also serve who only stand and wait." Active duty is that which man judges most acceptable; but God shows us that in patience and suffering He is also glorified. Perhaps we were pursuing a path of our own and required to be arrested. Perhaps we were too much harassed by a bustling world and needed retirement, yet could find no way of obtaining it until God laid us down, and drew us aside into a desert place, because of the multitude pressing upon us.

No one of the family rods is more in use than this, sometimes falling lightly on us, at other times more heavily. Let us kiss the rod. Let us open our mouth wide to the blessing, seeking so to profit by each bodily ailment, slight or severe, that it may bring forth in us the peaceable fruits of righteousness. "I know," says one, "of no greater blessing than health, except pain and sickness."

2. Bereavement. This is the bitterest of all earthly sorrows. It is the sharpest arrow in the quiver of God. To love tenderly and deeply and then to part; to meet together for the last time on earth; to bid farewell for time; to have all past remembrances of home and kindred broken up- this is the reality of sorrow. To look upon that face that shall smile on us no more; to close those eyes that shall see us no more; to press those lips that shall speak to us no more; to stand by the cold side of father, mother, brother, sister, friend, yet hear no sound and receive no greeting; to carry to the tomb the beloved of our hearts, and then to return to a desolate home with a blank in one region of our souls, which shall never again be filled until Jesus come with all His saints; this is the bitterness of grief; this is the wormwood and the gall!

It is this rod which ever and anon God is laying upon us. Nor is there any that we need more than this. By it He is making room for Himself in hearts that had been filled with other objects and engrossed with other loves. He is jealous of our affection, for He claims it all as His own; and every idol He will utterly abolish. For our sakes as well as for His own He can allow no rival in the heart. Perhaps the joys of an earthly home are stealing away our hearts from the many mansions above. God breaks in upon us in mercy and turns that home into a wilderness. Our sin finds us out; we mourn over it and seek anew to realize our heavenly citizenship and set out anew upon our pilgrim way, alone and yet not alone, for the Father is with us. Perhaps we are sitting "at ease in Zion," comfortable and contented, amid the afflictions of a suffering Church and the miseries of a world that owns no Savior and fears no God. Jehovah speaks and we awake. He takes to Himself some happy saint, or smites to the dust some wretched sinner. We are troubled at the stroke. We mourn our lethargy. While we slept, a fellow-saint has gone up to be with Christ, and a fellow-sinner has gone down to be with the devil and his angels. The death of the one stirs us up; the death of the other solemnizes and overawes us.

Thus as saint after saint ascends to God, we begin to feel that Heaven is far more truly the family home than earth. We have far more brethren above than we have below. And each bereavement reminds us of this. It reminds us, too, that the coming of the Lord draws near, and makes us look out more wistfully from our earthly home for the first streaks of the rising dawn. It kindles in us strong desires for the day of happy meeting in our Father's house, when we shall clasp inseparable hands and climb in company the everlasting hills. Meanwhile it bids us give our hearts to Jesus only. It does for us what the departure of the two strangers from Heaven did to the disciples on the Mount of Transfiguration- it leaves us alone with Jesus. It turns into deep experience that longing for home contained in the apostle's words, "having a desire to depart and to be with Christ which is far better."

The more that bereavement transforms earth into a desert, the more are our desires drawn up to Heaven. Our treasures having been transferred to Heaven, our hearts must follow them. Earth's hopes are smitten, and we are taught to look for "that blessed hope, the glorious appearing of the great God and our Savior Jesus Christ." The night is falling and the flowers are folding up; but as they do so they bid us look upward and see star after star appearing upon the darkening sky.

3. Adversity. This may be the loss of substance, or it may be the loss of our good name, or it may be the falling away of friends, or it may be the wrath of enemies, or it may be the disappointment of our hopes- these are what is meant by adversity. But let Job tell us what it means. "Behold, he breaks down, and it cannot be built again, he shuts up a man, and there can be no opening" (Job_12:14). "He has made me weary: you have made desolate all my company.... I was at ease, but he has broken me asunder: he has also taken me by my neck, and shaken me to pieces, and set me up for his mark; his archers compass me round about, he cleaves my reins asunder, and does not spare; . . . he breaks me with breach upon breach, he runs upon me like a giant.... My face is foul with weeping, and on my eyelids is the shadow of death" (Job_16:7,Job_16:12,Job_16:13,Job_16:14,Job_16:16). "My days are past, my purposes are broken off, even the thoughts of my heart" (Job_17:11). "He has fenced up my way that I cannot pass, and he has set darkness in my paths; he has stripped me of my glory and taken the crown from my head; he has destroyed me on every side, and I am gone: and my hope has he removed like a tree . . . He has put my brethren far from me, and my acquaintance are verily estranged from me" (Job_19:8 - Job_19:10,Job_19:13). These are some of the drops in the bitter cup of adversity that was given to that patient saint to drink. And they are recorded for our use, on whom the ends of the world have come, and to whom these last days may perhaps fill a cup as bitter and protracted as his.

