Day Unto Day—February
FEBRUARY 1
“Therefore with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of salvation”—Isa.
12:2.
Have we been brought to draw water out of these wells? If so, there are
four things which present themselves as worthy of our special consideration,
and which would appear good to commence the month with. First, we have
come because we had a thirst; second, that which is in these wells has
the power of sustaining life; third, these wells will never run dry; fourth,
the way to them will never be shut up, because a covenant has been entered
into securing access to them forever. The result of these four things
is: this thirst, being a thirst which, once begun will continue, the soul
which has it will not cease to drink of these waters; and as they possess
the absolute power of maintaining life, and the way to them cannot be
shut, that soul will not die. How can it, so long as it drinks that which
in itself contains the vital principle and power of life?—which not
only contains this, but also heals all diseases? There can, consequently,
be no death of such a soul either from lack of the vital principle of
life, of nutriment to feed it, or from disease being victorious over it.
How great is the value of these wells! Is it surprising that sometimes
those who approach them draw from their waters with joy? And how re-assuring
with regard to the future is the remembrance that the way can never be
closed. The way to some wells is suddenly stopped because the landlord
declares that the lease is expired or the term of tenancy is finished;
or because of a faulty agreement concerning it, ending in a law suit and
perhaps a bar-way being put up to prevent the poor seekers for water having
access to the wells. But the access to these precious springs of life
has been secured for ever, by a solid agreement, a covenant which is everlasting
and which, further, is in no respects—either from the character of
its author or its own character—open to disputes, for it is “ordered
in all things and sure” (2 Sam. 23:5; Heb. 13:20) and its author
is the Holy and the Just; whilst (in addition to all this) those thirsty
ones who are coming to the waters He loves with a love which is everlasting.
These are the wells which must sustain us through the coming month, and
the coming year. May our thirst be quickened: for as we are enabled to
drink so shall we be alive.
“Salvation, O the joyful sound;
‘Tis pleasure to our ears;
A sovereign balm for every wound,
A cordial for our fears.” (GADSBY’S 213)
FEBRUARY 2
“With Joy”—Isa. 12:3.
Here is a reference to something done with joy. It is that drawing of
water out of the wells of Salvation upon which our meditation of yesterday
dwelt, “with joy shall ye draw water out of the wells of Salvation.”
But this drawing is not always done “with joy.” How many are
attempting to draw this water with joy. How many who have before been
enabled to do so, are today attempting, but are unable, to so draw it
still, and whose language is: “Oh that I were as in months past …
When His candle shined upon my head, and when by His light I walked through
darkness. …When the secret of God was upon my tabernacle” (Job.
29:1, 2,3,4). Many there are drawing it today who do not know they are
drawing it at all. How is this? It is all water from the wells of Salvation?
It all has in it the vital principle of divine life. But life has various
manifestations, various phases, various developments, various features,
various sensations and varying strength. There are many drawings, and
many manifestations of the results of such drawings; and all are not marked
with that phase which is here described as “with joy.” If, therefore,
my drawing at present does not bear this feature it does not follow that
the water which sustains me and which I am drawing, is not from the divine
springs referred to. The Patriarch David, who drew from them as much,
probably, as any saint whose history is recorded, did not always draw
“with joy.” Was it not he, in fact, who uttered so many words
in substance similar to those just quoted from his fellow patriarch Job?
But these springs are still the wells of salvation. Thence it is that
we get our life. They are the wells which preserve alive the desert traveller,
which keep us alive in a wilderness waste, from which the dependent pilgrim
seeks his sips of strength and consolation on his daily journey: which
is the cause wherefore he does not die—the fact that his path all
along is provided with these life-giving wells. From whence they themselves
spring, is not stated in the text, and this, together with any reference
to what they are, necessary brevity excludes from our meditation. As the
Lord may help us, this may suitably come within a future one. If our life
is so inevident that we even doubt if we have drawn at all, may we not
perhaps be helped by those words of the poet who knew something of these
wells?—
“Those feeble desires, those wishes so weak,
‘Tis Jesus inspires and bids you still seek.
His spirit will cherish the life He first gave;
You never shall perish if Jesus can save.”
(GADSBY’S 804).
FEBRUARY 3
“The Wells of Salvation”—Isa. 13:3.
Following our two previous meditations, we may appropriately today seek
to remind ourselves of what these wells are. Yesterday we spoke incidentally
of whence they spring and what they are. Some of them have a source, but
not all. What are they? What can be said on such a subject in our brief
morning’s survey? Are not the three great springs God the Father,
God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost? From whence do every one of our blessings
and all our life and sustenance for time and eternity spring if not from
these three bottomless self-existent and over flowing three-one wells
of salvation? What water there is in these wells! What life, what cordials,
what sources of existence—in all its manifestations, in all its features,
in all its sensations, in all its phases. Am I a seeker after salvation?
I must have a water to slake my needs. What do I need—what water
is this, or I die? Everlasting love—no other will do. Is there a
well where it resides? Yes. Blessed be the fountain of it! It is God the
Father. Do I need the water of a fixed and unalterable determination to
save and preserve me, or Satan is assuredly my possessor forever? Where
is the well? Is it not God the Father? Do I need to drink of a finished
work of salvation wrought out for me? Where is a well containing enough
of this heavenly cordial for a host of hell-deserving sinners which no
man can number, and yet enough for me? Is it not God the Son? Do I need
to drink of the water of a precious Intercession for me ever-present within
the veil? Precious well: is it not in God the Son? Do I need to drink
of a mighty well of pardon—pardon for that black, that terrific list
of sins which stands against me? O, is there such water? Where is the
well? Is it not God the Son, in His satisfaction for my guilt? Do I need
every quickening cordial of life—the waters of sanctification—the
cordials and vivifying moistures of grace, the waters of prayer, of comfort,
of unction, of hope, of enlightenment and teaching in my spirit? Is there
a well? Do I not seek them from and through God the Holy Spirit? But how
can I today name all these wells? Are there not innumerable wells of salvation,
all having as their source and foundation of supply these three great
fountains, which are yet one? But the limits of our meditation tell us
that we cannot finish even a cursory view of these wells today and if
the Lord should permit us, we will endeavour to dwell a little more upon
them tomorrow. For today, may He grant the dew of His grace resting upon
our thoughts of this morning concerning them.
FEBRUARY 4
“Whosoever drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never
thirst”—John 14:14.
Our immediately preceding meditations have been upon the wells of salvation,
the waters of which are in effect the same as that spoken of by our Lord
in these words. How good to be brought to know where they are, what they
are, who they are. How good to be brought to know what there is in them;
and how much more so to be given to taste of them. Our thoughts have so
far rested upon the three great wells, God the Father, God the Son, and
God the Holy Ghost. But, as we observed, are there not innumerable wells
of salvation, all having as their source and foundation of supply these
three great fountains, which are yet one? How many of these wells are
in the precious promises of the gospel. Have we not found the water of
life in them? Have we not drawn moisture and strength from them? Have
we not tasted of their healing powers? Have their waters not distilled
as the dews upon our hopes, and within a spirit that was weary? Here is
one: “Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden and I will
give you rest.” Have we ever been weary? Are we weary? Here is a
well! Do we want rest? Here is a well. Are we in difficulty concerning
our path in which no one can help: stumbling in the dark, fearing mistakes,
fearing disaster, dreading destruction, fearing that we may lose our way
to heaven, and perhaps even in such a complexity as to almost bring tears
and despair to our spirits? “Commit thy way unto the Lord, and He
shall direct thy path.” Here is a well. There is precious water of
life, salvation, comfort, refreshment and strength in it. Am I found “sowing
to the spirit”—the seeds of prayer, of tears, of holy desires,
of heartfelt prostrations at the throne of grace, and many others, all
of which prove that the real though feeble desire and solemn anxiety of
my life is to be found “sowing to the spirit?” There is a well
for me! It is one of the wells of salvation. “He that soweth to the
spirit shall of the spirit reap life everlasting” (Gal. 6:8). What
do I want? Is there not one whom I love and who so loved me as to die
for me? “It pleased the Father that in Him should all fullness dwell”
(Col. 1:19). Here is a well for me! But who can enumerate these wells?
