Street Meeting Thirty First

Of late there hath appeared some encouragement in our public meetings, the number of hearers seeming to increase, and certain familiar faces returning from week to week. I have been somewhat comforted in the hope that the Lord, if He be pleased to grant us perseverance in the work, shall in His own appointed season cause the seed thus scattered to bring forth fruit unto the praise of His glorious name. Yet I should take caution not to look too much upon appearances, but continue in the work whether I see fruit or no, knowing that the increase belongs wholly unto God. As for myself, I find the same fear returning whenever the hour draws near for me to stand before the people. I had once supposed that much doing of the same thing would make it easier, but I find it otherwise in spiritual things. The fear remains so long as the wretchedness remains. Experience may teach a man what he is able to do, increasing his confidence in himself; but faith grows quite differently. The more I am made aware of my own insufficiency, the more necessary Christ appears unto me, and the more precious is every assistance received from His hand.

I have also learned repeatedly that I must not wait for courage before I obey. Many times I have stood trembling inwardly, desiring first some sensible assurance of strength before beginning; yet it hath pleased the Lord ordinarily to withhold it until after I have stepped forward. The assistance comes in the doing. The power is given after obedience hath commenced, and not sooner. Thus I am learning, though very slowly, that the Lord doth not always strengthen me beforehand that I may obey Him without fear. Rather, He calls me forward in weakness, and there, in the very act of obedience, causes me to discover a strength not my own. And this hath often refreshed my soul greatly: that He requires not strength from me, but dependence upon Him.

The text for this afternoon was brought to my mind only after I had spent some time upon my face before the Lord, pleading that He would direct me in what I ought to speak unto the people. I had intended to continue from my former reading, but, being unable to find it among my notes, I began to consider whether the Lord might not have another word for me to take up instead. I was somewhat uncertain at first, and unwilling to proceed merely upon my own inclination; yet the thought of another text remained with me and seemed increasingly suitable to the burden then upon my heart. Thus I was led away from what I had first intended, and toward that which I afterward believed the Lord would have me speak.

For some time my heart had been much drawn toward speaking of the blessedness of a life lived in covenant with God, especially when set against the miserable and pitiable condition of a soul living apart from Him. I felt an earnest desire, not merely to warn the people of sin and judgment, but to set before them something of the goodness of belonging unto God, and how blessed a thing it is to have Him for our portion. One way by which I sought to proclaim the goodness of the Lord was to awaken a holy envy in those who heard me: to boast openly what I possess in Him, that they might be made conscious of what they themselves lack. I would speak of the sure hope founded upon the promises of God, the peace that comes from resting beneath His fatherly care, the privilege of answered prayer, and, above all, that quiet joy and contentment which the world can never give. I desired them to see that life with God is not merely a life from which certain sins have been removed, but a life into which immeasurable riches have been opened to. In Christ, I have not merely been redeemed from death; I have been brought into the life of His person. And in this text I found much liberty to do so. 

Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me. In my Father's house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.
John 14:1-3

My soul was drawn affectionately to lift up the Lord before the people, and to speak of His unfailing faithfulness and the certainty of this particular promise which He hath made unto those whom He hath taken into covenant with Himself. I was much affected by the thought that God doth not merely command His people from afar, but binds Himself unto them by covenant, and remains faithful even when their own hearts are weak and trembling.

There seems to be something deeply seated in our nature which continually seeks satisfaction in whatever object hath gained the chief place in our affections. The heart doth not remain idle, but fastens itself upon something from which it hopes to draw pleasure, comfort, or meaning. And I have often observed that there is perhaps no clearer discovery of what hath truly captivated the heart than the manner in which we willingly give our time. Time is the ultimate revealer of hearts. We seldom complain of having no time for that which we greatly love. Somehow the hours are found, the inconveniences endured, and other matters laid aside. Affection makes room for its object. But the contrary is equally revealing: that which we esteem lightly is easily neglected, and that which holds little importance in our hearts shall receive but the spare of our time. 

Why must you constantly force yourself to spend time with the One you claim to love? 

This hath often caused me to examine myself. For if I say that I love God, yet find abundant time for lesser things while scarcely finding any to sit before Him in His Word, what doth the ordering of my time testify concerning the ordering of my affections? The heart may speak well of God with the lips while quietly revealing its true treasure by the things unto which it continually returns. 