Yet let us count it all joy when we fall into diverse tribulations, knowing this, that the testing of our faith works patience: but "let patience have her perfect work, that you may be perfect and entire, lacking nothing" (Jam_1:2 - Jam_1:4). We are cast into poverty, but how can we be poor so long as Christ is rich; and is not this poverty sent to make us prize His unsearchable riches and to buy of Him the gold tried in the fire that we may be rich? Our good name is lost through slander and false accusation. The finger of public scorn is perhaps pointed at us, and wicked men are exalted over us triumphing in our reproach. Yet have we not the approving eye of God, and is it not enough if He still honors us and knows our innocence? Let our good name go if God sees fit thus to humble us. We have the "white stone, and in the stone a new name written, which no man knows but he that receives it" (Rev_2:17).

Friends fall off and enemies arise: false brethren turn against us, and we are doomed to bear the revilings and persecutions of those whom we have never wronged but ever loved. But the friendship of Jesus is still ours. No earthly disaster or persecutor can ever rob us of that. No, the coldness of those we counted on as tried and true only draws us the closer to Him, the warmth of whose love knows no abatement nor end. Joseph passed thoroughly this trial, and the Lord set him upon Pharaoh's throne.

Moses passed through it and became "king in Jeshurun." Job passed through it and was blessed a thousandfold. Daniel passed through it and was exalted with double honor. Let us "take the prophets, who have spoken in the name of the Lord, for an example of suffering affliction, and of patience. Behold, we count them happy who endure. You have heard of the patience of Job, and have seen the end of the Lord; that the Lord is very pitiful, and of tender mercy" (Jam_5:10,Jam_5:11).

Oftentimes nothing but adversity will do for us. "I spoke unto you in your prosperity; but you said, I will not hear. This has been your manner from your youth, that you obey not my voice" (Jer_22:21). We need to be stripped of every earthly portion that we may seek entirely our portion in Jehovah Himself. We need to be turned out of a home on earth that we may seek a home in Heaven. Earth's music is too seducing and takes away our relish for the new song. God must either hush it or take us apart into a desert place that we may no longer be led captive by it but may have our ear open only to the heavenly melody. We cannot be trusted with too full a cup, or too pleasant a resting-place. We abuse everything that God has given us, and prove ourselves not trustworthy as to any one of them. Some God cannot trust with health; they need sickness to keep them low and make them walk softly all their days. They need spare diet, lest the flesh should get the mastery. Others He cannot trust with prosperity; they need adversity to humble them, lest, like Jeshurun, they should wax "fat and kick." Others He cannot trust with riches; they must be kept poor, lest covetousness should spring up and pierce them through with many sorrows. Others He cannot trust with friends; they make idols of them, they give their hearts to them; and this interferes with the claims of Jehovah to have us altogether as His own.

But still in all this God deals with us as with the members of His own family. Never for a moment does He lose sight of this. Neither should we. So that when these things overtake us, when we are thus "judged," we should feel that we are "chastened of the Lord, that we should not be condemned with the world"; we should learn not merely to submit to the rod, but to kiss and welcome it, not merely to acquiesce in chastisement, but to "rejoice in tribulation, knowing that tribulation works patience, and patience experience, and experience hope, and hope makes not ashamed." We should learn not merely to praise God in affliction, but to praise Him for it. We should see that the lot of the afflicted is far more enviable than that of him who is "let alone"; and, instead of trembling when we see the dark cloud of sorrow coming over us, we should tremble far more when we see it passing off, lest, perchance, that which came charged with blessing to us, should, through our stoutheartedness and unteachableness, leave us callous and unblessed.

