Day Unto Day

By E. Littleton, Jr.

Daily devotionals for the month of December

DECEMBER 1

“I shall not want”—Ps. 23:1.

These are the words for our meditation for the first day of the concluding month of the year. At such a season, when reviewing the goodness of the Lord through the past year, how comforting is the faith-enabled reflection that there is, in accordance with these words, good ground for us to still believe that we shall not want. What have not, perhaps, been the Lord’s appearings for us during the year? What have not been the signs that still He is with us? How many tests, perhaps, has our faith had. But what is our view of the Lord today? Is it not—in spite of all suggestions within us to the contrary—one of hope and well-justified (if too feeble), reliance that He will provide for us still? Perhaps some amongst us may be in such circumstances that at this moment our hearts cannot subscribe to this. Then let us ask how we stand. Circumstances are it would seem, perhaps—then—against us? But “if God be for us, who” or what, “can be against us?” (Rom. 8:31). How do we know what God’s designs are concerning us in it all? It would appear that, perhaps—as is so frequently the case with us—we want to see the end of the chapter of them before the final pages are turned. At least, such the writer knows to be too often his carnal impatience. But is ours a walk of faith or a walk of sight? If the latter, wherein do we differ from the world? Yet far be it from the writer to appear to make light of either his own faith’s difficulties, or of others’, or of the sometimes heart-wringing trials of faith which some especially are called upon to endure. Nevertheless, for—if the Lord will—the comfort by Him of each today, have we not here a Divine truth uttered by the Psalmist? Has it not confirmation from the beginning to the end of the Divine Revelation? The meaning is deep. It is in many respects we know below the surface. But may He by and with faith enable us to penetrate it. The truth is: we “shall not want.” How it is true we hope to meditate a little upon to-morrow.

“O could I but believe,

Then all would easy be;

I would, but cannot; Lord, relieve!

My help must come from Thee.”

“Wilt thou not crown at length

The work thou hast begun?

And with the will afford me strength

In all thy ways to run?” (Gadsby’s, 278).

DECEMBER 2

“I shall not want”—Ps. 23:1.

(second meditation)

The word want has two meanings. One signifies desire, the other need. Because we are wanting something—and are in great trial, it may be, as to where what appear to be necessities are to come from—does it follow that this truth does not hold good? In the forefront of the whole matter stands the fact—the precious fact—that the kingdom of the Lord, and our kingdom (if this truth is ours) is not of this world. This clears the ground greatly. It is true that there is here the well-founded hope set forth that we shall have all that is really needful temporally in the wilderness, even in the deepest-tried cases: whilst how many have to bless a gracious God for a liberal hand? How many for a bounteous hand? What a countless number of His children have experienced His time goodness—His Fatherly and loving hand—the appearings of His providence and His care—in the fulfilment of this truth concerning temporal need? How comforting at times is this truth to rest upon? Great has been its fulfilment. But passing to the most difficult cases, to those where even the supply in these respects has been small, and a closely measured supply (for what reasons we very little know at present—though what we know not now we shall doubtless “know hereafter”), are we to measure our lives, and this truth, by the world’s standard? What have the world to live for but those things? Beyond them, to what can their thoughts and hopes range? If they have not these things, they have absolutely nothing. The cases, therefore, are not on a par. These things are only incidentals—important incidentals, it is true—in our needs and hopes, in our pleasures and in the stays of our lives. Even, therefore (where such be the fact), if our supply of these real needs be closely measured, with little over beyond (in the most tried cases) the utterest temporal necessities of life, we have from that starting point to begin to reckon up our riches—and our inexpressible favours—in the supply of all our other requirements: which are a vast multitude of no less than divine, heavenly and celestial needs. Have these failed? (These needs—not what we thought we needed). We were His sheep lost in the fall—and without regenerating life could never have seen Him. But this our need was supplied. We have needed it to be kept alive. Have our wants been supplied, or not—or have we spiritually died? Such is impossible—for our need in this respect we “shall not want.” Have we not needed innumerable supplies of faith? Have we not (though with much trial of it) been supplied? Have we not needed heavenly instruction? Have we not in our humble and needed measure and manner been taught? Have we not needed Satan overcoming for us over and over again? Has he not (though many have been our falls by the way), often and often been overcome for us?—still remaining a chained enemy? Have we not needed many interpositions of God’s hand, wisdom, love and power for us in providence and grace? Has He not been gracious to us? Have not perhaps temporal enemies needed to be defeated by divine (though unseen) power for us? And has it not been performed for such of us? Have we not needed spiritual food, spiritual strength, spiritual hope, heavenly guidance? We cannot extend our survey; but how vast and humanly impossible of supply have been and still will be these needs. But this is our consolation—that it is a divine truth concerning them all: we “shall not want.” How great is the truth?

“When overwhelmed with grief,

My heart within me dies,

Helpless and far from all relief,

To heaven I lift my eyes.

Within thy presence Lord,

For ever I’ll abide;

Thou art the Tower of my defence

The refuge where I hide.” (Gadsby’s, 140)

DECEMBER 3

“Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly”—Ps. 1:1.

