Part 8

SERMON IX. SPIRITUAL PROGRESS.

PHILIPPIANS, III., 13, 14.

“Brethren, I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things which are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press toward the mark for the prize of the high calling of GOD in Christ JESUS.”

TO have apprehended; to have attained unto the perfection of the knowledge of Christ; to have gone through the Christian’s appointed course of discipline and duties; to have acquired the acceptable and approved character; to have laid such a hold on salvation as could not be shaken off—this even Paul did not claim to have done. Divinely enlightened as he was, greatly zealous, blamelessly righteous, the chosen vessel of the LORD, he could not be satisfied with the past, he could not rest in the present, he could not calculate on the future. “If by any means I might attain unto the resurrection of the dead”—be made one of those who shall be raised in Christ to glory—“not as though I had already attained, either were already perfect. . . . I count not myself to have apprehended.”

Brethren, if Paul, with all his light, all his labours, all his holiness, all his love, felt that heaven, was, after all, not his sure inheritance, how can any among us count themselves to have secured it, to have become perfect? And yet, not a few do! I am not alluding now to those who are called Calvinists, to those who believe that salvation will infallibly be conferred on a few, chosen without regard to their former, or care for their after life; and that they who believe this doctrine are certainly of the chosen few (every Calvinist, according to his own creed, is sure of salvation)—to those who fancy that a peculiar flutter of strange feelings in the breast which they felt at a certain moment of some day or night, perhaps long past, was the impression of GOD’S seal upon them; a seal which cannot be broken, which has marked them GOD’S for ever; and that all they have to do in anticipation, in preparation for glory, is to talk and think about man’s depravity, and GOD’S electing grace. No! I am alluding to such as are most of you, brethren; who have probably never concerned yourselves about supposed absolute decrees, and irresistible grace, and final perseverance; who do not claim to be objects of any signal conversion; who have felt, and feel no ecstacy and rapture which betoken sure acceptance; and of you, I say, that many of you count yourselves to have apprehended, to know as much, to have done as much, to feel as much, to be as perfect, as you need, and to have a sure hope of salvation. None of you have a definite theory of this kind; none of you, if I took you apart and said, “Are you sure of heaven?” would dare to answer, “yes,” or to feel that you might answer, “yes;” but many of you, nevertheless, do persuade yourselves, that it is even so; many of you so spend your lives as though you had already apprehended, as though there were nothing which you had yet to attain.

Listen! You believe that there is another life after this. You believe that it may be one of glory, or one of shame and destruction. You believe that there are necessary qualifications for glory, without which it will not be conferred. You hope and expect to partake of the glory. You all know that the change from this life to the next may come at any moment, to any one of you. Still, the greater part of you make no effort to prepare farther for that change; but go on, day after day, year after year, doing the same deeds, thinking the same thoughts, feeling the same feelings, in the same way and measure as heretofore. Is it not so? And if it is, do you not justify yourselves—do you not at least compose yourselves in your present state—by asserting, or at any rate by not actively denying, that you have attained as much faith, and holiness and love, as you need to fit you for heaven. You have apprehended: at least you think so. Otherwise, how could you be contented? Believing in your heart of hearts that there is a heaven, how could you be satisfied if you did not think you would go to it; if you conceived it possible that the want of something which you have not yet, might shut you out from glory? As I speak to you thus, you feel disposed to protest against my words. You know you are not perfect. You frequently sigh over your lamentable imperfections. You feel that it is only unspeakable mercy which can make any allowance for you. You are not fit for heaven. You are not satisfied with yourselves. You have not attained. You have much to do. You intend to do much. Yes! this is your protest, and it is an honest one; you mean it, you feel it. But, brethren, I am not talking of what you mean and feel _now_; of the momentary stir of right feeling which takes place occasionally, in church when the minister of Christ rouses you; or at home or abroad, when GOD calls loudly to you by some unusual act of Providence; or on a sick bed, when physicians speak doubtfully, and friends wear ominously troubled looks; or at the grave-side, when one of your own age and circumstances of life, and like constitution, is being hidden out of sight. No! I am speaking of your usual feelings, and your every-day life; and I say, on their clear testimony, that many of you count yourselves to have apprehended.