Christians are "living stones," placed one by one, upon the great foundation stone laid in Zion for the heavenly temple. These stones must first be quarried out of the mass. This the Holy Spirit does at conversion. Then, when cut out, the hewing and squaring begin. And God uses affliction as His hammer and chisel for accomplishing this. Many a stroke is needed; and after being thus hewn into shape, the polishing goes on. All roughness must be smoothed away. The stone must be turned around and around on every side that no part of it may be left unpolished.

As the stones of Solomon's temple were all to be prepared at a distance and then brought to Jerusalem, there to be built together; so the living stones of the heavenly temple are all made ready here on earth, to be fitted in without the noise of an axe or hammer into the glorious building in heaven made without hands.

Every Christian then must be polished here on earth; and while there are many ways of doing this, the most effectual is suffering. And this is God's design in chastisement. This is what the Holy Spirit effects: as like a workman He stands over each stone, touching and retouching it, turning it on every side, marking its blemishes and roughness, and then applying His tools to effect the desired shape and polish. Some parts of the stone are so rugged and hard that nothing except heavy and repeated strokes and touches will smooth them down. They resist every milder treatment. And yet, in patient love, this heavenly Workman carries on the Father's purpose concerning us. He labors until every part is polished and shaped according to His likeness. No pains are spared, no watchfulness relaxed, until we are made entirely like Him, being changed into the same image from glory to glory by the Spirit of the Lord.

To make us "partakers of his holiness" is God's great design in chastisement. Come, then, let us question ourselves and endeavor to ascertain what affliction has been doing for us and what progress we are making in putting off the old man and in putting on the new. Am I getting rid of my worldliness, and becoming heavenly minded? Am I getting rid of my pride, my passion, my stubbornness, and becoming humble, mild, and teachable? Are all my idols displaced and broken, and my creature comforts do I use as though I used them not? Am I caring less for the honors of time, for man's love, man's smile, man's applause? Am I crucified to the world and is the world crucified to me by the cross of Christ; or am I still ashamed of His reproach, and am I half-reluctant to follow Him through bad report and through good, through honor and through shame? Do I count it my glory and my joy to walk where He has led the way, to suffer wherein He suffered, to drink of the cup of which He drank?

Do I shrink back from the crown of thorns? Am I every day becoming more and more unlike the children of earth, more and more fashioned after the likeness, and bearing the special characteristics of Jesus. Do I realize this earth as neither my portion nor my rest, and, knowing that one chain may bind me as fast to the world as a thousand, am I careful to shake off every fetter that may bind me to the vanities of a world like this? Is chastisement really purifying me? Am I conscious of its blessed effects upon my soul?

The Arousing

It may have been long since the Holy Spirit awoke us from our sleep of death. Into that same deep sleep we know that we shall never fall again. He who awoke us will keep us awake until Jesus come. In that sense we shall sleep no more.But still much of our drowsiness remains. We are not wholly awake, and oftentimes much of our former sleep returns. Dwelling on the world's enchanted ground, our eyes close, our senses are bewildered, our conscience loses its sensitiveness, and our faculties their energy; we fall asleep even upon our watchtower, forgetful that the night is far spent, and the day is at hand.

While thus asleep, or half-asleep, all goes wrong. Our movements are sluggish and lifeless. Our faith waxes feeble; our love is chilled; our zeal cools down. The freshness of other years is gone. Our boldness has forsaken us. Our schemes are carelessly devised and drowsily executed. The work of God is hindered by us instead of being helped forward. We are a drag upon it. We mar it. But God will not have it so. Neither for His work's sake nor for His saints' sake can He allow this to continue. We must be aroused at whatever cost. We are not to be allowed to sleep as do others. We must watch and be sober, for we are children of the light and of the day, not of the night nor of darkness. God cannot permit us thus to waste life, as if its only use were to be sported with or trifled away. Duties lazily and lifelessly performed; halfhearted prayers; a deportment, blameless enough perhaps, but tame and unexpressive, and, therefore uninfluential; words well and wisely spoken perhaps but without weight - these are not things which God can tolerate in a saint. It is either the coldness of Sardis to which He says, "If you shall not watch, I will come on you as a thief, and you shall not know what hour I will come upon you." Or it is the lukewarmness of Laodicea to which He says, "Because you are lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue you out of my mouth."