He is not blest for a merit he has thus acquired: though it is an undoubted truth that such a man walks beneath the smile of God—for God is his Father, and Jesus is his Merit Provider. Not the only important thing, but the most important one involved in his being found thus walking is that it shews him to be one of whom God is his Father and Jesus his Merit Provider. The words—and their sense—are connected with the subsequent portions of the Psalm, amongst which is the declaration that this man “delights in the law of the Lord” (ver. 2). His eschewing of the council of the ungodly is thus shewn to go far beyond the mere domain of morality (though it includes that necessarily), and is that which is prompted by divine teaching in the heart, springs from divine life there, and is performed by the enabling of divine power. His heart and walk have ceased to be under the dominion of the counsel of the ungodly. There is no more ungodly person than Satan—Who, in fact, is the leader of all ungodly counsel—and his heart has especially been taught effectually as to the ungodly nature of his counsel. He is no longer a blinded and enchained slave to the counsels of Satan. His divine Enlightener has inerasably taught him one thing—that, if he can only see the imprint of Satan upon any counsel whatsoever, that counsel he must flee from; and the same Enlightener is also his Enabler to whom he looks for strength to do it, and who has also implanted in him the desire needful. This is briefly the portrait of this man and his manner of walking away from the “counsel of the ungodly.” We would fain discover some marks of ourselves in his portrait. And how faint—to our shame—do they sometimes appear! Yet we know we desire to be found walking as he walks—yea, we know that, at least, we sometimes find him and his fellow walkers sweet companions, with many similar experiences, many similar hopes, and many similar consolations to our own—and we are at times quite certain that the anchor of our souls is cast in the same place where his and theirs is, even within the veil, where we are at such times not without hope that “the Forerunner” has for us for ever entered, and that there will one day prove to be the end of our, as well as their, walk (Heb. vi. 6:19, 20).

“He guides, and moves our steps,

For though we seem to move,

His Spirit all the motion gives.

By springs of fear and love.” (Gadsby’s, 308).

DECEMBER 4

“Nor standeth in the way of sinners”—Ps. 1:1.

This seems to be an emphasizing, or an expansion of the truth of the previous words, where it is stated that “Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the ungodly,” referred to yesterday. We there reflected that Satan is the chief of ungodly persons, and—on casual reading—our contention there might almost appear to be that these former words had no relation to an avoidance of ungodly persons in general; which could not in reality be so, for if his heart has been divinely drawn from (as yesterday stated) all which bears to him the imprint of the counsel of Satan, the principle applies to the ungodly “counsel” of all who are under his slavery and instigation. Just as, if we love Christ, we love everything wherein He dwells; so, if our affections are estranged from the ungodly “counsel” of Satan, they are also estranged from the same ungodly counsel in whomsoever and wheresoever it dwells and is prompted by him. So this person finds no pleasing place of sojourning by the way amongst the counsel of the ungodly in general, who are only so many manifestations of the “counsel” of Satan. Their “way” he feels to be no place for him. He cannot stand there to take counsel. He does not desire to do so. He knows also that his carnal heart is itself ungodly and therefore that if he stands there, the ungodly influences around him will seek to make acquaintance with the ungodly influences within him, and infect him with their evil power. He knows it to be his duty—and his love of His Lord and of His law (ver. 2) prompt him—not to stand amidst the infection of that which is found in the “way” of the servants of Satan. And this is why, though in the world, he is seen to be “not of it;” why, though for various dutiful and needful purposes he may be compelled (in some cases) even to be much amongst the world, he is seen to be not “of” them. The counsels of their hearts, affections, pleasures and pursuits are not a way in which his heart can settle down. Those of the Godly are. There he can stand at ease. There his heart can find rest. There he finds chords of sweet and divine kingship. This is a “way” in which he and they know they have the smile of Jesus and where they hope to find it. Here he feels that “his best friends, his kindred dwell; there God his Saviour reigns.” In this “way” and in this company he loves to stand, and says:

“Numbered with them may I be

Now and to eternity.”

DECEMBER 5

“And Saul said unto David, go and the Lord be with Thee”—1 SAM. 17:37.

Here is the hope of the believer. Saul gave David this injunction, and also offered him armour. But it was not the armour of the Lord. The true position and hope of the believer was to be set forth in a manner in which it would not have been, could human armour and devices have been made to administer to David and Israel’s victory. This mighty foe, Goliath—and through him all the forces of the Philistines—was to be overcome. But it was to be entirely through the Lord being with David. David was to conquer through His Lord, and in no other way; although it will be observed that he used such feeble means—but the best he knew of—as were at his command. His armoury was a sling. That which effectually did the work was a pebble, which one might (perhaps figuratively) say was vivified by and became the embodiment of, and certainly was made the instrument of, the power of the Lord. This seems to set forth the conditions and the hopes of the christian’s battle. His conflict is with his giant foe, Satan; and through him, with all the forces of the world, of evil, and of his own evil heart. Where is his hope in such an—according to nature—utterly hopeless battle? It is only in this: “Go, and the Lord be with thee.” He has only the sling of faith. He does not possess the pebble—but it is promised him in every time of need. It is the power of God, may we not say? And God has promised to inhabit and accompany his faith with it, and directs him how to apply for it, which is by prayer. This is, either to agree with worldly conceptions, or be credited by the world, too simple a method of conducting such a vast conflict. But how well it commends itself to the christian warrior?—how well it commends itself to faith! How often in the castings down of the conflict he has to look to it. When the forces against him look enough to overcome him, how strengthening it has proved to him to be enabled to walk a little on this solid ground! When the almost hopeless complications arising from his own heart’s inner foes press him down, how this has sometimes lifted him up. The traveller of the Lord knows well what it is to sometimes have to say to his soul: “Go, and the Lord be with thee.”

“In mounts of danger and of straits,

My soul for His salvation waits;

Jehovah-Jireh will appear,

And save me from my gloomy fear.” (Gadsby’s, 513).

DECEMBER 6

“Nor standeth in the way of sinners”—Ps. 1:1.