Yet the spirit of the Lord can direct us to them and open them for us.
How many wells of salvation are there in the truths—especially what
are sometimes called the foundation truths of the gospel. Here is one
spring out of the many: “Kept by the Power of God through faith unto
salvation” (1 Pet. 1:5). May I be enabled to draw the sweet water
of hope from this well. But our selection from these wells must be so
brief and we feel them also to be so feeble, that we can only pray the
Lord the Spirit to direct us to these far spreading springs of life. These,
which our selections may help a little to indicate, are innumerable wells
fitted to sustain the whole family of God. O, for faith to draw water!
Where is the well of faith? Let me go there, “for it pleased the
Father that in Him should all fulness dwell” (Col. 1:19).
FEBRUARY 5
“His leaf also shall not wither”—Psalm 1:3.
The importance and preciousness of the wells and waters of salvation and
the drawings from them, to which our thoughts in the just preceding meditations
have been directed, is well known to those who are seeking a knowledge
of the Lord and of His “great salvation,” and to those who are
endeavouring, often with so much evident feebleness, to “follow on
to know the Lord” (Hos. 6:3). How needful are these waters. Of their
value there is no dispute. Indeed, to those who seem unable to draw, this
seems an increased source of sorrow and disconsolation: and to all, the
subject which has so much importance in relation to them is: “How
can we draw?” Mentioned in our morning’s text is one of the
visitants to these wells who is figuratively described as a tree, so sure
of nourishment that he is as one “planted by the rivers of waters“
(ver. 3) and sure of nourishment so efficacious and enduring that not
only shall he endure, but even “His leaf shall not wither.”
It is because he is a visitant to and a drawer from these springs. But
how does he draw? The wells are deep. They are full of blessing. But how
does he draw? He requires an instrument. It is the hand of faith. How
precious it must be—for without it we can never draw. But how is
the drawing brought about? “Faith cometh by hearing, and hearing
by the word of God” (Rom. 10:17). Faith cometh from the well of faith,
but is conveyed by instrumentality. If there is anything that is revealed
it is that it is “in the way” that the Divine visitant able
to bestow, increase, strengthen and refresh faith may be expected and
hoped for. “I being in the way, the Lord led me” (Gen. 24:27;
35:3); and in “the way” (understood in this sense) there are
various avenues. It is unavailing coming to these wells unless accompanied
by the Spirit of the Lord. It is “in the way “the Lord meets
with would be drawers. These wells are approached by various appointed
avenues, and it is in these avenues where the Spirit of Lord is accustomed
to meet with would be drawers and accompany them to the springs. Are not
these divinely appointed avenues revealed to be the use of the means?
of prayer? of meditation? of reading and attendance upon the word, the
means of grace and divine ordinances? Of whom was it declared that “His
leaf also shall not wither?” He of whom it was said: “His delight
is in the law of the Lord, and in His law doth he meditate day and night”
(ver. 2). Since commencing to pen this meditation the writer has recalled
to memory that this date is that of his natural birthday and the solemn
consideration whether he has really been born to a new life which shall
be sustained by these waters, or whether his is only a leaf of profession
which, together with tree and root, shall rot? How solemn a question for
him and all readers on such occasions! May it be proved that our “leaf
also shall not wither” and that we have indeed been born again.
FEBRUARY 6
“I was found of them that sought me not; I was made manifest unto
them that asked not after me”—Rom. 10:20.
Are not the Lord’s dealings of mercy, tender care and loving-kindness,
with his people—both recorded and unrecorded—often sweet to
dwell upon? Is it not often sweet to notice the never-ending spreading
forth of the thoughts of divine and gentle compassion as manifested in
those actions of love, mercy and care which proceed from that heart which
is filled with everlasting love? And is it not sweet then to recall to
remembrance that He it is beneath the manifestations of whose great love
we are—as our hope is—to spend the durations of eternity? And
if it is so with regard to such dealings with the rest of His people,
how much so with regard to ourselves when we can trace any such? It is
a sweet, a profitable and a faith-feeding occupation, in which may the
Lord permit and enable our thoughts and hearts often to engage. And amongst
these dealings are there many more endearing to the gracious heart than
His having mercifully brought us to Himself when we sought Him not: for
having ”Sought us when a stranger, wandering from the fold of God;“
when we consider, first, what the purpose and result were: to “save
our souls from” that eternal “danger” to which we were
all, in our own way, fast hastening; and, second, what untold blessings
it has brought us to, even “to an inheritance incorruptible, and
undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for us?“
(1 Pet. 1:4). How many times since then, too, He has so kindly drawn us,
even when we have not sought Him, even though at times it has been by
the interposition of trying things bringing us on errands to the means
of grace, in which we have seen His kind hand moving and seen and felt
afresh of His love. This brief meditation may perhaps serve to lead our
thoughts to dwell upon the subject of these things once more today.
“Thy mercy my God is the theme of my song,
The joy of my heart and the boast of my tongue;
Thy free grace alone, from the first to the last,
Has won my affections, and bound my soul fast.”
(GADSBY’S 11)
FEBRUARY 7
“Hitherto hath the Lord helped us”—1 Sam. 7:12.
Up to where has He helped us? Hitherto. What a tumbling down thing faith
is unless sustained. There is many a favoured vessel of mercy this morning—favoured
because the favour of God’s grace has been extended to him or her,
though perhaps not favoured with that presence of His in spirit which
would be desired: there are many such today who have felt and this morning
feel the sweetness of these words and of the experience to which they
testify: not of the experience of others only, but of their own. If asked,
they would not deny, could not deny, dare not deny, and have, indeed,
no wish to deny, that, notwithstanding their deserts and many obstacles,
“hitherto the Lord hath helped” and perhaps in many cases the
truth would be acknowledged with tears of thankfulness. But they have
arrived at a difficulty, or are already in one: perhaps a great one, possibly
almost as great as the Red Sea was to the Israelites; or it may be only
one similar to many through which the Lord has already in times past helped
them; and instead of dwelling on the blessing couched in the words, their
spirits have settled down firmly on the word hitherto. But why (in this
sense) “hitherto?” Is this difficulty greater than some or one,
or many, previous ones? Perhaps it is. But is it greater than some he
has helped others through? Perhaps the reply is: “I do not know of
any so great.” Is it any greater than the difficulty of the Red Sea?
and is the God who divided that become so weak that He cannot divide a
way through this? If he has helped “hitherto,” will He not again
and still? Why should he stop and deny Himself just now: or in my especially
difficult or lengthy case? Where is it said: “Hitherto shall my goodness
pass before thee and no farther?“ There is no such word in the Book
of Life. But: “It is so mysterious, this difficulty of mine.”
Where is it said: “Hitherto shall my help follow thee, but not through
a mystery?” He reigns supreme in the heavens and can solve all mysteries,
and can dissolve them or scatter them by His power, and—
“He plants His footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm.”
FEBRUARY 8
“I will make all my goodness pass before thee”—Exod. 33:9.