You are at ease about heaven; you do not strive, you do not press forward as though it were yet to gain; you do not imagine that any striving, any pressing forward, is needed. What are the religious exercises of the many? A few words of private prayer, morning and evening; an attendance _once_ on the LORD’S day at church; and now and then, perhaps, a participation of the holy communion. These are the chief, often the only, efforts for grace to attain and apprehend. No perpetual upraising of the soul in prayer; no delight in public worship; no frequent yearning for the communication of Christ through His appointed ordinances; no eager searching of His Word for light, and guidance, and comfort, and encouragement! What, again, are the strivings of the many to attain a heavenly character; to do the work which GOD has given them to do; to put aside the old man, with his affections and lusts; to walk in holy obedience? Alas! they are merely negative; forbearing to offend against the letter of the great commandments. No literal idolatry, no profane swearing, no Sabbath-breaking, no stealing, no deed of lust, no deliberate slander. This is their righteousness; and if, besides, they occasionally sigh, or utter a self-condemnation, on account of the frequently reiterated, uncurbed outbreaks and indulgences of what they call “infirmities,” they seem to themselves to have attained to exemplary excellence. No matter that all their usual feelings are earth-born, and earth-directed; that their affections are set on worldly things; that they continue, year after year, every whit as spiritually indolent, impatient, bad-tempered, sensual in thought, jealous, faithless, unloving, unholy. They might, indeed, be better in these respects; perhaps they ought to be; but it is not actually necessary. They have already attained what is absolutely needed. If not quite perfect (no man is) they are perfect enough; better than many others; as good as GOD will require.

Oh, if men do not _think_ this, do they not _act_ it and testify it in their lives? Does not their religion seem to be a mere occasional pastime? something to be taken up only in the intervals of life’s earnest work; a matter of no real moment; which does not demand more than ceremonious observance, leaving the thoughts, the affections, the energy free; offering nothing (worth the while) to be pursued with zeal, and industry, and self-denial; to progress and grow perfect in; having no claims upon us which are not sufficiently discharged in the way of mere routine?

I should wrong many of you, dear brethren, if I meant this charge to be universal. Of not a few of you, “we are persuaded better things, and things that accompany salvation, though we thus speak.” But, in a degree, even _you_ answer to this description, or part of it; coming nearer, now and then, to contentment about your spiritual state than you should; forbearing, frequently, to press forward enough for what is not yet attained.

Well, then, we are all reproved by the apostle’s lowly estimation of his own past and present: “I count not myself to have apprehended.” Let us now seek to be instructed by his proposals for the future: “Forgetting the things that are behind, I reach forth.” First, then, we are to forget the things that are behind. In the figure which the apostle uses, that of a runner in a race, to forget what is behind is, not to pride ourselves upon, not to think of the progress we have already made. Paradox though it seem, the Christian religion often bids us both remember and forget the same thing; and it does so in this case. We are to remember the success which has attended us hitherto in the attempt to serve GOD, both to prompt our gratitude for the past, and to encourage us to persevere, as having hope that we may prevail. We are to forget it, so as not to presume on our goodness; not to rest satisfied with aught we have done, or to count ourselves as having in any measure attained to what GOD requires of us. There is much temptation to such self-satisfaction, and there is much danger in it. Few, if any of us, who have been earnestly endeavouring to work out our salvation, can fail to observe that we have accomplished something. We have come to feel an interest in spiritual things. Prayer, instead of being altogether a wearisome task, or a mere matter of routine, has begun to be an enjoyable exercise. The pursuit of godliness, instead of being altogether a hard task, requiring us to forego all that is pleasant, to encounter much that is trying, to do that for which we have no taste, has begun to bestow on us its reward, in fulfilling its promise of making glad the life that now is, in elevating us, though, perhaps, but little, towards the hope of the life which is to come. We like now (that is, we dislike less) the exercises of devotion. We more readily give up what once we clung to as the chiefest good. We begin to realise, that there is something worth striving for beyond; and we make efforts, though they may be feeble, to reach it, and lay hold on it. But, perceiving this change, this improvement in ourselves, we run the risk of coming to think, that we are not like other men; that we have come out, and are separate; that we are in the right way; that GOD approves us. And the natural effect of this perception, or rather the effect which Satan causes it to produce, is spiritual pride and spiritual indolence. “I love prayer, I cultivate holiness: what lack I yet? I have attained; I have apprehended Christ; knowing and loving Him, and laying fast hold on His salvation.”

Such a feeling once harboured in the breast, and thus interpreted, soon begins to deaden our spiritual energies. We cease to be holy as soon as we fancy ourselves holy. We relinquish effort as soon as we find that we have been using it. In the remembrance of the past, in the spiritual pride which it produces, we forget the future and unlearn humility. Therefore we are to forget the past of progress.