(second meditation, see December 4^th)

This is a matter which closely affects those who profess the name of Jesus, and the words should cause in writer and reader serious reflections. It may be that—amidst much cause for mourning and humble confession—such reflections will yield him grains of sweet comfort, because of the discovery of something that the Lord has done; or they may lead his meditations upon his walk in such a manner as to shake him with serious concern as to where he stands. It may be that, as a result, he will find it difficult to discover that he is the “blessed” man of whom it is declared that he “standeth not in the way of sinners,” because he finds grave reason to question whether he is not amongst those who do stand there. What is the way of sinners? Is it not—substantially—the “highway” to the City of Destruction: or regarded, perhaps, in another figurative manner, the main street or the “High Street” of the City of Destruction, at the end of which is the abode of death for which Satan fits his votaries in the terrible, but often strangely deceitful, city? There are many and widely-varying groups of sinners often found standing here at any time of the day or night. Some are groups of open-mouthed blasphemers, some of active mockers, some abounding in ribald jests against God and divine things, some groups are occupied in violent vice, and others in various forms of dissipation. What a “way” of ungodliness it is. But these are not so much the groups with which we are concerned. As we sometimes think that—though perhaps some of us were once often gathered amongst these groups—we are now much nearer the kingdom of heaven than they are, it is rather amongst other groups in this High Street of destruction that we need to search diligently lest we should find that we are really after all there and not, as we imagine, or pretend, in the way of life; for here are seen many groups dressed in very sanctimonious garments, wearing very religious looks, having to most eyes very saintly manners, speech, and appearance; and many are exceedingly earnest in religious matters, and also in religious work, religious observances and religious duties. Many of these even look with scorn and pity on the other groups. The question more especially for us is: are we not amongst some of these latter groups, and still standing—perhaps blinded by Satan—in the “way of sinners?” How solemn sometimes are these considerations. And in the midst of such thoughts it is not surprising if we are driven back to the place described by the poet when speaking of other reasons of halting, where he says:

“Whene’er I make some sudden stop—

For many such I make.”

DECEMBER 7

“Bless the Lord, O my soul”—Ps. 103:1.

Why should David call upon his soul to bless the Lord? Why should any man? Is there any reason likely to cause the soul by nature to bless the Lord? A natural mind may sometimes be found thanking God for the good things of this life, and expressing gratitude for the mercies of providence. But is not this very different to the soul being engaged—to that engagement of the foundations of his Spirit-moved being which the regenerated child of God has acquaintance with?—That engagement of the heart, affections and hopes to which he is not a stranger when occupied in such an expression of a consciously adopted son of God as: “Bless the Lord, O my soul,” here uttered by David? What ground is there for a natural person to utter such an expression? He is in a condition of soul-hatred to God, His law, and His ways. How can such a person say “Bless the Lord, O my soul?” He may be of those open blasphemers who plainly delight to mock God, but even he would hardly be found mocking Him in this wholly unnatural and irrational manner—mocker though he is, he would instinctively feel that it was against all the fitness of things—even to him—for him to talk of his soul blessing God. The hypocrite—great though in profession—would have no ground for using the expression. How can his soul bless the Lord? The man who is engaged in a profession from one unregenerate motive or another—whatever that motive may be: how can he use these words? They are heart words, and his dealings with God are not heart dealings—except in the solemn sense that all the wicked have heart-dealings with Him in heart-sinning against Him. The indifferent and the hardened have no use for this expression. The person whose religion stands in the wisdom of men has no use for these words, for his blessing must be reserved for his own wisdom. The sum of the matter is that whilst this sentence is one of the shortest, and to many one of the simplest, in the whole of the Divine pages, it is one which to be truly used requires that something shall exist in the heart which all human powers combined cannot place there. Concerning this, we hope to be enabled to meditate a little to-morrow. Can we truly say: “Bless the Lord, O my soul?” If so, it is because of this something, and of that, if it exists, what we are obliged to say is: “This is the Lord’s doing; it is marvellous in our eyes” (Ps. 118:23).

“O, bless the Lord, my soul!

Let all within me join,

And aid my tongue to bless His name,

Whose favours are divine.” (Gadsby’s, 420).

DECEMBER 8

“Bless the Lord, O my soul”—Ps. 103:1.

(second meditation).

Can we truly say: “Bless the Lord, O my soul?” Then this is plainly the cause: it is because our hearts have been opened by the Lord—Acts 16:14— for it is not stated that Lydia opened her own) and because He has regenerated them with His grace and inflamed them with the love of God. Certainly if what we are expressing when we say: “Bless the Lord, O my soul!” is some imaginary thing which has arisen in any other way, it cannot be aught else than a counterfeit of this soul-uttered language:

“The child of fancy finely dressed,

But not the living child;”

for how can this real soul utterance which is within our hearts (if such there be) have less than a divine spring, seeing that every natural heart has enmity as its secret spring, whatever its words or fancies: for the Apostle’s declaration leaves no room for doubt that “the carnal mind is enmity against God: for it is not subject to the law of God, neither indeed can be” (Rom. 8:7). Thus it is clear that if we are really able to say: “Bless the Lord, O my soul!” we have much to thank God for: even no less than that something of which we spoke yesterday, viz: that, it is because He has implanted within us a heart which is capable of blessing Him, which is a heart of that kind never created but with the purpose of its dwelling with Him for ever, (Rom. 8:28, 29, 30; John 17:2, 3, 9, 10, 17, 22, 24; 16: 2, 3, &c). This may be seen thus: The natural heart has as its secret basis (as we have seen) enmity to God and His law. In its foundations and composition it has no union to God and therefore no communion with Him. With Satan it has. It has in its foundations love of sin, love of the lusts of the flesh, love of pride, love of ambition, love of—that is, ability to find delight in—hatred, love of what is in reality the seed of murder, violence, theft, &c. But of the things which are in the heart and mind, nature and affections of God, there is nothing. Those things touch no chord in it. It is totally alien to God and any means of holding and enjoying communion with Him: that is, intercourse based on union of nature, and affections, desires, feelings, and objects of mutual pleasure and delight. Now, if we are truly saying, in the sense of the Psalmist, “Bless the Lord, O my soul!” it is because we possess these things—these faculties and grounds of union which enable our souls truly to go out to Him in this manner of true union and communion of nature and spirit of fellowship. We feel that our souls have something to bless God for. It is no pretence. We are expressing the actual feelings—the actual love, and motions of our hearts. We are, indeed, thanking Him because He has done these things within us which enable us to speak to Him with a sense of union in our hearts. The whole spirit of the Psalm shews this. It is that of a person holding heart communion with God. Now we feel we know something of the Apostle’s words, “Now, therefore, ye are no more strangers, but fellow-citizens with the saints, and of the household of God” (Eph. 2:19) and for this we feel truly able, and indeed obliged from our hearts, to say: “Bless the Lord, O my soul!” And this, as partly stated yesterday, we feel to be a blessing no less than immortal and divine.