We may indeed give much of our time unto obligations, and continue faithfully in the outward performance of them, even for years, while the heart itself remains far away and takes no pleasure therein. And when the opportunity presents itself, the heart is revealed by its reluctance: given the choice, it would rather be elsewhere and doing something else. But I have observed that when a man continues in doing that from which his affections have departed, the duty itself gradually becomes grievous, and what began as weariness may in time bear the bitter fruit of resentment. A man and woman may remain together in marriage while their hearts have long since been divorced from affection towards one other. The outward ties remain, the household continues, and the ordinary duties are performed; yet the inward desire to do good unto one another hath withered away, leaving little more than performance. The hands may long continue what the heart hath ceased to love.

I find the same principle appearing in our daily labor, and indeed in many other things belonging to this life. The man whose heart remains detached from the object of his affection may yet be stirred into a life of obligation, but only love will sacrifice itself for the good of the beloved. Obligation may produce duty, but only love will willingly endure humiliation, suffering, and even death. Hence we see many professing Christians willing to brave the inconvenience of traffic to attend a service, yet unwilling to see themselves utterly humiliated for the sake of the Gospel. Duty may carry a man as far as inconvenience; only love will carry him amidst great shame and loss. 

The heart needs no knife to the throat to make time for the object of its affection; and thus our love is often revealed, not by what we profess to value, but by that unto which we freely and continually give our time. We may continue from necessity where affection would no longer carry us, but such continuance never produces joy. The soul who loves God less than he ought will only spare time, setting his heart on other things, not on things above. The soul was not made to find satisfaction in mere performance.

And I fear it is no different in matters concerning God. We cannot truly devote ourselves unto a God from whom we remain inwardly alienated, nor delight in communion with One in whose presence we find no pleasure. Religion may compel the hands for a season, and fear may constrain the conscience; but neither can make the heart love God. If we are strangers unto Him, prayer shall become labor, His Word a burden, and obedience an obligation reluctantly discharged.

This hath persuaded me more deeply that the great necessity of man is not merely to be taught new duties, but to be given a new heart. For until God Himself becometh lovely unto the soul, religion remains something merely imposed from without. But when the heart is reconciled unto Him through Christ, it is made alive! And thus duty begins to be transformed into a deeper desire, and obedience into the glad response of joyful affection.

One can scarcely find a person in this world who would willingly marry someone altogether unknown to him. The very thought appears unreasonable. Before such a union, there is ordinarily some acquaintance, some knowledge of the person, and some affection which draws one toward the other. Yet I fear that many profess to follow a God who remains almost entirely foreign unto them. What little they know of Him hath been gathered from what they have heard another say, or from what others have taught them, while they themselves possess little personal acquaintance with Him through His Word.

How absurd would it be for a man to appoint another to become acquainted, on his behalf, with the woman whom he himself intends soon to marry! He might receive many reports concerning her, and learn much about her character from the testimony of others; yet all this would be a poor substitute for knowing her himself. And nevertheless, in matters concerning God, many seem content with precisely such an arrangement. They are satisfied that the pastor should know Him intimately, while they themselves remain at a distance.

I have also considered how a person may know that he is married, and yet order his affections as though he were not. The covenant may be acknowledged with the lips while the heart wanders continually after other loves. Something of this evil may also be found in religion. Many sit week after week in the pew, and profess themselves to belong unto God, yet their strongest desires are spent elsewhere. They know the concept of covenant, but their affections live as though they are not under it.

It is one thing to say that I belong unto Christ, and another to ask whether my affections bear witness to that belonging. If He be indeed my Bridegroom, can I remain content to know Him only through the words of another? And if I profess myself engaged unto Him, as a virgin is to her groom, what doth it reveal when my heart continually seeks its deepest satisfaction elsewhere?

For where your heart is, there will your heart be also.

Matthew 6:21 

Hence the heart waits with little anticipation for the coming of the Bridegroom. Seeing that He delays His coming, it begins to grow weary of watching. The lamp is laid aside for a season, though there be scarcely any oil within it, while the mirth of the world beckons from without and appears too pleasant to resist. The heart which hath little affection for the Bridegroom shall soon find the delay of His coming burdensome, and the pleasures of another company increasingly desirable. Plainly, to sleep is better than person of the Bridegroom.

And doth not the Word itself speak unto us in the language of covenant affection? Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind, and with all thy strength. Are we to suppose that such a command stands outside from covenant language, as though God required nothing more than the cold obedience of a servant? Surely He calls for the whole man because He hath taken a people unto Himself. He desires not merely the labor of their hands, but the affection of their hearts. And so I have often wondered whether this explains Lord's declaration that He hateth divorce. Separation and covenant-breaking stand contrary to that faithfulness which belongs perfectly unto His own nature. God is faithful because He cannot deny Himself; and every covenant He makes reveals something of the steadfastness of Him who made it.