But, besides this, we are to forget what is behind of failure and trial, and former superiority. There is nothing so apt to beget despondency, to discourage further effort, as the review of unsuccess: “I have tried this before, and failed; it is of no use to try it again. Destiny, or innate corruption seems to thwart me and bind me down; it is vain to contend against it.” Thus it is that men persuade themselves to yield unresistingly to evil. When bidden to forsake it, when desiring to forsake it, instead of making the effort as though it were a first one, the beginning of a right course, in which, if they persevere, they may hope by GOD’S grace to do well, they recall to memory how they have failed before, and persuade themselves, from their remembrance, that in like manner they should surely fail again: and so they refuse to try. And so, too, the remembrance of former superiority discourages. “How pure, how temperate, how steady, how comparatively good was I once. Alas! that cannot be again. I cannot undo what I have done. I cannot recover what is lost. The past can never be the present.” No, it cannot, brethren, and therefore forget it. Do not seek to undo, to recover. Since that cannot be, aim at something else; and, that you may aim the more steadily, do not let your eye wander elsewhere. If you have left your father’s house, and wasted your substance in riotous living, it is too late to prevent you from being a prodigal; but it is not too late to become a returning prodigal. Forget your former independence; forget the going away into the far country. Remember, that your Father still lives; that He is a merciful, a pardoning Father; that His arms are spread out to enfold you; that there is still room, and welcome room, for you in His house. Forget what you have abandoned, and seek what you may yet have: not former innocence, not the inheritance of uninterrupted dutifulness, but reformed life, and fresh favour, a new place as a new character.

Once more, forget the things that are behind, as you start, as you run along the course from the world to heaven. Do not delay in considering what you have to give up; do not grudge the effort; do not turn aside your eyes to behold what you are leaving behind, what you are passing by the way. Temporal things, though so infinitely inferior to eternal, are near and palpable; while the spiritual are distant and indistinctly seen. If you ponder and weigh, if you count over too frequently the cost, your own carnal judgment, and Satan’s blinding influence, will check you at starting, or lure you aside. To look back, to gaze about you, to stand still for a moment, is perhaps to lose the race. “See,” says Satan, “what you are leaving, what you are passing. Here are riches, honour, friends, pleasure, ease.” You look, and the look leads you back, or makes you stumble, perhaps fall. “Onward, onward!” be this your cry; this your aim. Stay not in all the plain; look not behind you; look on; behold the goal; remember the prize. Think not of the past; regard not the present; aim at the future. Forgetting the things that are behind, reach forth unto those that are before.

I have anticipated the other lesson of wisdom; that of reaching forth; of concentrating all your thoughts, and all your energies, on what is held out to you by GOD in Christ. You are not to measure the distance you have come; you are not to brood over stumblings, and falls, and past slowness; you are not to recall the things that you have left, nor to look at those you are passing. You are to run on, as if the race were all before you; as if the course were an untrodden one; as if there were good hope of reaching the goal. And you are to look steadfastly at the goal, and run eagerly towards it. This is your position; this your course; these your hopes.

Gird up your loins then, lay aside every weight, the weight of worldly temptation, the weight of experienced failure, the weight of difficulties and troubles. Assured that the race may be run, assay to run it. Knowing that the prize is still proffered, attempt to gain it. Gather experience from the past, what to do, what to avoid. Redouble your efforts, quicken your pace, because the time is short, and much of it has been trifled away. Take hope from the future, because the lists are still open, because you are accepted candidates for the prize, because the king waits to crown you.

What does all this mean in plain language? Sinners! repent, cry for mercy, pray for grace, aim at godliness. Lovers of the world! unloose your affections from what is worthless and perishable; fix them upon what is above value and everlasting; let go what you have, cast it behind you, and seek what you have not. Loiterers! move on. Crawlers! rise upon your feet and run. There is no time for delay, for tardy pace. The LORD waits to crown you, but He will not wait long. Racers! race on, faster, more intent. Let your desires outstrip your feet. Quicken your feet, to come up to your desires. But a little, and the trial of your speed will be over, and the conquerors will be crowned, and all others be rejected.