What an encouraging promise this is—especially to a pilgrim in a
strange land, beset with the perils of a wilderness and the needs of a
desert in itself barren of supplies. His requirements are many. But “His
goodness shall pass before” him. How much? “I will make all
my goodness pass before thee.” This seems to show that all his requirements
will be met, though anyone who has travelled in a desert knows the journey
is not one of luxury and rest. Such a traveller looks for rest at the
conclusion of the journey. He is thankful to be shielded from the scorching
sun, and to find the “shadow of a great rock in a weary land,”
as the writer knows by experience of an eastern sun—not to die of
thirst, to have food supplied on the journey, to escape from a typhoon,
not to have his eyesight destroyed by the blinding sand, to escape from
prowling beasts of prey, to have congenial companionship on the way, and
(if such be his journey’s purpose) to look at the will which describes
and ensures to him the inheritance to the possession of which he is going.
But how vastly reassuring to him in the midst of it all, to have a faithful
guide, capable also of protection, instruction and provision, whose goodness
shall go before him all the way—this is that needed, indeed, to enable
him to go on the journey with hopeful confidence. But the heavenly pilgrim,
although his guide is always near him, cannot always see Him; there are
also many things which he cannot see; the sands and storms of the desert,
and sometimes delusive scenes on the way, interfere much with his eyesight;
besides which, there are some things which it is not promised that he
shall always see and in its foundation, his life, as he goes on, is a
“life of faith”—but it is “upon the Son of God, who
loved him and gave Himself for him” (Gal. 2:20). But he needs this
faith. It is his staff of life. How vital it is. Without it he feels that
he must perish from the way. But his Lord has promised him that “All
His goodness shall pass before Him in the way,” and he rejoices—especially
at certain seasons—that this includes this indispensable journeying
mercy of faith, and his fervent cry from time to time is: “Thou hast
promised that all Thy goodness shall pass before me—O Lord, fulfil
the promise and give me faith!”
“Faith ‘tis a precious grace
Wherere it is bestowed:
It boasts of a celestial birth,
And is the gift of God.” (GADSBY’S 225).
FEBRUARY 9
“His word was in mine heart as a burning fire”—Jer. 20:
9.
It will be observed that the statement is not that “His word was
a burning fire,” but the fact is that, on the contrary, I may have
a fire which so far as I, and any saving effect of it are concerned, may
burn up the word. The word was in him and thus became a fire within him.
Until this entrance within the portals of the soul takes place the word
is not a fire. But when it enters the secret recesses of the being, then
it becomes a fire: and one evidence that it has so entered is that it
burns in every part of the being. It does not burn in the intellect only
and not in the heart; it does not even burn in the heart and not in the
intellect: for if it burns in the heart, it will burn in the understanding
also. It does not burn in the affections and not burn in the will; it
does not burn in the actions and not in the thoughts: but in both; and
when it is burning, there is often a most savoury resemblance to be observed
between the two. It does not burn in one part of the being and not in
another, but burns in all its recesses; and if any part of the soul’s
being can be mentioned, there it will be found that this fire has established
its burnings. Does this apply to old believers only? It applies also to
the youngest, and the writer believes it will perhaps unexpectedly encourage
many a young believer—even of the youngest—to examine their
beings with regard to this fire. Begin with the heart: does it not burn
in mine, in yours, lighting up there a love of divine things and of the
Lord, the author of them, and burning up the love of sin and the world?
Try the understanding. Does it not burn there, warming it with true views
of God, of a precious Saviour, and of myself and yourself as a sinner,
and burning up all the delusive views of religion and carnal things and
of true happiness fostered by Satan and natural to the carnal understanding?
Try the affections. Try the thoughts. Does it not burn in both, and light
up in my, in your, affections and mind, holy desires and gracious thoughts,
and constantly work at a burning up of the love of sin and God dishonouring
thoughts? Try the will. Does it not burn there? Does not my will and your
will at times burn even violently with a strong constraint urging us after
heavenly things and opposing violently the attempts of Satan and our sinful
natures upon us? Try any other part of the being, and if we possess the
grace of God, the result will be the same. This fire will burn up all
notions of our own righteousness, but will shed a divine light in the
heart upon the righteousness of Christ. It will burn up sin, flesh and
the Devil, but will kindle with heavenly warmth the flame of divine love.
But it must be within—not without: and for the quickening of its
burnings, we are ever dependent upon its author, the spirit of the Lord.
FEBRUARY 10
“One thing I know”—John 9:25.
How well it is, even if otherwise in a turmoil of confusion, to have one
vital certainty. If in a dense London fog, where it could not see a yard
before it, and knew not at all where it had got to, a child seeking its
father’s house caught sight of some object which it knew was nowhere
else to be found but in his own street, would it not say with confidence:
“One thing I know, this object is nowhere to be found but in our
street and in spite of the fog, I know, by it, I am in the right one?”
The words of our today’s text were those of the formerly blind man,
who was certain of one thing, which pierced through a great confusion
of questions and doubts and solved the difficulty, because that one thing
was vital: “One thing I know, that, whereas I was blind, now I see.”
Are we searching for the right street? Is the fog thick? Do we know any
one vital thing which is to be found in that street alone? Of what such
thing can we say, with a conclusive certainty equal to that of the blind
man’s “one thing I know?” May not this help us in a foggy
way—if such it is with us at present? Can I say: “One thing
I know: spiritual prayers to a risen Redeemer have ascended from my heart
to the footstool of Divine Mercy?” Perhaps I cannot; but it may be
the fact all the same. What was the conclusive evidence spoken by the
Lord to Ananias that Saul of Tarsus was a child of God? “Behold,
he prayeth” (Acts 9:11). This, then, the Lord Himself adduced as
vitally conclusive in the matter. “But there is prayer and prayer.
How can I test the nature of mine?” Is not this one way of testing
it? Do I pray only for temporal blessings—great as these may be?
Then am I surely not in only a foggy street, but also in the wrong street.
But suppose my prayers, whilst much and often for temporal needs, go far
beyond, and that from down deep in a humble and broken heart my fervent
petitions, the real cries of my very soul, are for spiritual blessings—such
for instance as are found in the spiritual cries penned in the Psalms?
Suppose these are the real desires as well as the cries of my heart? Can
I imagine Satan inditing such prayer as this? Such a petition as: “O
Lord, renew a right spirit within me?” Are they my real desires?
I know if they are that or not. Then “one thing I know”—that
the Lord will say of such a suppliant: “Behold he prayeth!”
And such prayer is only found surely in the street leading to the abode
of the Author of Salvation. Are there any other “one” things
I know? Perhaps this meditation may be graciously used by the Lord to
suggest them for my comfort: things only found in the way leading to Himself.
FEBRUARY 11
“In the beginning was the word”—John 1:1
This was Jesus Christ, the afterwards incarnate word. What did my religion
begin with? Because in the third verse it is stated that “All things
were made by Him,” and that “Without Him was not anything made
that was made;” and He is “the same yesterday and today, and
for ever” (Heb. 13:8): therefore, if my religion began with anyone
or anything else but Him, it is no religion at all, but a mock performance,
created by the Devil and will land me at last in the abode of its author,
which is everlasting darkness. Now, is there any such another vital question
as this which I can put to my soul? How can I answer it? If I have never
put it to myself before, may I be enabled to solemnly do so now. I may
not have much time to spare for quiet meditation this morning, but if
my religion proves to have begun with Satan I shall have only too much
time to meditate upon it in the bottomless pit. How,—as my time may
be brief this morning, perhaps—how may I know if my religion began
with Jesus—the Word?—by whom all life is? (ver. 4). I will,
before beginning the day, ask myself one question: “Does it lead
me to Him?” Do I find a new habitual principle leading me from Satan
and all that belongs to him, unto Him?—not in form and pretence:
but my spirit? Does this principle make a complete turmoil in my soul
and set to work systematically to crucify, day by day, the old lusts,
and lead the real cries, the real affections, the dearest hopes of my
heart up towards Him: does my religion find in Him a load-stone leading
my being towards Him in anything and everything, though I have to fight
the fruits of Satan’s work in me every day? Does it lead me from
sin and to Him? I have—owing to the needful duties of life—not
much time this morning perhaps, but as I find it does somewhat of these
things, I begin to feel a little within me that perhaps even with my religion,
“In the beginning was the Word,” which is Jesus—because
it leads me to Him. But my desire is to feel these drawings increase.
