Part 8

And straightway Jesus constrained His disciples to get into a ship, and to go before Him unto the other side, while He sent the multitudes away. And when He had sent the multitudes away, He went up into a mountain apart to pray: and when the evening was come, He was there alone. But the ship was now in the midst of the sea, tossed with waves; for the wind was contrary. And in the fourth watch of the night, Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea. And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out in fear. But straightway Jesus spake unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid.--_Matt. 14, 22-27._

Our blessed Lord was both, He was true God and He was true man. To-day's Gospel-lesson presents Him to us in the fishermen's boat, weary and sleeping on a pillow. There is humanity; for of God it says: "Behold, He shall neither slumber nor sleep." Again, the same story presents Him as commanding the winds and the waves. There is Godship; for of God alone can it be said: "Thou rulest the raging of the sea; when the waves thereof arise, Thou stillest them." And this remarkable contrast you will find running through all His earthly history. You enter the stable at Bethlehem. You see a babe slumbering on its mother's lap. You say, "This is Mary's child." Presently a company of shepherds enter, and tell what they heard and saw while keeping watch over their flocks by night. Scarcely have they finished their description, when wise men from the East appear, alleging that they have been guided thither by a star, and worshiping the Child with costly offerings. You stand on Jordan's bank and mingle with the thousands who have come to hear the word and submit to the Baptism of John. You behold one, Jesus of Nazareth, going down to be baptized, but you think little of it, for He differs, apparently, in nothing from those by whom He is surrounded. But as He comes up from the water, the heavens are opened, and the Spirit of God descends like a dove, and lights upon Him, while from the celestial heights comes a voice, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased." You accompany Him to the grave of Lazarus, and you see the tears trickle down His cheeks, and you realize that He is a man; for neither Deity nor angels weep. But soon you behold Lazarus come forth from his sepulcher in answer to His word of power, and once more you ask in wonder verging on adoration: "What manner of man is this?" And so till you see Him on the cross, His back lacerated with the scourge, and His brow bleeding from the pressure of the crown of thorns. You hear the words, "It is finished," and see the pale cast of death settle on His countenance. But on the third day after, you meet Him in the upper room at evening, extending His hand in resurrection greeting: "Peace be unto you."

Now, what shall we make of this wonderful dualism, as we may call it? There remains nothing for us to do but to accept that Christ was true God and true man. No other interpretation or explanation will do. Our church, in the standard Confession, in the Third Article of the Augsburg Confession, thus voices its belief, and to that we subscribe. We teach that God the Son became man and was born of the Virgin Mary; that the two natures, the human and the divine, inseparably united in one person, are one Christ, who is true God and man. So much as to the great doctrinal truth taught in the Scripture-reading of to-day. It contains also a very instructive and comforting practical truth. We shall regard as our topic:--

_The experience of Christ's disciples on the Sea of Galilee a picture of Christ's people on the sea of life_, noting, _I. their adversity_, _II. their security_.

The poet has said that human life is

Bits of gladness and of sorrow, Strangely crossed and interlaid; Bits of cloud belt and of rainbow, In deep alternation braid; Bits of storm when winds are warring, Bits of calm when blasts are stay'd, Bits of silence and of uproar, Bits of sunlight and of shade.

And it's more than poetic fancy; it is stern reality. Like that Sea of Galilee, the sea of life is sometimes calm and sometimes stormy, sometimes reposing under the soft smiles of a sunshiny sky, and sometimes ruffled and whipped by the restless gales.

Wearied from the toils and turmoils of the day, our Lord constrains His disciples to get into a ship, and to go before Him to the other side, while He sent the multitude away. When He had done this, He retired. Whither? Into a neighboring mountain. For what? To pray. He wished to be alone; His heart yearned for communication with His Father; He also needed strength and preparation for the work and conflicts of the morrow. How could He secure it? By prayer. How suggestive and instructive for us. Our Lord needed thus to strengthen and prepare Himself for life's difficulties and battles. Let us learn a lesson from Him,--discover where the secret of our power lies.

But while thus engaged, His disciples were in danger upon the sea. A fearful storm, one of those sudden, violent squalls, peculiar to the Sea of Galilee, had arisen, and was lashing the sea with violent fury. Try as they might, and they were accustomed to the sails and oars, they were perfectly helpless, and the greatest misfortune was that the Master was not with them. Had He been there, even though asleep, they might have roused and brought Him to their rescue. But, alas! He was far away. Consternation and despair seized hold upon them, when, at a sudden, they discern in the distance the form of a man walking on the foaming crests of the waters. What? Could it be He? Indeed, there He was, and He speaks to them. No sooner did He set His foot on the ship than the tossing waters sank down to their quiet bed. There was a great calm.