Brethren, one and all, consider the prize of your high calling of GOD in Christ JESUS. Enlist heartily in its pursuit; shake off everything that hinders; shut your eyes against all that allures; seek guidance, strength, and perseverance, in prayer, study of GOD’S Word, and other holy ordinances. Use those graces in daily instant increasing efforts; animate yourselves more and more by anticipations of what is held out, by nearer and more constant beholding of it. Stay not, and pause not till the arms of acceptance enfold you, the Voice of approval greets you, “Well done,” and grateful, realised joy enables you to exclaim, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness.”

SERMON X. SPIRITUAL THINGS NOT REVEALED TO THE NATURAL MAN.

1 CORINTHIANS, II., 14.

“The natural man receiveth not the things of the Spirit of GOD: for they are foolishness unto him: neither can he know them, because they are spiritually discerned.”

ALL of you, my brethren, to some extent profess, and to some extent desire, to be religious. All of you assent to the truth, that religion is the “one thing needful,” and yet many of you, if you knew your hearts, and examined your ways, would be constrained to admit that religion is not the ruling power of your life. You are indeed religious according to the standard of the age, _i.e._, you come to church on Sunday, perhaps occasionally to holy communion, you say your prayers morning and evening, you read the Bible now and then, you do not grossly offend against any one of the ten commandments, you sigh over your frailties and infirmities, you give _something_ to the poor. All this entitles you, in the estimation of others, to be classed among what are called religious people; and suggests to yourselves the comfortable thought, that, at least, you are not worse than other men; that, in fact, you are much better than many. Still, if you are careful readers of your Bible, if you are observant of the world within and around you, if you are given to self-searching, you must often feel that your religion is but a sorry counterfeit of what GOD has taught and saints have reflected; that you are scarcely half in earnest about it; that you experience very little advantage from it; that you render very empty homage to it. For instance, you read the Sermon on the Mount, or the reiteration of many parts of it here and there, in the epistles; you put together the several characteristics of true religion there displayed; and then, turning an eye upon yourselves, looking back upon the path you have trodden, surveying the ground upon which you now stand, testing your practice, scanning your motives, asking yourselves, “By what am I mainly influenced? whither tend my chief desires? what are my feelings?” “Alas!” you exclaim, “where, in all these, are the influences and operations of the religion taught by Christ and His apostles?”

Or, again, you read of Joseph, stoutly refusing the safe indulgence of a forbidden pleasure, under a heartfelt conviction of required sanctity, and present accountability, which found its vent in those memorable words, “How can I do this great wickedness and sin against GOD?” And then you find him, after shining thus brilliantly as a saint, patiently, religiously bearing the treatment of a sinner. Or you read of Abraham, giving up at a word’s bidding the comforts of home, the ties of kindred, and the means of support; wandering henceforth throughout his life in a strange land, apparently coming no nearer to the promised rest and blessedness, yet cheerfully, hopefully, thankfully, admitting and feeling that all was, and would be right and well for him. Or you read of Moses, refusing the honours, the pleasures, the riches of a court life, and choosing to be a wanderer, to endure all kinds of hardships and reproaches, that he might avoid sin and serve GOD. Or you read of Job, subjected to concentrated miseries and undeserved chastisements and rebukes, and blessing the Hand which had imposed them, or at least had not interfered to ward them off. Or you read of David, weeping over a forgiven sin, setting it always before him, making frequent mention of it in his prayers, accepting often reverses as the due chastisement of it, and thanking GOD for them. Or you read of Stephen, cruelly maligned, savagely beaten to death, and yet spending his dying breath, not in protesting, not in invoking vengeance, but in praying, “LORD, lay not this sin to their charge.” Or, once more, you read of Paul, testifying that to die is gain, and, in the least adverse circumstances of his converted life, coveting to depart.

You read, I say, of these things; you consider under what feelings and hopes they were borne and encountered, and you sadly exclaim, “Where, in me, in deed or feeling, in aim or restraint, in perseverance or patience, is the religion of Joseph, of Abraham, of Moses, of Job, of David, of Stephen, of Paul? Do I thus resist temptations to unlawful pleasures? Do I set loose my natural affections, give up my worldly goods, go forth into unknown and unguessed-at circumstances at Divine bidding? Do I refuse proffered honours, riches, pleasures, not because they are in themselves sinful, but because they _may_ possibly lead me into sin? Do I patiently and thankfully endure even merited chastisements? Do I struggle with myself and with GOD to prevent past sins from escaping out of my remembrance? Do I seek to bless those who revile or injure me? Do I feel that to die is gain; and do I covet to depart?”