May He graciously grant this desire.
FEBRUARY 12
“Thy word is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path“—Psalm
119:105.
Everyone is carrying a lantern of some kind and if we had the power of
knowing what lantern it really were, we could tell where every person
was going. There are many lanterns. To some, it is the lantern of a leading
novel. Their gospel is taken from it. To some, it is a great secular poet,
or a great dramatist. To others, it is the lantern of science. To others,
it is the satanic delusion of the universal Fatherhood of God: leading
them on the path of perdition resting on the vain belief that, whether
born again or not, whether made new creatures in Christ Jesus or not (2
Cor. 5:17; Gal. 6:15) that God is the universal Father of all, and will
therefore take all to dwell with Him in heaven: surely never reflecting
that the dear Saviour whom all who go there desire to meet, Himself declared
in solemn emphasis to Nicodemus, a great man in the Jewish kingdom: “Ye
must be born again” (John 3:3,7). To others it is the lantern of
bare morality or of a creature righteousness; to others it is the God-and
heaven-defying lantern of human reason, to others the lantern of the scoffing
newspaper, to others the lantern of passion, to others the lantern of
vain delights dangled before the eyes and feet by the Father of lies (John
8:44), to others the lantern of profligacy, to others the lantern of philosophy,
to others, the still more perilous lantern of a so-called Christian ministry,
based upon philosophy, to others a priest offering to forgive sins in
the place of God, to others a beautiful musical service and a sensuous
worship which, because it affects the natural senses (as a solemn theatrical
performance might equally do) and stirs the natural emotions even of a
sinner still dead in open profligacy, is thought to be worship of God,
who is a spirit and must be worshipped in spirit and in truth (John 4:24),
and to some it is the lantern of Atheism. But there is only one lantern
which will light to heaven—the place I desire to go to. And that
is the Word of God—and that in my heart. This will light me for today,
it will light me tomorrow; it will light me in the search after heavenly
things and in the quest after divine hopes and after the Pearl of great
price: it will light me in the search for the face of Jesus and after
a mansion above. There is only one real, infallible lantern, and this
lantern will guide me in my duty, guide me in my spirit, light me in sorrow,
bless me in gladness, and will light me in the path of my search after
“an inheritance that is incorruptible, undefiled, and that fadeth
not away, reserved in heaven” (1 Pet. 1:4); and this lantern is the
Word of God dwelling in my heart. May God in His rich mercy implant within
my heart this divine lantern of heaven-born light. May no other lantern
delude me; but may this one shine increasingly on my path.
FEBRUARY 13
“Blessed is he whose transgression is forgiven, whose sin is covered”—Psalm
32:1.
The great desire of the ungodly is to cover their sins. The only reason
why many outward sins are not committed is because they cannot cover them
and this—coupled with the fear of actual injury to their persons
or their prospects in the world—is the fundamental motive which lies
at the bottom of unregenerate refraining from wickedness. The regenerate
know of a totally different motive working within them. Even if no personal
disadvantage or worldly loss would arise, even if not a single human being
would know of the sin: even if God Himself could not see it, their desire
would be to refrain from sin, because of a new nature within them, and
because it is known to be displeasing to a loving God, and their love
to Him would prompt them against it, coupled with a principle within which
reaches after holiness. This is a searching question for me. Which of
these motives are those which prompt me to whatever efforts I make to
avoid sin? It is a vital distinction. May my heart be able to stand faithful
self-examination in the matter. The desire of the ungodly is to cover
their sin. It, however, cannot be covered, because an all-seeing eye beholds
it. The sinner who has fled for mercy knows this and knows that nevertheless,
unless all his sins are covered, he cannot hope to see God, or enter heaven;
for God cannot behold sin and no sin can enter there, and the song of
thanksgiving which arises in the heart of the rejoicing sinner who has
been granted the sweet sense of pardon arises from the fact that all his
sins are covered for evermore: not by the sinful efforts of a sinner to
cover them, but by God’s own covering: the covering of one who has
covered them with His own blood. What a covering! Will not such an one
desire to sing amongst the loudest in heaven, “unto Him that loved
us and washed us from our sins in His own blood?” (Rev. 1:5).
“Worthy the Lamb that died they cry,
To be exalted thus;
‘Worthy the Lamb,’ our lips reply,
For He was slain for us.” (GADSBY’S 1005)
FEBRUARY 14
“This beginning of miracles did Jesus in Cana, of Galilee, and manifested
forth His glory”—John 2:11.
This “beginning of miracles” was the turning of water into wine.
The object was to “manifest forth His glory.” He had some gracious
purpose to perform. It cannot be said that the materials at hand for the
production of the wine were very promising. But He had a gracious purpose
to perform, and the unpromising nature of the materials: the very unpromising
nature of the circumstances, did not bar the progress of the purpose of
the Lord of life and glory. He intended to promote His glory and nothing
interposed to prevent the production of that wine. One thought concerning
this matter may be encouraging to us for our this morning’s meditation.
Has the Lord any gracious purpose to accomplish concerning us? Are His
glory and good name involved? Have we reason to expect some good thing
at His hands? Is our faith being sweetly encouraged within us? Or is it
ever and anon casting furtive glances at surrounding circumstances, enveloping
hindrances, or the absence of any substantial sign in our condition or
surroundings out of which the hoped for mercy or help may be expected?
What substantial sign was to be found, in that water, of the coming wine?
What substantial element in the surrounding conditions of that feast that
an amplitude of the best of wine would be forthcoming? The conditions
could scarcely be less promising. There was one hope and one only: the
goodwill, the purpose, and the power of Jesus. But these proved enough.
What is this that we are perhaps today hoping for from the Lord to be
produced out of? Is it mere water? In other words, is there in effect
only hindrance—even contradiction—and nothing promising visible?
But the goodwill, the purpose and the power of Jesus turned even the barren
water into wine! It is not impossible for the goodwill of a beloved Saviour,
and His purpose and power to turn our unpromising water into the wine
of blessing. Perhaps He may deign to do it. Certainly He is able—able
to turn the barrenest of water into the most substantial wine, the most
hopeless of circumstances into the fullest realization of hope; especially
where the “manifesting forth of His glory” is concerned.
“Though we walk through this wilderness,
God’s promise is our stay;
His goodness He will make to pass,
Before us in the way.”
“Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take,
The clouds ye so much dread,
Are big with mercy and shall break,
In blessings on your head.”
(GADSBY’S, 554, 320).
FEBRUARY 15
“Thinkest thou that I cannot now pray to my Father, and He shall
presently give me more than twelve legions of angels?”—Matt.
26:53.
The words were spoken to Peter on his smiting off the ear of the High
Priest’s servant when the multitude came to put the Saviour to death.