Beloved, these stories of the Bible have not been written for entertainment, but as the Apostle declares: "Whatever was written aforetime was written for our learning, that we through patience and comfort of the Scriptures might have hope." Life has its times of prosperities, and it has its times when the wind is contrary and wave dashes fast upon wave. The occasion of this storm may be various. Sometimes it is the matter of livelihood. Circumstances over which we have no control overwhelm us, embarrass us. Try as hard as we may, like these disciples, who made only thirty furlongs, we can make no headway; yes, in spite of our willingness and energy, we go backward; reverses set in, loss is ours. We are mightily tossed by the waves, and the clouds look dreadfully frowning and dark. Sometimes it is bodily ailment; suffering of one sort or another comes over us like a destructive wave; we are called to battle with disease, the probabilities and improbabilities of ever becoming strong again,--it is bitter experience. Or it may be the wave of bereavement. Like this little fisherman's craft, we are carried down into the depths of heart-rending sorrow; our eyes are wet with tears; before us closes the grave upon one whom we would have given the whole world to retain.

Contrary winds! Dashing billows! Rolling, tossing sea! And imagine not that by believing the Gospel, your being a Christian, will make you exempt from these storms. We are sometimes told: Do what is right, and you will not suffer. It sounds very plausible, but it is not true,--very unfrequently otherwise. Why was Joseph cast into prison? He did that which was right. Why were the martyrs put to death? These disciples in the path of duty when the storm came upon them were doing what had been commanded by the Lord. You may not infrequently be exposed to fierce blasts by being a Christian consistent, consecrated in life and duties. It matters not what your profession or portion in life may be, whether you are a Christian or not, godly or ungodly, rich or poor, famous or obscure, the storms of life will certainly, with more or less violence, overtake you. There is no exemption, no escape from them. Now, what shall we think, what say, to sustain ourselves amid experiences like that?

It may be well enough to note the experience of those disciples yonder on the Sea of Galilee. "And when the disciples saw Him walking on the sea, they were troubled, saying, It is a spirit; and they cried out for fear." What could it be, that moving form? A man? No, impossible! How could a man tread upon the waters? Then it must be a ghost, an apparition, a grim visitor from the other worlds. And as this idea forced itself upon them, they could not refrain from crying out with terror. Thus, my dear hearers, God's people are sometimes perplexed, when scenes of distress appear, and bereavement, humiliation, and sorrow appear upon life's sea. They are sometimes disposed to cry out with terror, "What can it mean?"--these dark and threatening forms. Surely, a loving and beneficent God would not alarm His children, and add still greater anxiety and anguish to their already fierce battling with the waves and the elements. My beloved, that is just what God does, and wisdom on our part, our sustaining strength, and the comfort consists in this, that we recognize that form, nor, mistaking it, cry out in terror.

That storm on the Galilean Sea was not an accident, it did not come by chance, it was sent by and with the permission of the Governor of the winds and the waves; and when the billows were rolling fiercest and fastest, His hand was there guiding and controlling. None less so with the streams of life. These are not accidental, but intentional. They do not come by chance, but are sent by, and with the permission of, the Governor of the universe, and when the billows are rolling fast, His hand is guiding and controlling our afflictions. Perplexing as they may be, they are part of God's grand and sovereign system of dealing with us. It is He, His Providence, His divine appointment and arrangement, not some strange, unmerciful power, which people call Fate, Chance, Nature, but the divine form of our blessed Savior. That is the first thing we must bear in mind amid life's storms.

"But straightway Jesus spoke unto them, saying, Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid." Human lips cannot describe the effect which these words uttered by that familiar voice must have had upon them. In a moment the whole truth flashed upon their minds,--the apparition so much dreaded was no other than He whom, above all others, they longed to see. There is a common expression in English, which speaks of "blessings in disguise." Such are all of life's untoward happenings to a Christian--"blessings in disguise."

That Galilean experience in the night and storm gave to these disciples enlarged ideas of the Master and His power, it developed their faith and trust in Him. Not for all the toil and terrors would they have foregone it. They never forgot it. Beloved, the time will come when you will look back upon that experience that wrenched your soul, that household cross that proved so heavy, that disheartening reverse that caused a big black mark to be drawn through your life's prospects and plans, those hours of dread and darkness, as the very occasions of your highest blessings, the making of yourselves. The "evils of life"--speak not thus--are blessings in disguise. "Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee, e'en though it be a cross that raiseth me." Have you ever seen anything but a cross raise men? The smiles of prosperity, the sunshiny sky, the even waves of the sea of life are not the means calculated to raise a soul nearer to God; that takes the buffetings, the storms, and the rising billows (blessings in disguise), sent by a wise God in loving purpose.