“O that my soul could love and praise Him more,

His beauties trace, His majesty adore;

Live near His heart, upon His bosom lean;

Obey His voice, and all His will esteem.” (Gadsby’s, 667).

DECEMBER 9

“All that is within me, bless His holy name”—Ps. 103:1.

These words set matters in a light which is clear: and that is surely what a sincere seeker in the way to Zion likes; for above all things—at least such is the writer’s humble experience—he dreads the possibility of being deceived. And here the divinely inspired expressions of the Psalmist sweep away at one vast stroke all formalities of worship and all mere profession, and leave nothing for the enquirer to consider but real possession, which is exactly what he wishes to come to. To that he must come; but to that it is his fervent desire to come. He would offer no thanks to a misguided friend who out of false kindness of heart tried to mislead him by prophesying smooth things where no ground for peace and security existed. Comfort he desires. But it is the comfort of God, and of Divine truth, and not the comfort of self-deception. Here the Holy Ghost by the pen of the Psalmist sets before him by implication what formality and mere profession are not, and what possession is; and that set forth is this: that the former are without, that the latter is within. He does not say: “Bless the Lord, O my lips,” “bless the Lord, O mine intellect,” “bless the Lord, O my elegant expressions before a congregation who will admire—therefore—my great profession,” “bless the Lord, O my fancy,” “bless the Lord, because I am in a place of religious surroundings, and feel I must be religious; because all my friends are religious, and I feel I must be religious too.” This is all without and Satan himself could do all of it. David’s eye looks to a far different place, and says: “All that is within me, bless His holy name.” All that is without is thus cast away with one great heave of the gospel spade and we are left alone with what remains—within: if there be anything left? Is there? For if not, how has the spade of truth laid bare the nakedness of our land! How has the Sword of the Spirit smitten down with one fell stroke all the fair-seeming foliage and flowers of our religious observances and professions, and laid bare the desolation of our hearts? May we be enabled profitably to meditate today upon what there is within us which has any dealings with God, and which would have such dealings with Him were we cast upon a desert island without another human being to profess before. The Saviour is our hope—if we have any: But is there anything within us which has dealings with the Saviour?

“True faith’s the life of God;

Deep in the heart it lies;

It lives and labours under load;

Though damped, it never dies.” (Gadsby’s, 236).

DECEMBER 10

“For He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust”—Ps. 103:14.

This is a matter of no concern to the world. But it is one of much concern to the followers of the Lord. They have been brought into a condition of union and communion with Him. Their walk is one of tenderness before Him. Something has been wrought within them (Ps. 103:1) which brings this about. They are, therefore, distressed when enemies within and without cause them to so think or act as is displeasing to Him, as is against the holy and divine principles implanted within them, as is calculated to hide Him from their hearts, and to lose them the consciousness of His smile there. A sinner of this kind—a sinner redeemed, and born again (John 3:3), is such as the poet speaks of when he says:

“A sinner is a sacred thing;

The Holy Ghost has made him so.”

He is set apart by God as a subject of His sacred and divine dealings; he is a subject sacred to God’s sovereign operations; and amongst these is the making of him a man who walks—and desires to walk—tremblingly and tenderly in the sight of God; and when he—as so often arises—finds himself so unable to walk before his beloved Lord as he would—finds himself a man in whom there are, as it were, “the company of two armies” (Sol. S. 6:13), finds himself weak, falling, and unable to do as he would—and constantly grieving even his own renewed spirit within him, or, perhaps, unable to perform as he would some desired humble service for his Master, how comforting—how like consoling “ointment poured forth”—has this sweet reflection often been: “He knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust?” We are not likely to be thereby made careless. This sweet truth does not work in that manner. But when our hearts are wounded, perhaps lacerated, or cast down with our failures, is it not—has it not been sweet—has it not revived hope afresh—to go “looking unto Jesus” and saying: “Thou knowest our frame; thou rememberest that I am dust?” Even then this truth has been like His name: sweet—and comforting.

“How sweet the name of Jesus sounds,

In a believer’s ear!

It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds,

And drives away his fears.

It makes the wounded spirit whole,

And calms the troubled breast;

’Tis manna to the hungry soul,
And to the weary rest.” (Gadsby’s, 135).

DECEMBER 11

“Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things”—Ps. 103:5.