A Roman legion was, I understand, six thousand or upwards. Twelve legions
of angels would therefore have been upwards of seventy thousand. One angel
alone destroyed in one night 185,000 men in the Assyrian camp (2 Kings
19:35). Twelve legions could certainly easily have prevented the crucifixion
of the Lord. This was what in effect He meant—and we know He could
have done it Himself without their instrumentality. But He doubtless asked
this question in order to accommodate His speech to Peter’s poor
frail conceptions. The effect of all was: He could easily have prevented
the direful designs of the Jews had it been wise. Why did He not? We know
now—after God’s counsels have been accomplished—why. It
was because a great design of almighty wisdom and lovingkindness to His
dear people was to be effected. We see the veil now lifted from all these
deep purposes. Poor Peter, looking at God’s doings before the veil
was lifted, would not hear of them upon any consideration and if he could
would have forcibly prevented their accomplishment, in his supposed superior
wisdom. How immense is the illumination of the lesson here available to
us upon the inscrutable dealings of God and our proper attitude in viewing
them? Do we not see from it, as with a flash which lights up the whole
heavens, so to speak, that however dark, adverse, inscrutable and faith-stunning,
and reason-affronting, God’s dispensations may be, there is the utmost
ground for faith to believe that He knows what He doeth and that although
He be “treasuring up some deep design,” He is working out a
wise and loving though “sovereign will?” The writer does not
pen this without knowing himself by shameful and God-dishonouring experience,
the difficulty of trusting the Lord in the dark—before the event:
how after repeated encouragements by past helps, his faith is ever-ready
to fall instantly before new difficulties. But may the author of faith
graciously enable us to mingle faith with our contemplation of this great
lesson.
“Though frowns appear to veil His face,
And clouds surround His throne;
He hides the purpose of His grace,
To make it better known.”
FEBRUARY 16
“Then all the disciples forsook Him and fled”—Matt. 26:56.
Whom did they forsake and flee from? The author of all their hopes—with
whom they had held sweet communion; and from whom they had received the
intimate teaching of the loved ones of His bosom. Why did they forsake
Him? Because their faith forsook them. Why did it forsake them? Because
it did not reside in their own keeping or their own power and was not
maintained in active operation by a power higher than themselves. Was
it because faith had never been implanted within them? Doubtless they
had been strong in faith. But it was dormant now and without divine quickening
we see what became of it, of them, of all their professions of devotion
to the Lord, and (apparently, to them), of all their hopes. They were
“men of like passions with ourselves” (James 5:17; Acts 14:15),
and however favoured we may have been of late, or at many times, may be,
or just at present, with the sweet and comforting, and heart and hope
sustaining quickening of precious faith in a dear Lord and Saviour, and
however much communion and teaching we may have been favoured with, how
strongly we are once more enjoined and reminded by the experience, here
recorded, of the need of walking before the Lord with trembling steps
and ever “looking unto Jesus,” the author and finisher of our
faith for continued supplies lest we fall and fail (Heb. 12:2). But it
may be that this morning, instead of boasting, our cry—far to the
contrary, is: “I have no faith.” Then may we remember the words
of our Lord before the same disciples: “Satan hath desired to have
you, but I have prayed for thee that thy faith fail not,” (Luke 22:31,32)
and remember the result, that though the action of faith failed them and
Peter especially, faith itself was not destroyed, but was preserved and
afterwards re-quickened. The same promise, in many forms, is the heritage
of all disciples, and in reliance on the same gracious and faithful and
powerful promiser and on these gracious promises, may not our hopeful
though fervent cry be: “Quicken thou me, O Lord, according to Thy
word?”—yea, “according to” and by his word, in which
we hope to be found frequent seekers.
“Since ’tis Thy work alone,
And that divinely free,
Come Holy Spirit and make known
The power of faith in me.”
(GADSBY’S 225).
FEBRUARY 17
“Comfort ye my people”—Isa. 40:1.
Comfort whom? “My people,” saith the Lord. But not so say many
others. Comfort, according to many, is to be administered indiscriminately.
Nothing, however, can be clearer than that this comfort is to be confined
to God’s people, and any attempt to bestow it upon others is plainly
not of the direction of the Holy Ghost. All are not in a condition to
be comforted. This is further made abundantly clear by a notice of what
the comfort is, in substance, to consist of. What is the comfort commanded
to be instrumentally set before those who are to be comforted? That the
“warfare is accomplished” (ver. 2) and springing out of, or
assured by, this is every other source of blessing and comfort. If our
warfare is accomplished, our iniquity is pardoned (ver. 2). If our iniquity
is pardoned, we are the objects of God’s choice from eternity and
of His present and eternal love, (Eph. 1:3,4,5); when He rose, we rose;
when He was justified (having taken upon Him our sins) we were justified;
our warfare had been accomplished by Him; we are the objects of His intercession
who is now risen, and live and are alive for ever-more, because He liveth
and is “alive for evermore” (Rev. 1:18), and we cannot be adjudged
to death or consigned to the bottomless pit because He accomplished our
warfare for us to shake off the chains of death and Himself possesses
the keys of hell and death (Rev. 1:18). An inheritance has been won for
us in this great and accomplished warfare with death and hell, and “All
things are ours” (1 Cor. 3:21,22), therefore
“In time and to eternal days
’Tis with the righteous well,”
and this is the substance: the great text which God’s servants are
given for the comfort commanded to be spoken and as ground of all their
exhortions with a view to administering it. But how can this comfort be
administered outside of “Jerusalem?“ (ver. 2)—to unregenerate
sinners, or—as is so often attempted—to sick persons who are
unregenerate, instead of the prayerful and affectionate proclamation to
them of the gospel of the abundant grace of God to truly seeking and needy
sinners? How can the warfare of the wicked be said to be accomplished?
It is still in full progress and consists of a warfare against God Himself.
How cruelly and sinfully deluding, therefore, to attempt to administer
this comfort to such. Rather may those who love the Lord proclaim the
gospel to them—who for ought we know may be His chosen vessels of
mercy—in the hope that the Holy Ghost may make it “the power
of God unto Salvation” (Rom. 1:16) the true source and proper basis
of all comfort. And if this comfort be ours:
“All hail the power of Jesus’ name;
Let angels prostrate fall:
Bring forth the royal diadem,
And crown Him Lord of all.”
FEBRUARY 18
“And when they had this done, they inclosed a great multitude of
fishes, and their net brake”—Luke 5:6.
“This done” was the casting in of the net of Peter and his companion
fishermen. It was not that they had not hitherto cast in their net. They
had been occupied all night with their nets, endeavouring, and doubtless
most industriously, and amid constant discouragement, to catch fish. Further,
it was not in some other places, but in these very same waters. But being
still granted faith to cast in their net again, obedient to the command
and exhortation of their Lord, they this time caught a great draught of
fishes. It may be that we have been much, long, and often, seeking a blessing,
a favour, some help, from the Lord, and much—perhaps all—has
been discouragement. We have cast in the net of diligence at the Lord’s
house, Sabbath after Sabbath. What a long night it has been! We are tempted
to cast it in no more. But, no; the Lord’s gracious command and promise
still stand. Let us cast it in once more, for “when they had this
done,” the recompense came. It may be the end of the night is come,
and we shall get ours this time. May the Lord give us grace to cast it
in with faith once more. Have we cast the net into the word of life today,
or times without number, in search of some much needed help or special
blessing, or for our daily bread, even, and found it barren of that for
which we have cast it in? Has the night been long, and do we even anticipate
famine? Perhaps the morn has come. Certainly the Lord’s command and
promise still stand. Let us cast in the net again. It may come up weighted
this time. This is the still hopeful water in which to cast it, for so
the Lord’s command is—and a promise is enclosed with the command.
Have we cast the net into the waters of meditation, and has the long night
yielded nothing? “When they had this done,” in accordance with
His command. Let us again do the same. Have we cast it at the Throne of
Grace, and are we fainting or discouraged at the strange or lengthy delays?
Has it been at other commanded means of grace, or any other diligently
used means—and has the night been long? But we have cast it into
these waters long and often, and they have proved barren. Surely it is
of no use? We had better find some other waters and try there. Is it so?
No. They still cast it into the same waters—and this time they drew
out gracious encouragement. May we be given grace to follow their example.
The power of God was manifestly at work in the waters this time. So it
may be when we cast in the net again.
“God shall alone the refuge be,
And comfort of my mind;
Too wise to be mistaken, He,
To good to be unkind” (GADSBY’S 6).
FEBRUARY 19
“Nevertheless at thy word I will let down the net”—Luke
5:5.