In arousing us God proceeds at first most gently. He touches us slightly, as the angel did Elijah under the juniper tree, that He may awaken us. He sends some slight visitation to shake us out of our security. He causes us to hear some distant noise: it may be the tumults of the nations, or it may be the tidings of famine, or war, or pestilence afar off. Perhaps this entirely fails; we slumber on as securely as ever. Our life is as listless and as useless as ever. Then He comes nearer, and makes His voice to be heard in our own neighborhood or within the circle of our kindred. This also fails. Then He comes nearer still, for the time is hurrying on and the saint is still asleep. He speaks into our very ears. He smites upon some tender part until every fiber of our frame quivers and every pulse throbs quicker. Our very soul is stricken through as with a thousand arrows. Then we start up like one awakening out of a long sleep, and, looking round us, wonder how we could have slept so long.

But oh, how difficult it is to awaken us thoroughly! It needs stroke upon stroke in long succession to do this. For after every waking up there is the continual tendency to fall back again into slumber. So that we need both to be made awake and to be kept awake. What sorrows does our drowsiness cost us- what bleeding, broken hearts! The luxury of "ease in Zion" indulged in perhaps for years has been dearly bought.

"Think of living," was the pregnant maxim of the thoughtful German. "Your life," says another, quoting the above, "were you the pitifulest of all the sons of earth is no idle dream, but a solemn reality. It is your own. It is all you have to confront eternity with. Work then, like a star, unhasting yet unresting."

There are some Christians who work, but they do not work like men awake. They move forward in a certain track of duty, but it is with weary footstep. Their motions are constrained and cold. They do many good things, devise many good schemes, say excellent things, but the vigorous pulse of warm life is lacking. Zeal, glowing zeal- elastic and untiring- is not theirs. They neither burn themselves, no do they kindle others. There is nothing of the star about them save its coldness. They may expect some sharp stroke of chastisement, for they need it.

There are others who are only wakeful by fits and starts. They cannot be safely counted on, for their fervor depends upon the humor of the moment. A naturally impulsive temperament, of which, perhaps, they are not sufficiently aware, and which they have not sought either to crucify or to regulate, renders them uncertain in all their movements. This intermittent wakefulness effects but little. They do and they undo. They build up and they pull down. They kindle and quench the flame alternately. There is nothing of the "star" about them. They stand in need of some sore and long continued pressure to equalize the variable. fitful movements of their spirit.

There are others who seem to be always wakeful, but then it is the wakefulness of bustle and restlessness. They cannot live but in the midst of stirring, and scheming, and moving to and fro. Their temperament is that nervous tremulous, impatient kind that makes rest or retirement to be felt as restraint and pain. These seldom effect much themselves, but they are often useful by their perpetual stir and friction for setting or keeping others in motion and preventing stagnation around them. But their incessant motion prevents their being filled with the needed grace. Their continual contact with the outward things of religion hinders their inward growth and damages their spirituality. These are certainly in one sense like the star wakeful and unresting, but they move forward with such haste that instead of gathering light or giving it forth, they are losing every day the little that they possessed. A deep sharp stroke will be needed for shaking off this false fervor and imparting the true calm wakefulness of spirit, to which, as saints, they are called. It is the deepening of spiritual feeling that is needed in their case, and it takes much chastening to accomplish this.

There are others who are always steadily at work and apparently with fervor too. Yet too little communion with God shows that they are not truly awake. They work so much more than they pray that they soon become like vessels without oil. They are farther on than the last class, yet still they need arousing. They are like the star, both "unresting and unhasting, yet their light is dim. Its reflection upon a dark world is faint and pale. It is a deeper spiritual life and experience that they need; and for this, it may be there is some sore visitation in store for them.

The true wakeful life is different from all these. It is a thing of intensity and depth. It carries ever about with it the air of calm and restful dignity, of inward power and greatness. It is fervent, but not feverish; energetic, but not excited; speedy in its doings, but not hasty; prudent, but not timid or selfish; resolute and fearless, but not rash; unobtrusive and sometimes, it may be silent, yet making all around to feel its influence; full of joy and peace, yet without parade or noise; overflowing in tenderness and love, yet at the same time, faithful and true. This is the wakeful life!

But oh, before it is thoroughly attained, how much are we sometimes called upon to suffer through the rebelliousness of a carnal nature that will not let us surrender ourselves up wholly to God, and present ourselves as living sacrifices, which is our reasonable service! In thus arousing us from our slumber, chastisement not merely makes us more energetic, more laborious, but it makes us far more prayerful. Perhaps it is here that the waking up is most sensibly felt. Nothing so quickens prayer as trial. It sends us at once to our knees and shuts the door of our closet behind us. In the day of prosperity we have many comforts, many refuges to resort to; in the day of sorrow we have only one, and that is God. Our grief is too deep to tell to any other; it is too heavy for any other to soothe.