It is not that those who have been brought consciously to know and fear the Lord glory in the sad condition of the wicked—for the mingled sad truths and blessed facts recorded in the first five verses of the second chapter of Ephesians are written in their heats with an indelible pen. But they cannot—whilst remembering that “such were some of you” (1 Cor. 6:11)—help thanking God from time to time for the display of His infinite mercy and electing love which has made (and not they themselves) so vast a difference between their position and hopes, and those of the world. This is why they are so frequently found dwelling upon the opposite positions of the world and God’s people, which to some ears may sound as tiresome—if not self-satisfied—repetition; and why they are so often saying to themselves and others: “who maketh thee to differ from another? (1 Cor. 4:7). Thus, there need be no hesitation in our, with humble hearts, dwelling once more upon such a distinction of position, setting forth that Sovereign love to the most unworthy of sinners which will be one of the greatest humbling grounds of our eternal praise. We see, then, illustrated in these words several distinctions between these different classes of fallen sinners. The world have no pleasures provided for them which have in them abiding satisfaction; and of those things which do yield abiding satisfaction, they have no mouths to eat. What a sad condition! What a miserably empty one! How totally empty of all blessedness! It is so in time; and as to eternity—the mind would almost desire to draw the veil. But here is a man—here are the Lord’s people set forth, who have provided for them all things which contain abiding satisfaction; and who, moreover, have, by sovereign love, been given mouths to eat of them: for the Psalmist speaks of their mouths being satisfied with them; whilst in another place he emphasizes it by declaring that they “shall be satisfied with the goodness of His house,” and that “He will abundantly bless her provision” (Ps. 65:4; 132:15). Gracious provision! Gracious creation, which has created them such beings as to be able to eat of it! If it be so consciously with them, they feel sweet ground for singing:

“Thou givest me the lot

Of them that fear thy name;

If endless life be their reward,

I shall possess the same.” (Gadsby’s, 140).

DECEMBER 12

“But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear Him”—Ps. 103:17.

With one exception, all that the Lord is to His people is everlasting. What firm ground this is to be brought by sovereign goodness and favour to walk upon! Formerly we walked upon everything which was doomed to destruction—everything which had vanity and crumbling corruption as its foundation. Had we a hope—had we hopes? What is there left of them today? Do we say some of them are still left in the land of the living? How long will they last? Do we not see the canker of corruption eating hard at their foundations? Ask those millions who have gone before to the place of every hope’s final destruction what there is left now of the longest-lived of theirs. But here are a people who—by goodness past mortal telling—have come to things which are everlasting. In the twelfth chapter of the Epistle to the Hebrews it is very fully and blessedly stated by the Apostle what they are come to; and here we seem to have all this put, by suggestion, in another form, viz., that they are come to all things which are everlasting (misery excepted). We have said that, with one exception, all that the Lord is to His people is everlasting. The exception is all that class of things which may be needful for them, but which are painful. These are not everlasting. These are passing away. How complete is the mercy of the Lord? All that is good, all that is sweet, all that is most precious, all that is blessed to them, is everlasting—all that is painful is passing away. The writer is just going to see—with the hope of a little mutually helpful brotherly converse—a poor, heavily tried saint of God, who, though comparatively young, has had his natural life blasted with an affliction so dreadful that even the professional nurses attending him are at times almost overcome by his sufferings. Yet there is no monarch upon the throne (unless a child of God) who has the sweet hopes, comforts, and sustainings which this dear brother in the Lord has. What sustaining comfort has there—as he has declared—been to him in such truths as this: that all things which are blessed are to him everlasting—that all his pains and sorrows are passing away!

“My fearful heart he reads;

Secures my soul from harms;

Whilst underneath His mercy spreads

Its everlasting arms.” (Gadsby’s, 70).

DECEMBER 13

“Bless the Lord, ye His angels, that excel in strength”—Ps. 103:20.

The children of God now passing through this world are not angels, it is true; and this passage concerning angels is only one amongst innumerable others (not relating to angels) which bring before the mind the subject of strength and its source. But these words have led the writer’s mind to consider for himself afresh where and how strength is to be and must be obtained. Here angels are said to excel in strength. We know they do. They excel in strength of various holy kinds: in strength fitting them for their mighty existences (and of their might, examples are given in the word), in strength of holiness, in strength of obedience, in many ways in strength of knowledge, of sight, and doubtless in some unrevealed respects of discernment; in strength fitting for their service of God and the performance of His will in which they delight. There is no doubt they excel in strength: for it is here stated, and is elsewhere illustrated. The thought, therefore, seems to somewhat sweetly come before the mind: how is it they excel in strength? Where is their excellence in strength derived? From whence is it maintained? How is all their perfection kept up? For the “elect angels” (1 Tim. 5:21)—the ones referred to—do not fall. No angels have fallen since the great first fall of angels (Jude 6; 2 Pet. 2:4). It is manifest their strength—so excelling and perfectly maintained—is obtained and maintained from somewhere. From whence is it? Whence can it be, but from the Lord? It is from Him. It is by His bestowment and communication. It is from dwelling with Him. It is from beholding Him. But we sum up all in saying it is from Him. It is from Him, and by His sovereign will, power and bestowment—and all the rest is in the category of means for effecting the blessed results. We are weak—they “excel in strength.” How and why? In and through Him. Do we need increase, and perhaps in various manners and kinds, of strength? It must come as the excelling strength of angels, from Him—and the Fountain of strength is never weakened. We know not the exact nature and kind of strength needed by angels—for they are servants and not children of the family—though greatly happy and blessed. But this we know, that the strength which is enough for them, and by which they “excel in strength,” is an ample source for us. They excel in strength. This we see. It is by His will and goodness. And if He does this—which is needful—for them, who are only servants (though blessed and happy) does it not encourage us to believe that He will bestow upon His dearly loved and purchased children—for whom He died—the strength needed for their day? Do we need strength? It must come by and through the same source by which they “excel in strength”: from the Lord, who created and blesses them; who created and blesses, and has promised to bless, His children. Then, varying though the nature and depth of our circumstances and cases may be, may we not take encouragement from the poet’s words:

“Afflicted saint, to Christ draw near,

Thy Saviour’s gracious promise hear;

His faithful word declares to thee,

That as thy days, thy strength shall be.” (Gadsby’s, 328).