There is much in this “nevertheless.” It indicated that in spite
of his well-known weaknesses, Peter knew something of an existence the
keynote of which was the desire to follow in life trustingly the line
of the Lord’s will. There was in the present instance doubtless a
struggle of reason against faith. But faith, though perhaps weak, appears
to have prevailed. It is impossible for us now to know whether it was
so or not, or whether he obeyed the Lord’s command without being
able to exercise faith. From his words later on there is some ground for
supposing that he was unable, and cast in the net desiring to believe,
but unable to do so. It will be remembered that when the result (the filling
of the net) came, he “fell down at Jesus’ knees, saying, ‘depart
from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord,’ for he was astonished,”
(ver. 8, 9). This self-abasement may have arisen—and probably did
arise—from a measure of the feeling experienced by Isaiah when he
exclaimed, “I am undone; because I am a man of unclean lips…for
mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts” (Isa. 6:5); but
it probably also arose from a self-abasing sense of his unbelief. How
much prevalence of strong reason over faith, how much faith, how much
desire—perhaps even painfully struggling desire—to believe combated
together in him cannot now be known. Many a weak and trembling follower
of the Lord, however, knows much of this triple conflict, thus perhaps
marked out in Peter’s experience. But one thing is clear: that fear
of the Lord was active in him which is marked by a desire—in however
much felt weakness—to follow in the line of the Lord’s will.
In all the circumstances of life and of the Lord’s dealings with
us, how precious a grace is this to have in felt and unctuous exercise.
What, in my path of life—in difficulty upon difficulty, perhaps darkness,
perhaps impenetrable complications—or even in a comparatively plain
portion of my path—do I know to be, or feel to be, the line (in my
action, or effort, or waiting) of the Lord’s will or command? How
sweet—how hopeful (as once more illustrated in this notable case),
to be enabled to go on, although I cannot see, or comprehend, or square
with my rebellious reason, in action or waiting, in the line of the Lord’s
will and say: “nevertheless, at Thy word, I will let down the net“—“I
will go on, following Thy will in this safe path, trusting to Thee for
the result.” Peter followed—and reached blessing: and such a
line of walk is strewn for us with a rich profusion of promises of blessing.
“What’ere Thy sacred will ordains
O give me strength to hear;
And let me know my Father reigns,
And trust His tender care.” (GADSBY’S 1083).
FEBRUARY 20
“And they came and filled both the ships, so that they began to sink”
—Luke 5:7.
That which caused the ships to well-nigh sink was the great multitude
of fish which their net caught in water which they had tried all night
in vain and now believed to be void of fishes. This was because they could
not see where Jesus could. When they, at His command, cast in the net
again, they could not see into the hidden recesses of the sea, and did
not know what was now there. But Jesus could see, and knew. There is something
much more difficult to see into than even the depths of the sea. It is
my heart. But He who could see into the deep, and count its treasures,
can see into this too. This is a mercy. But why a mercy? For these reasons.
If there are any treasures of divine grace in my heart, He can see them.
Perhaps I cannot, but if there is His fear there, He can see it. Others
may not, with all their desire. The evidences may be so faint that they
cannot read them. They may even feel totally unable to pronounce any hopeful
opinion about me. But though I desire the esteem of God’s people,
it is in reality God with whom I have to do. What a comfort that is; for
He can see into my heart. It is as plainly visible to Him as the depths
of the sea of Gennesaret were. What a mercy, too, it is that I have not,
in the vital sense, to do with myself either—that is, in the way
of dependence upon my power of sight there—but with Him. I am confident
I can never see Him unless He finds His fear is there, and endeavour to
“use all diligence to make my calling and election sure” (2
Pet. 1:10), but sometimes, with all my efforts, cannot see it. Supposing
His sight were no better than mine? But He can see into the deepest recesses
of my heart—who saw into the ocean’s depths where no man could
see—and can see it, if it is there. If it is so faint that neither
I nor others can trace it, He can behold it. The secret contents of my
heart are open to Him. He also sees my desires—the faintest of my
yearnings after Him—the least springings of humility, of trembling
hope, my fluttering fears, the least of my uplifted glances within. It
is a comfort to me that He can read everything so plainly, for it is He
“with whom I have to do” (Heb. 4:13). If His love is there He
can see it. If He is really precious to me there He can see it. It is
a real comfort to me that my heart is an open look to Him, for He consequently
knows all about it, and knows all my needs, knows which weak graces need
strengthening, and knows if I there truly pray. And sometimes I do hope
I do that. He knows my sincere prayer is that He would increase His image
there if indeed it is there. What a comfort that He can see to the bottom
of my heart, for I know that that prayer is there, and such a prayer He
has promised to grant. Therefore I have hope and sometimes a very precious
one.
“The soul that with sincere desires,
Seeks after Jesus’ love,
That soul the Holy Ghost inspires
With breathings from above.” (GADSBY’S 30).
FEBRUARY 21
“Launch out into the deep and let down your nets for a draught”—Luke
5:4.
“But we have already toiled all night and caught nothing,” replied
Peter to His master. This was a reasonable reply. But one, if not two,
things above reason existed here. Either Jesus could penetrate into the
contents of the sea (which was certain) or in addition, He had exerted
His divine power to bring the multitude of fishes to where there were
none before; and it is probably safe to conclude that He did so. Is there
no message here for us? Peter and his brethren cast out into the deep
of Gennesaret, in obedience to a gracious injunction. What, in the substance
of His word, is God’s divine injunction to us? Is it not also: “Launch
out into the deep?” But we have so much within us, and so many circumstances
without us, which constantly make us linger hesitatingly and tremblingly
on the shore. What? hesitate to launch out on such a sea of blessing!
Yes, to the abasement of all self-maintenance of faith—it is so.
But hear the divine injunction: “Launch out into the deep“—the
deep of God’s power, the deep of God’s love, the deep of God’s
covenant goodness. Here is a sea to launch upon! But have we been toiling
here and come to the conclusion that His goodness and His love and His
power are clean gone out of it for ever? (Psa. 77:8). Hear the loving
and emphatic exhortation again. O may we be enabled by faith to launch
out into it again, for there is goodness, love and power still in it!
Has it seemed barren? Yes, but divine power is working in the waters this
time. It is a divine sea. The exhortation is not the voice of a siren:
it is the voice of the living God. O, may I be enabled to launch out into
the deep again, again and again. But what is this mighty favour bestowed
on me, to be made an inheritor of the blessings which are in this sea?
Why was I made to hear this voice? O, let me follow it and launch out.
But I cannot find in the deep what I seek. I have sought it long. I have
launched out often and often and been driven by Satan back and back again
to the shore—not out of it quite, because my ship is still in shallow
water enough to save it from driving on to the world again. He has not
tugged me right out yet. Yet, what is the use of my launching out? But
let me launch out. He has the power to fill the deep with blessing—
for their nets brake with the draught, where they found nothing before.
The God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob, being my Helper, I will launch
out again. Again, as I trust I have been enabled believingly to do before.
“Just as I am, without one plea,
But that thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee—
O, Lamb of God, I come!
FEBRUARY 22
“And saw two ships standing by the lake: but the fishermen were gone
out of them”—Luke 5:2.