And one more. When the disciples recognized and realized that it was their Master, their fear vanished. Let the winds blow, the ship toss, and the waves run high, they felt secure,--He was with them. It is a simple thought, yet it constitutes the whole of religion, the essence of faith, our comfort in life, our hope in death, our all in all, this one thought: He is with us, Jesus, the Master.

I am thinking this moment of a man,--his eyesight impaired, sickness upon his body, his head bending low with age, striving hard to live, afraid to die. The religion of Christ was never his, and he desires none of it now. A more melancholy lot never was man's as he is tossed about with many a conflict and many a doubt, fightings and fears within, without, dissatisfied, unhappy. I am thinking of another,--his eyes have not seen the light of day for eight years; his once powerful frame is now as delicate as a child's, his hair is gray from much weariness and pain; but none was ever more cheerful, submissive, hopeful, and happy. The difference? The one has recognized the divine form walking on the surging billows, and has taken Him into his life's boat; the other has not, and will not do so. With the one it is a "great calm," stillness, joy. With the other, tumult, danger, and despair. That is the difference,--_what_ a difference! So, whether it be sickness, or that the world goes against us, or that we are straitened in our means of living, or experiencing the loss of the dearest and nearest; not _from_ them has Christ and Christianity promised to save us, but _in_ them, trusting in Him, it has promised, and that we shall feel safe.

And that is the one great practical lesson of the day's texts, that is why they are recorded in the Bible, that we may have this faith, this comfort and hope. Then in the day of trouble we shall think of something more than the mere earthly and temporal look of the trouble; we should all think of God in it, of God guiding it, and of His sheltering and sustaining hand in it. Then when we are sick, our thoughts would not be so taken up with the mere pains and annoyances we suffer, the probabilities or the improbabilities of our getting back to health and strength again; but whether we get better or not, the remembrance of the Hand of our Savior in it will make us feel easy, submissive, and patient under it, as no other strength can. And so with all other trouble. Amid the waves of the sea of life, which is seldom calm, and often swells into mountainous billows, let us heed the voice of the Savior, "Be of good cheer, it is I." Let us toil on. No contrary wind can last forever. After a time we shall reach the other shore, and when we touch that, we shall be done with these storms. Then will there be a great calm. Amen.

FIFTH SUNDAY AFTER EPIPHANY.

The kingdom of heaven is like unto a net that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind: which, when it was full, they drew to the shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away.--_Matt. 13, 47. 48._

A number of our Lord's discourses were addressed to those who were engaged in agriculture. To such were uttered the parables of the sower, of the wicked husbandmen, of the mustard seed, and to-day's Gospel of the wheat and tares. Others of these discourses were spoken more immediately to His own disciples, the most of whom had been fishermen on the Lake of Galilee, and to them mightily appealed an illustration like that which we are about to consider. They had often experienced what our Lord so simply describes. They had gone forth in their boats to fish, and after they had drawn their nets to shore, they had made an examination of what they contained, and out of the meshes they had gathered the good into vessels, for sale or for use, and that which was worthless they had thrown away. A very simple figure setting forth a very affecting and awakening truth. May the Holy Ghost solemnize our minds and write some abiding impressions on all our hearts!

The subject divides itself into two parts. It shows us, _I. The present mixed character of the churches_; _II. the future separation_.

The Kingdom of Heaven, that is, the Church, is likened by our Lord to a net cast into the sea. The net spoken of is not the ordinary casting-net, but a seine, or hauling-net, which was sometimes half a mile in length, leaded below that it might drag the bottom of the sea, and kept above the water with large corks. A net of such dimensions will naturally enclose fish of all sizes and kinds, some bad and others good, some valuable and others worthless, some in the best condition, others out of season, dead, or putrid, and unfit for human food. And so it is with the net of the Gospel. It is a large, capacious draw-net; it is not merely let down into one stream or river, but it sweeps the ocean, the wide and open sea of the world, and its threads are so strong, so well knitted together that scarcely a single fish can escape. In other words, we have here a picture of the all-embracing Church of Christ, the preaching of the Gospel to every nation. But as the divine fishermen, the ministers of Christ, cast their net into this universal sea and enclose an abundance of human fishes, not all are of the same quality; it's a mixed and motley multitude. "In the visible Church there is a deal of trash and rubbish, refuse, and vermin, as well as fish," says an old commentator.