DECEMBER 14

“Bless the Lord, ye his angels, that excel in strength, that do his commandments, hearkening to the voice of His word”—Ps. 103:20.

We yesterday dwelt upon the first portion of these words referring to angels; considering the source of the strength with which they excel, and of the strength of believers—which is the Lord, in both cases, though their natures and His bestowments upon them in many respects differ. Yet we have here set forth before our notice holy, perfect, glorified beings, who excel and remain in perfect strength. What is their manner of life—who thus abide in strength and holiness? The veil of heaven is lifted by revelation and faith—but only in feeble measure in this time state. It would be impossible for us to live were it fully lifted now. But we see here somewhat revealed to us of the manner of life of those beings who, though only servants (albeit blessed and glorious) and not children of the family, yet are in heaven, and dwell in abiding excellence of strength, perfection of purity and holiness and in infinite experience of happiness and of the smile of God—though in these things they do not approach the blessedness of the glorified children of God, seeing (without reference to other proofs) “He took not on Him the nature of angels” (Heb. 2:16) and His “delights were (and are) with the sons of men” (Prov. 8:31) on whom His delights and His love were set from eternity (Eph. 1:3-9) and for whom He shed His own blood (Rev. 1:5). But what is the manner of life of these glorified beings who dwell in heaven (whilst also ministering servants to the saints—Heb. 1:14, &c.), abiding in strength and holiness? This much is here revealed unto us: it is that of doing His commandments, and hearkening to the voice of His word. What a sweet revelation this is. It is that given of holy, happy beings dwelling ever beneath the smile of God. And does it not also accord with the revelation of His will concerning us? We know that we are dragged down by a body of sin and death (Rom. 7:24, 17), but as it is in heaven, so upon earth, this is the life wherein the conscious blessing, presence and smile of God are to be expected—that of walking in His commandments and “hearkening to the voice of His word”: which He speaks to us in His revealed will, by His Spirit, and in the many means of grace by His Spirit. This is the life which has an ever struggling commencement now—and is well described as a conflict—and one which can only be carried on at all by “looking unto Jesus:” but which it is sweet to be able to find the least commencement of: for if such can be found, wrought and enabled by Him, notwithstanding all the corruptions of fallen nature, it means that “He will perfect that which concerneth” us. At present our poor endeavours—so often confounded by Satan and the “sin that dwelleth in” us—(Rom. 7:17) are:

“To worship the Lord with praise and with prayer,

To practice His word, as well as to hear;

To own with contrition the deeds we have done,

And take the remission God gives in His Son.” (Gadsby’s, 456).

Whilst, in the midst of our many downcastings and hopes—seeking to live and walk “hearkening to the voice of His word”—we are sometimes constrained to say:

“Weak in myself, in Him I’m strong;

His Spirit’s voice I hear,

The way I walk cannot be wrong,

If Jesus be but there.” (Gadsby’s, 812).

DECEMBER 15

“I am come into my garden”—Sol. Song 5:1; 6:2.

And is my heart Thy garden, Lord?

I sometimes hope it is;

But what if—darkened to Thy Word—

I read it all amiss?

I sometimes think I here discern

The spices Thou dost love:

Now this, now that, and all in turn,

And nurtured from above.

I sometimes think these graces fair

Are seen to spring and bloom;

And e’en that Thou at times art there

To breathe their poor perfume.

But mystical mirages rise

Upon the desert drear,

And cheat the dying travller’s eyes

With hopes that life is near.

And what if these fair-seeming flowers

That loom within my heart,

Spring but from reasons showy powers,

False comfort to impart?

I would not have my soul deceived:

How, then, may I be shown

If what for grace I have believed,

Springs from a life Thine own?

Lord, if mine heart—ah, can it be ?—

Thy garden is indeed,

Walk there, and shew Thy face to me,

And water all Thy seed.

Then shall I know these plants are Thine,

Their tender buds Thine own:

Their perfumes, though so poor—divine:

Their odours Thine alone. —E.L.

DECEMBER 16

“That they may behold my glory”—John 17:24.

(Third Meditation see Nov. 21st).

Why will they “behold His glory?” There are many grounds of security for this, but today one has seemed to dwell with some sweetness on the writer’s mind, which is—that He has designed it, He has designed that they shall. He has fully designed that they shall. Everything in His Word, and in His life and work, confirms this. And whatever design His hand is put to will have unfailing accomplishment. As surely as the telegraph operator’s finger is put upon the electric button in a telegraph office in some place in England—provided the wires are put in complete connection throughout the route—so surely will the electric message reach its destination in Calcutta or Australia, many thousands of miles away. It must go, perhaps, amidst varied scenery and scenes in England, to the sea coast, thence beneath the deeps of mighty waters, through the rolling waves and amidst the winds of storm and tempest, through calm and placid seas, up again on land, through plain, hill, mountain, and valley, through sunshine and storm, through fair weather and windy tempest, through refreshing scenery, amid desert waste, and regions infested, perhaps, with beasts of prey; but so surely as the operator’s finger touches the electric button in England, so surely will the electric message reach its far-off destination. And in the same manner, so surely as the finger of God’s design touches—as it has done from eternity—a poor redeemed sinner, so surely will he be carried through and “behold His glory:” through fair scenery and through regions of the din of sin and Satan, through deeps, it may be, through tempests, and calm, through threatening winds and amid sounds of a “still small voice,” through plains and over hills, mountains and valleys, through fair weather and clouds, sunshine and darkness, day and night—but the destination of eternal glory he will assuredly reach, whom the finger of God’s design has touched. He has said: “ Father, I will that they be with me where I am (ver 24) and so surely will he “behold His glory.”