Now we awake to prayer. It was something to us before, but now it is all. Man's arm fails, and there is none but God to lean upon. Our closets, in truth, are the only places of light in a world which has now become doubly dark to us. All without and around is gloom. Clouds overshadow the whole region. Only the closet is bright and calm. How eagerly, how thankfully we betake ourselves to it now! We could spend our whole time in this happy island of light which God has provided for us in the midst of a stormy ocean. When compelled at times to leave it, how gladly do we return to it! What peaceful hours of solitude we have there with God for our one companion! We can almost forget that the clouds of earth are still above us and its tempest still rioting around us. Prayer becomes a far more real thing than ever. It is prized now as it was never prized before. We cannot do without it. Of necessity, as well as of choice, we must pray, sending up our cries from the depths. It becomes a real asking, a real pleading. It is no form now. What new life, new energy, new earnestness are poured into each petition! It is the heart that is now speaking, and the lips cannot find words with which to give utterance to its desires. The groanings that "cannot be uttered" are all that now burst forth and ascend up into the ear of God.

Formerly, there was often the lip without the heart; now it is far oftener the heart without the lip. Now we know how "the Spirit helps our infirmities." We begin to feel what it is to "pray in the Holy Spirit. "There is a new nearness to God. Communion with Him is far more of a conscious reality now. It is close dealing with a living, personal Jehovah. New arguments suggest themselves; new desires spring up; new needs disclose themselves. Our own emptiness and God's manifold fullness are brought before us so vividly that the longings of our inmost souls are kindled, and our heart cries out for God, for the living God. It was David's sorrows that quickened prayer in him. It was in the belly of the whale that Jonah was taught to cry aloud. And it was among the thorns of the wilderness and the fetters of Babylon that Manasseh learned to pray.

Church of Christ- chosen heritage of the Lord- awake! Children of the light and of the day, arise! The long winter night is nearly over. The day-star is preparing to ascend. "The end of all things is at hand: be therefore sober, and watch unto prayer" (1Pe_4:7). "Why do you sleep? rise and pray, lest you enter into temptation!" (Luk_2:46).

God's Glory Forever (and other devotionals)

Romans 11:36

To whom be glory for ever. Amen

"To whom be glory for ever." This should be the single desire of the Christian. All other wishes must be subservient and tributary to this one. The Christian may wish for prosperity in his business, but only so far as it may help him to promote this-"To Him be glory for ever." He may desire to attain more gifts and more graces, but it should only be that "To Him may be glory for ever." You are not acting as you ought to do when you are moved by any other motive than a single eye to your Lord's glory. As a Christian, you are "of God, and through God," then live "to God." Let nothing ever set your heart beating so mightily as love to Him. Let this ambition fire your soul; be this the foundation of every enterprise upon which you enter, and this your sustaining motive whenever your zeal would grow chill; make God your only object. Depend upon it, where self begins sorrow begins; but if God be my supreme delight and only object,

"To me 'tis equal whether love ordain

My life or death-appoint me ease or pain."

Let your desire for God's glory be a growing desire. You blessed Him in your youth, do not be content with such praises as you gave Him then. Has God prospered you in business? Give Him more as He has given you more. Has God given you experience? Praise Him by stronger faith than you exercised at first. Does your knowledge grow? Then sing more sweetly. Do you enjoy happier times than you once had? Have you been restored from sickness, and has your sorrow been turned into peace and joy? Then give Him more music; put more coals and more sweet frankincense into the censer of your praise. Practically in your life give Him honour, putting the "Amen" to this doxology to your great and gracious Lord, by your own individual service and increasing holiness.

~Charles Spurgeon~

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Clearly Supernatural

"In that day shall the LORD defend the inhabitants of Jerusalem: and he that is feeble among them at that day shall be as David; and the house of David shall be as God, as the angel of the LORD before them"   (Zechariah 12:8).