Not only were the ships empty of treasure, but the fishermen had gone
out of them and had so far given up hope of finding fish there that they
were washing their nets (ver. 2). Yet shortly afterwards the sea was found
richly laden with fish. Why? Because, as one can scarcely help believing,
divine power had, with sovereign intent of blessing, been vouchsafed,
and had operated in those waters and brought fish there. How many vessels
of mercy are in the position of these two empty ships, in which the fisherman
of faith has ceased its efforts in disconsolation, inwardly declaring,
“I will seek no more.” The vessels were empty, the fishermen
were “gone out of them.” There was little hope of fish being
found in those vessels. But the power of Jesus—in whom “it pleased
Him that all fulness should dwell” (Col. 1:19) was left out of the
range of search. Nevertheless, Jesus knew the state of things, and he
knows the state of things in my heart. Does it seem void of hope? O, let
me not despair. Let me go to the spiritual counterpart of Gennesaret—the
sea of God’s power, love, and covenant goodness—and “take
with me words” (Hos. 14:2) to the potent Saviour who made Gennesaret
rich. His power can bring hope where hope has ceased to shine. Does his
fear seem gone from my heart? The power of the great worker of Gennesaret
can bring it in fulness again. Does the love of my heart seem to be a
thing of the past? Let me go and muse by faith by the sea of Gennesaret
and consider whose power it was that quickened it with riches and life.
Do my efforts in the Lord’s service seem barren? O, the power-bestowing
Jesus of Gennesaret can make them fruitful. Are the hopes, the love, the
fear of God in my heart not gone, but very dim—am I doubtful if they
are there at all? Am I a young or an adult seeker, searching to find these
things in my heart? The power that brought riches into empty waters at
Gennesaret can bring these things richly into my seemingly empty heart.
Is this vessel of my soul empty and is the fisherman of faith stricken
with the palsy of disconsolation? Let me think of Gennesaret and what
was done there, and go to Jesus. He can quicken my faith and He can enrich
my vessel. So much did He perform there that “they forsook all and
followed Him “(ver. 11). May my faith be enabled to do the same—for
of a truth He can fill the empty with good things, who filled empty Gennesaret
with riches. What is it of which I am empty or in want? His power can
bring it all.
“The Lord, descending from above,
Invites His children near,
While power and truth, and boundless love,
Display their glories here.“ (GADSBY’S 5).
FEBRUARY 23
“That He would grant unto us, that we being delivered out of the
hand of our enemies, might serve Him without fear”—Luke 1:74.
As here extracted, these words read like a petition. But though the spirit
of petition may also underlie them, they are the recalling to mind of
a promise formerly made by God, and are uttered in the fresh outflow of
faith by a man whose mouth had long been closed. He not only remembered
the promise, but in this fresh outflow of belief in the covenant faithfulness
of God, he now proclaimed the words with the happy consciousness and comfort
of confident belief. After the darkness of doubt came the morning of confident
belief, which was as the morning dew to his spirit. The spirit is the
creation of the Lord and how wholly dependent we are upon Him for His
operations within it—whether it be by various applications of the
word, of the means of grace, or by outward circumstances. By one or the
other, or by the efficacious combination of all, He knows exactly how
to bring about His purposes in our spirits, and also how to answer our
petitions for various blessings to be performed in our hearts. How futile
as well as indescribably foolish is our frequent inclination to form a
plan almost of advice to Him as to how He shall do this, that or the other,
within or for us. Is it not a fact in our own experience—and which
has more than once awakened surprised praise—that “His ways
are past finding out?“ (Rom. 11:33). That frame is surely sweet when
we are enabled to pray fervently for a blessing, in total submission,
to His superior wisdom and will, leaving the way and means absolutely
to Him, with a gracious all-mastering confidence that He is not at the
slightest loss for means. Then—if He should so favour us—how
further sweet it is to see the beautiful buds of His ripening and performing
purposes rising up—perhaps before our tear-bedewed eyes—in quite
unexpected places, and causing us to exclaim: “behold the faithful
God!“—when, in some small measure like Zacharias, our spirits
are filled with the Holy Ghost (inditing the spirit of fervent praise)
we cry: “Blessed be the Lord!” (ver. 68). But it is not always
thus. Yet how good it is when “being delivered out of the hand of
all our enemies,” we are enabled to serve Him without fear. May such
remembered past experiences not lie forgotten in unthankfulness: when
our souls were refreshed, our spirits strengthened, and our hearts comforted.
FEBRUARY 24
“As for their rings, they were so high that they were dreadful”—Ezek.
1:18.
The whole chapter from which these words are taken is one full of much
solemnity of meaning. It deals largely with what may with all reverence
be termed the wheels of God; and without entering into the subject of
additional meanings, these may, we believe, certainly be taken to symbolize
the working of the purposes of God and be referred to as the wheels of
the purposes of God. The “rings” spoken of represent the circumference
of the wheels. This was so vast as to be “dreadful,” as seen
in the revelation of Ezekiel’s vision, in which was set before him
an amazing panorama of the manner, the scope and some indication of the
means used, between and in heaven and the earth and upon the earth for
the accomplishment and working out of God’s purposes. The vast circumference
of these wheels was such—they were so “high“—reaching
from earth to heaven—as to fill Ezekiel’s spirit with dread
and solemn awe as his eyes were opened to see them. But there were wheels
within wheels—”and their appearance and their work was as it
were a wheel in the middle of a wheel” (ver. 16). The entire awe-inspiring
idea given is that the earth, the whole universe, the heavens: the space
between the abode of man, and the Throne of God, is occupied with the
revolutions and workings of these wheels; that angels are largely engaged
instrumentally in their working and that the “spirit of life”
(ver. 8—margin) is in the wheels themselves: which gives the solemnizing
fact that the power of God is in them. Moreover, it is made clear that
when they move to work in any direction, they never turn back, or turn
aside but go “straight forward” with unerring precision—(ver.
9, 21)—nothing can interfere with the immutable destinies and operations
of those wheels; which also further shows their pre-ordination of sovereign
movement, and the amazing wisdom, coupled with amazing power and order,
needful for the management of this complexity of wheels which is staggering
to the utmost efforts of imagination put to its supremest stretch. If
I am a child of God, I am the base unworthy object of the operations of
those wheels moved by a Father of ineffable and immutable love. Shall
I murmur and desire to dictate their movements? O, may I fall abashed
before this solemn revelation and seek grace to regard it with comforting
and strengthening faith, when, and if, my path should be hard, and seek
to be enabled confidingly to say once more:
“Sovereign Ruler of the skies,
Ever gracious, ever wise;
All my times are in Thy hand,
All events at Thy command.”
And read once more for my comfort and encouragement the whole of Cowper’s
expressive hymn:
“God moves in a mysterious way,
His wonders to perform.” (GADSBY’S 320).
FEBRUARY 25
“Why art Thou cast down, O, my soul?“—Psalm 42:5, 11
.
Why dost thou mourn, who once hast dwelt in light?
Whom God hath lifted from eternal night?
Did not He chase death’s darkness from thy soul,
And then to thee sweet views of life unroll?
Who brake the chains that once thy spirit bound?
Who blew aloud the gospel’s gracious sound?
Which spake within the chaos of thine heart,
And bade the shades of darkness thence depart?
Who taught thy soul to love the light divine,
And caused a cheering radiance there to shine?
Who on thy spirit graved a heavenly law,
Whose sweet constraints thy soul still heavenward draw?
Wast thou His helper when He made to move
Thy feet within the paths of heavenly love?
Whence came the breeze which in thy spirit stirred
The precious presence of His heavenly word?
His goodness ‘twas which gave thee power to hear
The first faint sound that could thy spirit cheer;
‘Twas His blest power which chased despair away,
And turned its gloomy shadows into day.
Sweet are the blessings, O my soul, that He
Of His free goodness hath bestowed on thee;
And from His goodness ‘twas thou first wast given
The hope that raised thee up from earth to heaven.
Thou hast a God, still living, who can speak
As Priest and King—Heaven’s Great Melchisidec;
Thy sighs He there can make accepted stand,
And holds all kingly blessings in His hand.
Then hope in Him, who in thee first did move
The treasured motions of His grace and love;
Thou shalt behold the liftings of His face,
Whose power is mighty as is rich His grace.