“Not one of them for whom He bled.

But shall with joy behold their Head,

In heaven their dwelling place.” (Gadsby’s, 67).

DECEMBER 17

“Who layeth the beams of His chambers in the waters; who maketh the clouds His chariot; who walketh upon the wings of the wind”—Ps. 104:3.

One truth set forth by these words we may profitably meditate upon today, which is, that the presence of God with us—if His children—the appearing of God on our behalf; the seen or unseen working of God for us; our seen or unseen guidance by Him; our seen or unseen preservation by Him, may be expected in the most unlikely circumstances: that the maturing of gracious purposes by God concerning us, may be expected even in the most improbable, in apparently impossible, and in the outwardly, most adverse, circumstances. What place or circumstance is there where He cannot be, and where His hand cannot work? The beams of His chambers are laid where no other beams could possibly have any stable fixture—“in the waters.” What to us are full of threatening forebodings, overawing magnitude, and often of confusion, tempest and destruction—the clouds—are His obedient and easy chariot: instead of evil and destruction, God Himself, with His Fatherly hand of blessing, is found in them, which is why the poet wrote with such unctuous truth:

“Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,

The clouds ye so much dread

Are big with mercy, and shall break,

In blessing on your head.”

The winds—whose coming and going no man can follow and which are full of swift mysteries: sweeping the universe like far and rapidly flying unloosed evil spirits—upon these, even upon their “wings,” He walks with Sovereign ease, and may be found amongst any of them, even when the powers of darkness themselves seem let loose amongst them. How good to be able, as the same poet further says to

“Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,

But trust Him for His grace;

Behind a frowning providence,

He hides a smiling face.”

He who layeth the beams of His chambers in the waters; who maketh the clouds His chariot; who walketh upon the wings of the wind, evidently may be working where we little think He is on our behalf, and may be found to be lovingly present where we little hoped He was. How truly was the poet further led when he ended with that great conclusion:

“Blind unbelief is sure to err,

And scan His work in vain;

God is His own interpreter,

And He will make it plain.” (Gadsby’s, 320).

DECEMBER 18

“Thine hands have made me and fashioned me: give me understanding, that I may learn thy commandments”—Ps. 119:73.

The hands of the Lord had “made and fashioned” David in two senses, and it was because they had done so in the sense of the second, or new creation, that he was found uttering such prayers as this. What a creation was the heart of the Psalmist! How different to the heart of the world? What unworldly longings there were in it? What desires unknown to the world were there? What a softening of spirit, in contrast to the—as relates to God—hard and unresponsive enmity-governed spirits of natural men. What a spirit of tender communion with God in prayer. Is his spirit not seen, as it were, to reach out to God, and to only find its rest, and its longings fulfilled, in Him and in the contemplation of the things pertaining to Him? How expressive of this was his declaration in one place: “My meditation of Him shall be sweet” (Ps. 104:34). How his spirit fed upon divine things and the contemplation of his hopes in God and upon His promises; and how he cast away as useless food the ashes of worldly things. Was his not a spirit manifestly being prepared for heaven and created to dwell there? It was, to us, evidently, “the Lord’s doing,” and marvellous in our eyes” (Ps. 118:23)—for surely the gracious character and spirit of the “sweet Psalmist of Israel” (2 Sam. 23:1) was (recollecting what man’s heart is by fallen nature) a marvellous creation. But was he not created as each child of God is created, and in the same new-born image? Is not the cry of each one: “Give me understanding, that I may learn thy commandments”? Does not their own heart seem to move in unison with many a line in the Psalms of David? How inexpressible the mercy to be amongst those whom the hands of the Lord have thus “made and fashioned.” Though the work of the Devil’s destruction in the fall still remains in them, as it did woefully in David, that is not what will live eternally. This new creation will live “eternal in the heavens,” when all the works of Satan have passed away.

“My God, my Father, blissful name!

O may I call thee mine?

May I with sweet assurance claim

A portion so divine?” (Gadsby’s, 1083).

DECEMBER 19

“Hear my prayer, O Lord, give ear to my supplications: in thy faithfulness answer me, and in thy righteousness. And enter not into judgment with thy servant: for in thy sight shall no man living be justified”—Ps. 143:1, 2.

This is a fervent supplication. But it is based on the merits of Jesus, and on no other grounds (fundamentally) whatever. How precious it must have been to David on many an occasion, as it is to the saints of God in these days, to feel that the merits of Jesus, His Redeemer, were his: that “He is mine and I am His” (Sol. Song 2:16; 6:3)—the love of the Father, now and from and to eternity, and all things, were his, but only as he was seen with an eye of acceptance through the merits of Jesus his Redeemer. He pleads fervently for an answer—a gracious answer—in “faithfulness” and “righteousness.” Faithfulness and righteousness!—to a poor, weak, erring—though much loving—sinning mortal like David? O, what seeming presumption—what hardened, brazen, daring presumption, to plead to the Holy God of Israel on the grounds of faithfulness and righteousness. What had he done to claim faithfulness and righteousness, or that such words should even come fittingly into his lips? Had he not done enough to incense a—to sin—angry God, enough to cause him to be cast forth as a fallen and still falling sinner, and as a presumptuous wretch from His holy presence into the company of those who shall never see God? But, no. He is here—although he knows all this—speaking to God, unabashed, in the name of faithfulness and righteousness!—and actually making these things the ground of his plea. How transcendent the merits of Jesus!—and all imputed to poor fallen and still falling sinners! He admits that, seen in himself, and according to his own deeds, there is no ground for him to come there—except, indeed, to be judged, condemned, and cast forth to executing judgment; for he says: “enter not into judgment with thy servant,” “for in thy sight shall no man living, be justified.” Why should he make such a plea—and come there even with apparent great freedom and trusting confidence before God? Why should not God “enter into judgment” with him? His plea, his hope, his ground, are the plea, the hope, the ground of every distressed and conscious sinner—the merits, the name, the blood, the righteousness of Jesus, and the faithfulness and promises of a covenant keeping God. “Hear my prayer, O Lord,” although I am all that I am—FOR JESUS’ SAKE! Such is his petition and ours.