One of the best methods of the LORD's defending His people is to make them strong in inward might. Men are better than walls, and faith is stronger than castles. The LORD can take the feeblest among us and make him like David, the champion of Israel. LORD, do this with me! Infuse Thy power into me, and fill me with sacred courage that I may face the giant with sling and stone, confident in God. The LORD can make His greatest champions far mightier than they are: David can be as God, as the angel of Jehovah. This would be a marvelous development, but it is possible, or it would not be spoken of. O LORD, work with the best of our leaders! Show us what Thou art able to do--namely, to raise Thy faithful servants to a height of grace and holiness which shall be clearly supernatural! LORD, dwell in Thy saints, and they shall be as God; put Thy might into them, and they shall be as the living creatures who dwell in the presence of Jehovah. Fulfill this promise to Thine entire church in this our day, for Jesus' sake. Amen.

~Charles Spurgeon~

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From Obedience to Blessing 

"From this day will I bless you"   (Haggai 2:19).

Future things are hidden from us. Yet here is a glass in which we may see the unborn years. The LORD says, "From this day will I bless you." It is worthwhile to note the day which is referred to in this promise. There had been failure of crops, blasting, and mildew, and all because of the people's sin. Now, the LORD saw these chastened ones commencing to obey His word and build His temple, and therefore He says, "From the day that the foundation of the LORD's temple was laid, consider. From this day will I bless you." If we have lived in any sin, and the Spirit leads us to purge ourselves of it, we may reckon upon the blessing of the LORD. His smile, His Spirit, His grace, His fuller revelation of His truth will all prove to us an enlarged blessing. We may fall into greater opposition from man because of our faithfulness, but we shall rise to closer dealings with the LORD our God and a clearer sight of our acceptance in Him. LORD, I am resolved to be more true to Thee and more exact in my following of Thy doctrine and Thy precept; and I pray Thee, therefore, by Christ Jesus, to increase the blessedness of my daily life henceforth and forever.

~Charles Spurgeon~

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Psalm 93:2

Thou art from everlasting.

Christ is EVERLASTING. Of Him we may sing with David, "Thy throne, O God, is for ever and ever." Rejoice, believer, in Jesus Christ, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. Jesus always was. The Babe born in Bethlehem was united to the Word, which was in the beginning, by whom all things were made. The title by which Christ revealed Himself to John in Patmos was, "Him which is, and which was, and which is to come." If He were not God from everlasting, we could not so devoutly love Him; we could not feel that He had any share in the eternal love which is the fountain of all covenant blessings; but since He was from all eternity with the Father, we trace the stream of divine love to Himself equally with His Father and the blessed Spirit. As our Lord always was, so also He is for evermore. Jesus is not dead; "He ever liveth to make intercession for us." Resort to Him in all your times of need, for He is waiting to bless you still. Moreover, Jesus our Lord ever shall be. If God should spare your life to fulfil your full day of threescore years and ten, you will find that His cleansing fountain is still opened, and His precious blood has not lost its power; you shall find that the Priest who filled the healing fount with His own blood, lives to purge you from all iniquity. When only your last battle remains to be fought, you shall find that the hand of your conquering Captain has not grown feeble-the living Saviour shall cheer the dying saint. When you enter heaven you shall find Him there bearing the dew of His youth; and through eternity the Lord Jesus shall still remain the perennial spring of joy, and life, and glory to His people. Living waters may you draw from this sacred well! Jesus always was, He always is, He always shall be. He is eternal in all His attributes, in all His offices, in all His might, and willingness to bless, comfort, guard, and crown His chosen people.

~Charles Spurgeon~

Consider Your Ways (and others)

Consider Your Ways

Then the word of the Lord came by Haggai the prophet, saying, "Is it time for you yourselves to dwell in your paneled houses, and this temple to lie in ruins?” Now therefore, thus says the Lord of hosts: "Consider your ways!" You have sown much, and bring in little; you eat, but do not have enough; you drink, but you are not filled with drink; you clothe yourselves, but no one is warm; and he who earns wages, earns wages to put into a bag with holes.” - Haggai 1:3-6

The prophet Haggai was sent to speak to the group who had come back to Jerusalem to rebuild the temple of the Lord. The Book of Ezra explains how the first group came back to begin the rebuilding process. Due to great opposition, the work came to a stop over the course of time. Haggai was sent by the Lord to re-start the work and get the people going again. The Lord was telling them to get their priorities straight. They had settled into their lives and homes but the temple was still not finished. They lived in paneled houses while God's house lay in ruins (Haggai 1:4). If they took a close look at their lives, they would see how their efforts had produced little.