Yet how readily the human heart desires the benefits of covenant while resisting its affections and obligations. We would have God for our refuge without having Him for our treasure. We desire His promises while our hearts wander after other lovers, and then presume upon His faithfulness as though it were permission for our own unfaithfulness. But the faithfulness of God is no encouragement unto infidelity. We cannot claim the comforts of belonging unto Him while remaining content to live as though we belonged unto another. We cannot love two husbands. This hath caused me to consider that covenant with God is no light profession. It is not merely to say that He is ours, but to be brought by grace into that blessed condition wherein we are His. And if He hath indeed taken the heart unto Himself, that heart cannot remain satisfied forever in its wandering. It may stray, and grievously so; but the faithful Bridegroom shall not leave His bride at peace among her other lovers.

Thus I have come to see that to love God with all our being, and in all things, is the language of covenant union. It is, as it were, to be joined unto Him in a holy marriage, wherein the heart is taken from its former loves and brought into devotion unto One who hath first loved it. To be devoted unto Him is necessarily to become detached from all that is less than Him. Not that the good things of this life cease to be good, nor that the heart becomes incapable of loving those whom God hath given us; but they can no longer occupy the place which belongs unto Him alone. Every lesser affection must find its proper order beneath the greater love of God.

And herein is a mystery which I find increasingly precious: the soul united unto Christ doth not merely abandon the world and remain empty. It forsakes lesser things because it hath found something infinitely better. It is satisfied in a love which hath no end, and therefore needs not beg the world to supply what only God can give. The offers of the world begin to lose something of their former brightness when the heart hath tasted that the Lord is good. We love Him because He first loved us. Our affection is but the answer of a heart which hath first been sought, purchased, and redeemed. He loved us and gave Himself for us, not finding us lovely, but making us His own at the cost of His own blood. And the more my soul considers this, the more unreasonable it appears that I should desire another in His place. For what hath the world ever given me that can be compared with Christ, who gave Himself for me?

If eternity be of little concern unto us, neither shall we care to redeem the time. And when at last we draw our final breath, it is often in wishing for more time that we discover how insignificant the things we spent our time pursuing ever truly mattered. Only then before the Great White Throne doth it become plain: we threw away on earth the most precious commodity, time, that could never be recovered, for things we could never keep.

We will only give ourselves fully to whatever, or whoever, we truly love. Therefore the deepest Christian question is not merely what creed we profess, nor even what office in ministry do we occupy, but whether grace has so captured our heart to God that Christ has become our only pleasure, and greatest treasure.

In the days of my ignorance, I had entertained very poor and mistaken thoughts concerning what it meant to be a Christian. I supposed it consisted chiefly in the accumulation of good works, imagining that if the good were sufficient, it might somehow stand against the evil and make the whole account tolerable before God. Of the necessity of a new heart, and of being made a new creature in Christ, I understood very little. I was also accustomed to make my humanity an excuse for sin. Knowing that all the sons and daughters of Adam are inclined unto evil, I comforted myself with the thought that my own failings were merely an unavoidable part of life, and therefore something to be accepted rather than deeply mourned and resisted. 

Thus the universality of sin, which ought to have made me tremble at the depth of our ruin, became instead an occasion for me to excuse my own. I now see how readily the heart makes peace with that which it hath no strength to overcome. Because sin was common, I persuaded myself that it was tolerable; and because I could not free myself from it, I concluded that I might safely live alongside it. Thus I mistook the commonness of sin for permission to remain at peace with it.

And I was by no means alone in such thinking. I fear that a great many professing Christians, such as I myself once was, possess but a poor and distant acquaintance with the Scriptures. We are content that another should search them on our behalf. Through laziness we depend upon a pastor or preacher to labor in the Word for us, receiving whatever he hath gathered, while scarcely opening the sacred pages ourselves. I knew something of this evil in my own soul, being willing enough to hear what another man had learned of God, while having little appetite to seek Him diligently for myself. Yet how unreasonable would such conduct appear in any other pursuit of knowledge! What student attends his classes while hardly reading his books, supposing that knowledge shall be absorbed effortlessly into his mind? No man expects proficiency in any earthly discipline by such neglect, and yet in matters concerning God and eternity we readily persuade ourselves that a sermon heard from time to time shall compensate for a Bible seldom opened.

I am increasingly persuaded that much of our spiritual ignorance proceeds not from any want of light in the Word of God, but from our unwillingness to dwell long enough beneath that light. We desire to know God without seeking Him, to understand truth without laboring in the Scriptures, and to grow in grace while neglecting the very Word wherein He hath been pleased to make Himself known. I find this tendency yet remaining in myself, and must continually pray against that slothfulness of soul which would rather receive truth elsewhere than sit patiently at the feet of God and hear Him speak in His Word.