“…Since my Saviour stands between,

In garments dyed in blood,

’Tis He, and not myself, is seen,

When I approach to God.”

“What wondrous love, what mysteries,

In this appointment shine!

My breaches of the law are His,

And His obedience mine.” (Gadsby’s, 119).

DECEMBER 20

“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”—Matt. 14:23.

The prayers on earth of Jesus, we believe it will be found (certainly we cannot remember any others) were all during the days of His humiliation—and none after His Resurrection. He had not fulfilled that meritorious work—had not yet fulfilled that satisfaction of the claims of Divine Justice, which afterwards left Him nothing to pray for,[i] but everything to demand as a right, in virtue of His fulfilment of all the terms of the Eternal Covenant (Heb. 13:20) which secured from eternity, under the condition of its complete fulfilment by Him, every covenant blessing for His chosen and redeemed people. But after the fulfilment of every jot and tittle of the covenant, upon His Resurrection He was entitled to claim all things as a right, even as He now does in heaven, as expressed by the poet:

“With cries and tears He offered up

His humble suit below;

(during the days of His humiliation)

But with authority He asks, ⁱ

Enthroned in glory now.

For all that come to God by Him,

Salvation He demands;

Points to their names upon His breast,

And spreads His wounded hands.” (Gadsby’s, 117).

But the supplications offered up “with strong crying and tears,” were in the days of His humiliation. His prayers possessed a character of their own, because they were His. He required no Mediator. He prayed in His own name. The disciples and all believers pray in His, because they so must, requiring a Mediator; and their prayers need to pass through Him and are thus perfumed with His Merits and purged from defects, and are accepted in Him. A great feature of His prayers was their solitariness. He went into mountains, into the wilderness, alone, to pray—and when even praying in their presence, He did not unite with them as we—praying on a mutually equal basis—pray with each other: as—for instance, He could not say (though He taught them to say) “forgive us our trespasses,” for He had none. Though He taught, commanded and encouraged them to pray, His prayers were solitary. Yet it is sweet to reflect that we have (if such be our experience) that essential evidence of grace in the heart—an experience of communion in prayer alone with God, in Him. Have we this experience? For it is evident that there can be no heart possessing divine grace without it.

“Prayer is the burden of a sigh,

The falling of a tear;

The upward glancing of an eye,

When none but God is near.

O thou by whom we come to God,

The life, the truth, the way!

The path of prayer thyself hast trod;

Lord, teach us how to pray.” (Gadsby’s, 1002).

DECEMBER 21

“The word of the Lord came also unto me”—Jer. 16:1.

Has the word of the Lord come unto me? It came unto Jeremiah, to the other prophets, and has come unto others of the Lord’s people without number. But there are—as I cannot help remembering—millions to whom it has never come. And why should it have come to me—if such be my case? What have I done, that it should come unto me? I know my heart has gone out to seek it, and I humbly trust has fed upon it, and has found it to be life to my soul—and my carnal reason might say: “then, it did not come to you, but you went to it, and to you, therefore, be all the praise.” But my heart knows better than that, and refuses to have intercourse with such “darkening of counsel by words without knowledge” (Job. 38:2), for it knows that (whatever the canons and system of reason may be), my experience contradicts it. My heart went out to it, doubtless, but who and what drew it to do so? I know that “in me (that is, in my flesh) dwelleth no good thing” (Rom. 7:18) and that that good thing did not come from there, but was put into my heart; and what put that good thing in my heart was the coming of the word of the Lord unto me; sent by and conveying His divine, life-giving power, and thus implanting that good thing—that good life—in my heart, which stirred it up to seek that which accorded with its new nature and longings—in short, to seek the Lord and divine things. Reason says—and that is its tireless language to all men on such subjects—that I did it myself. But experience and faith tell me that it was because “the word of the Lord came also unto me.” But why “also?” Why did I not remain in the sleep of spiritual death like millions more? “’Twas the same love that spread the feast, that sweetly forced me in.” Reason will not have that: but to reason I still, with the thankful voice of faith, reply:

“Why was I made to hear His voice,

And enter while there’s room;

While thousands make a wretched choice,

And rather starve than come?”

Reason has no true answer to this, and though it will not admit it, I know that reason could not have quickened with divine motion the hearts and desires of any of those thousands and that it was

“…Sovereign love that first began

The scheme to rescue fallen man!”

and am constrained to say, moved by the hope that “the word of the Lord” has indeed “come also unto me”—even unto me—

“Hail, matchless, free, eternal grace,

That gave my soul a hiding place.” (Gadsby’s, 134).

DECEMBER 22

“Look thou upon me, and be merciful unto me, as thou usest to do unto those that love thy name”—Ps. 119:132.

The great concern of those that fear God is frequently whether they do indeed and truly love Him. When they read such divine declarations in the word as emphasize that of our Lord wherein He speaks of those who anon with joy receive the word (Matt