Do you ever feel as though you work really hard, try to do the right things, yet nothing seems to come from it? Are you blessed? Do you see the Lord's hand in your work? If you feel as though you work to put your wages in a bag with holes, then maybe you need to "consider your ways." Check your priorities. Are you giving your first fruits unto the Lord? It is not just about your work for God that matters, it is about your heart before the Lord. Is He truly first in your life? Do you do things for Him because you love Him, or is it for other reasons?

These are the questions that we all must ask ourselves. Sometimes we get so focused on our own lives that we lose God's perspective. When that happens, we often begin to sense that things are not quite right. We do not see the blessings as we would expect or hope to see. As the Lord continued to tell His people through the prophets, “Repent and Return.” The message is the same for us today. Maybe it is time to put some new priorities in your life. Pray about what the Lord wants you to re-prioritize and ask Him to help you to make the changes He wants. Instead of pockets with holes, you will see storehouses that overflow with His blessings.

~Daily Disciples Devotional~

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No Room

Some of the saddest words on earth are: “We don’t have room for you.” Jesus knew the sound of those words. He was still in Mary’s womb when the innkeeper said, “We don’t have room for you.” And when he was hung on the cross, wasn’t the message one of utter rejection? “We don’t have room for you in this world.”

Even today Jesus is given the same treatment. He goes from heart to heart, asking if he might enter. Every so often, he is welcomed. Someone throws open the door of his or her heart and invites him to stay. And to that person Jesus gives this great promise, “In my Father’s house are many rooms.” What a delightful promises he makes us! We make room for him in our hearts….and he makes room for us in his house!

~Max Lucado~

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Thou hast kept the good wind until now - John 2:10

The world gives its best first. As youth and beauty are ushered into the banqueting-room of life, the world spreads the table with its best. The zest of enjoyment is keen in those young days, but it is soon satiated; the delicacies with which the table is spread pall, and the appetite, unduly stimulated at the first, demands coarser and more passionate delights to stimulate. At last the table is served with provision, from which, in the first days, the banqueters would have turned away disgusted.

But if you let the King lead you into His banqueting house, beneath His banner of love you will find yourself feeding on dainties which never satiate nor pall - which whet the appetite and give the taste a more delicate appreciation of the vintages of heaven.

You may say this of the Word of God. - At the beginning of Christian life it is full of meaning and inspiration; but as the years pass, and we realize ever more of its helpfulness, we repeat the refrain, "Thou hast kept the best until now!"

You may say this of Christian love. - Let two love in Christ, and instead of their affection waning, as so often happens in the world, they will discover that the fellowship, which began in comradeship, will end in a sacramental meal; truest, purest, deepest enjoyment being kept for Paradise.

You may say it of heaven. - Neither hath eye seen nor heart conceived the things, even now and here, that God has prepared for those that love Him. But so soon as the redeemed spirit shall awaken in the uncreated glory of God's presence, it will exclaim, "The half was never told; Thou hast kept the best until now." At every moment and always God is giving His best.

~F. B. Meyer~

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BIBLE MEDITATION:
“…when the Lord Jesus shall be revealed from heaven with his mighty angels… When He shall come to be glorified in His saints, and to be admired in all them that believe…” 2 Thessalonians 1:7,10.

DEVOTIONAL THOUGHT:
The Jesus who came the first time is coming again, and Christmas is not complete without the Second Coming of Jesus Christ. The incarnation without the coronation would be like east without west. It would be like an engagement without a marriage. The story is not complete until Jesus comes again. 

You may have thought that this was a good Christmas for you—but, friend, I want to tell you…the best is yet to come! The Heavenly Father has so much more in store for us when Jesus comes again. 

You see, we get all wrapped up in the little baby, the baby that was born, and we then go beyond the birth of the baby, saying, “Yes, He came to die for our sins” (thank God He did that), but I want to remind you that the First Coming of Jesus and the Second Coming are linked together. 

The Christmas Story in Luke 1 and 2 speaks not only of the Jesus who redeemed, but the Jesus who reigned. Not only Jesus who came the first time, but Jesus who is coming the second time to sit upon the throne of His father David, to rule over the house of Jacob forever and ever. 

ACTION POINT:
Imagine for a moment what your life would be like without the Resurrection, the Rapture, and the Second Coming of Jesus. The most glorious fact of the past is that Jesus came the first time. The most glorious fact of the future is that this Jesus is coming again. The one sure hope of this jittery old world is the Second Coming of Jesus Christ.

~Adrian Rogers~