—E. L. Jun.
FEBRUARY 26
“And have the keys of hell and death”—Rev. 1:18.
If in the days when the monarch of England had the absolute power of casting
prisoners of state into the Tower of London, of dread memory, men of great
power in the country had been everywhere threatening, with terrifying
menances, to cast us into that place of historic misery, supposing we
had been walking with the King, who, smiling upon us, said: “do not
heed them, the keys are in my possession, and all power is mine,”
would this not have been an assuring declaration to us? What need we fear
the vengeance of those great men threatening us with destruction and death?
We should have regarded the smiling King with re-assuring confidence.
“The keys are in his hands,” would have been our consoling reflection
“and until they can depose him and possess themselves of them, all
their menances are of no avail against us.” What an assurance is
here given me by the King of Kings. The entrance to all that which I need
fear in relation to a never-ending eternity is under His control. Truly,
it is the bottomless pit—the abode of death. But He holds the keys.
It is the place of banishment from Him. But He has the keys. It is the
place where hope never comes. But He holds the keys. It is the place where
breathings after holiness are never heard. It is the place of lost spirits,
not one of whom bears the image of or the least resemblance to the Son
of God. It is the abode of everlasting darkness, where I could never join
in the song of the redeemed or help to swell the music of heaven or see
His face for evermore. Can I bear the thought? But in spite of all the
thunderings of Satan, He holds the keys. How can I be cast therein if
He holds the keys? And this is, with divine smiles of heavenly compassion,
the declaration of the King Himself. Neither hell nor death can claim
me unless He cast me there Himself, and this I have a sweet confidence
He will never do—for He is to me the chiefest among ten thousand,
and possesses the keys, and will never permit the doors to be opened for
the consigning of such an one there. He will not shut through eternity
the mouth of praise which He has Himself kindled; but, that such a mouth
may praise Him eternally, possessing the keys, my trust is He will shut
the doors of Hell and open the doors of Heaven to me!
FEBRUARY 27
“Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood”—Rev.
1:5.
Is it possible to conceive what such an one will do for us? We speak of
the finite mind as a little thing, and such it is in comparison to things
infinite. Yet the powers of conception which God has endowed it with are
very great and in truth very far-reaching and wonderful. But how weak
are those powers to conceive what such an one will do for us. It is customary
for us to judge of persons by their past actions, and this is in many
cases a good index. This method of comparison our poor finite powers can
use to some effect in estimating concerning the matter now under consideration.
“Unto Him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in His own blood.”
It is such an one whom we have to consider and endeavour to set before
the eye of faith, and ask ourselves the question: “What will He not
do for us?” But is not our great difficulty to do this: to look upon
Him with the eye of faith? For if, and when, we can, with strong and clear
goings out of faith, regard Him who has done this for us as the one who
“performeth all things for us” (Psa. 57:2) as He who “will
perfect that which concerneth us” (Psa. 138:8) and as our “strong
habitation whereunto we may continually resort,” (Psa. 71:3) what
ground are we not upon! Does it not set before our eyes an affection beside
which that even of the most tenderly loving parent (and many of us know
what that is) dwindles into insignificance? Except as a trifle of anything
may help the failing imagination to conceive what an infinity of it might
be: or as a spark of electricity helps us to conceive a little of what
the universe would be if one mass of flashing lightning. What is such
a love, as indicated in these words (and which we know to be infinite)
not capable of doing for us? Is it something for time? Is it to watch
over our path? Is it to keep principalities and powers in chains about
us during our pilgrimage? Is it to listen with the sympathy of affection
to our prayers, and to behold with compassion our griefs, our sorrows
and our tears, and to help us? Is it to behold our yearnings after His
love—our desires to be enabled to love Him more—to have His
word opened up to our hearts—to have His fear given us—that
He would increase His own image in us—bless us in time and see that
we do not fail to reach Him at last? Nay: what is there I can think of
which—so far as His wonderful wisdom knows to be needful—such
a love does not ensure me He will do? Blessed person is a child of God!—who
has such a love to assure Him in life and sustain Him in death; and with
it he may truly exclaim with the poet:
“My every need He richly will supply;
Nor will His mercy ever let me die;
In Him there dwells a treasure all divine,
And matchless grace has made that treasure mine.
(GADSBY’S 667).
FEBRUARY 28
“James a servant of God and of the Lord Jesus Christ”—James
1:1.
Am I a servant of God? Are we servants of the Lord Jesus Christ? It is
not a question of who is attempting to press us into their service; of
who is using all possible arts to induce us to serve them; of who is laying
hold of every weakness within us to inveigle us or betray us, aware or
unawares, by those weaknesses into their service or into stumbling from
another service. The enquiry is not this—It is a question of whom
do I willingly and by my heart’s choice and desire serve? It may
be that today I find it difficult to answer the question. But the time
was when I had no difficulty at all in answering it. So clear was the
bent of my heart to sin and the behests of Satan that I should have promptly
answered—to myself, if to no one else—”my heart serves
sin and Satan:“ and if my heart does, that is all one as to say,
I do: for my heart is myself. So clear was my delight in the motions of
mind, heart, thought and taste, prompted by sin and Satan and in the willing
gratification of them, and even in the search after them—not to speak
of welcome to them when they came without search—that my common sense
told me (if I ever truly examined myself) that I served the god of this
world—and willingly—that I even sought his service and the exercise
of it. But why do I find a difficulty in answering the question now? If
I meditate upon this question today it may reveal matters in a new light
to me, and will certainly help me, one way or the other, in examining
the query propounded by the perplexed poet:
“ ‘Tis a point I long to know,
(Oft it causes anxious thought),
Do I love the Lord, or no?
Am I His, or am I not? (GADSBY’S 283)
FEBRUARY 29
“The heavens declare the glory of God“—Psalm 19:1.
How this shames me. What do I do to declare it? These, though inanimate,
declare His glory. Then shall I not do so? He has made them very great,
by the majesty of His power; but, with all their grandeur, has He given
them a mouth to speak, lips to frame words in His praise? What has He
done for them in comparison with his bestowments upon me, that they should
excel me in declaring His glory—or that they should declare His glory,
and I should be dumb? Has He given them eyes to behold the wonders of
His power and to survey the manifestations of His Spirit? Has He granted
them an understanding, that they should contemplate upon all that He has
wrought both in the visible universe and in the path of His providence
and the kingdom of His Grace? Has He given any of the glories of the heavens
new faculties which are so created as to be able to move in accord with
His own heavenly nature, and fit their possessors to be His companions
and the chosen subjects of His love through eternal days? What do they
know of the plan of Redemption? Has He given them a Revelation? Do they
possess—any of them—the grace of faith? Although they exist
by His power alone, can any of them live “a life of faith upon the
Son of God?” (Gal. 2:20). Upon what gracious promises would their
faith have to rest if they possessed it? What is their acquaintance with
divine love? What do they know of a crucified Saviour, who, having redeemed
them, now lives as their Intercessor within the veil? (Heb. 7:25-28) who,
having purchased them by His death, now saves them by His life? (Rom.
5:10). Can they love Him? Does His smile ever rest within their hearts?
Have they any sins to forgive? Do they know anything of a mighty Saviour?
Have they ever fled to Him for refuge: and has He said to them, “Come
unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden and I will give you rest?”
(Matt. 11:28). Truly “the heavens declare the glory of God,”
but shall they excel me? Shall they declare the glory of God, and I be
dumb, as I so often am? They possess no faculties wherewith to praise
Him, and I do: yet how often are mine silent and speechless. O, that He
would quicken His love within me, enliven my sight and sense of His goodness,
and strengthen the notes of my praise.
“Weak is the effort of my heart,
And cold my warmest thought;
But when I see thee as thou art,
I’ll praise thee as I ought.”