In this our own blessed country, where the Gospel is preached in nearly 2,000,000 sermons every year, and where churches and chapels rear their spires on the right hand and on the left, there are many professed Christians, and those who belong to the visible Church, but they are not alike. They were baptized in infancy, and many of them renewed their solemn covenant at God's altar in Confirmation. But there their religion ends. They never seek God's face in private prayer. They profane and desecrate God's holy day. They neglect God's sanctuary. They never read God's Word. They are daily supported by God's bounty, but they cherish no more gratitude to the Author of all their blessings than if they were sticks or stones. What are such baptized Christians in reality but vile refuse in the net. Others, again, are not so pronounced in their conduct; they do observe to some extent the proprieties of a religious life; they are seen now and then inside of God's house, and have their names enrolled upon the communicant or membership list of some church, send their children to Sunday-school, and withhold not at times a charitable hand. But, then, that is the whole of their religion. They do not believe in always running to church, in being so awfully sanctimonious; a person can be a Christian, read his Bible, and pray at home just as well.--That's the type of many. It is the form without the power. The virgin's lamp of profession is there, the oil of God's Spirit is not there, or very, very low. And, in addition to these various classes, there is a "remnant," as the Apostle calls it, in many places a very small remnant, "according to the election of grace." These are they, and some such are now hearing me who have received the truth for the love of it, and who have embraced the Gospel as it has embraced them. They belong not to them that are "good enough," and "if God accepts any one, He cannot pass them by," but being convinced by the Holy Ghost that they are poor, soul-sick sinners, they seek Christ's blood as their only remedy and Christ's righteousness as their only ground of acceptance, and flee to Christ's cross as their only hope, and seek to adorn this doctrine by a consistent and holy life and a diligent and conscientious attendance upon the Word and Sacraments.

These, my beloved, are some of the various classes of the mixed and motley multitude that are now being gathered into the net, the outward church, and yet it is sheer impossibility to distinguish between them. They are so closely mixed together; people may live in the same houses, walk together the same street, sit side by side in the same pew, listen to the same preacher, kneel at the same sacramental altar, and at last lie down, amid sacred ceremony, in the same burial plot, and yet may be inwardly utterly dissimilar, the one from the other, the one genuine, the other spurious; the one be finally saved, the other ultimately lost.--This is something which we cannot determine, which our natural, material eye cannot discern. But that is the teaching of our text,--there will come a time when this will be made manifest. As in the drag-net, first of every sort are gathered together in the same enclosure only for a little while, till the nets are drawn in to the shore, so in the spiritual net, the outward Church of Christ on earth, the opposite descriptions of mankind are equally enclosed, but only for a season, a brief season; they will presently be divided. Says our parable: "The kingdom of heaven is like unto a net that was cast into the sea, and gathered of every kind; which, when it was full, they drew to the shore, and sat down, and gathered the good into vessels, but cast the bad away." When the net shall be full, when the last saved of the number of God's elect shall be gathered in, the examination will be made, and the separation will take place. There is a time set in God's everlasting purposes,--we know not when, indeed, that time will be according to the measurement of our years, but we know that it will be when the Gospel shall have fulfilled that which it has been sent for; for, according to the Master-Fisher, it must not return void and empty, but full. And so the net is now filling, faster at some times than at others, all along continuing to be filled until it will be drawn to shore, the shore of eternity; and then will the dividing process take place.

From this parable, and from the corresponding one of the wheat and the tares, we see what a mistake we make if we expect to find anywhere a perfect Church upon earth. To expect the Church to be a community of perfect saints is to expect more than its divine Founder ever expected, according to the words of His own parables. There was a Balaam among the prophets of God, and Achan in the camp of Israel, a Judas numbered with the twelve apostles, an Ananias and Sapphira connected with the first little flock in Jerusalem. In the Corinthian, Galatian, and Ephesian Churches, planted and superintended by St. Paul, there arose bad ministers and disreputable private Christians. No wonder, then, that in our church and charges there should be found reprehensible and undesirable material, and no preaching, however powerful and faithful, no discipline, however strict and prudent, no watchfulness, however careful and ready, can ever make it otherwise. Even to the end of the world the goats will mingle with the sheep, the tares grow up with the wheat, whilst the nets are being filled, the bad fish will be gathered with the good. Perfection is not to be found this side of heaven.

The second error pointed out by this part of our subject is this, that we must not seek, by force or persecution, to get rid of what _we_ may call putrid or unprofitable fish. Church discipline is, indeed, enjoined in the Scripture in regard to doctrine and in regard to practice. When Paul writes to Titus: "Rebuke them sharply, that they may be sound in the faith," and advises the Corinthians concerning the man guilty of incest, "Put away from among yourselves that wicked person,"--when a person has become manifest as an outspoken disbeliever or as an open transgressor of God's Law, flagrant in his morals, then it becomes incumbent upon a congregation to admonish, to discipline, for the saving of his soul, that person. Church discipline is not intended to cast away, but to bring back to proper belief and proper conduct, to save a person's soul, to keep him in the net, by removing his error and inducing him to live a decent life. However, if such a one obstinately persists in his wickedness, then it commends itself to every one that he can no longer be admitted to fellowship.