These words of our Lord were spoken in answer to Peter’s exclamation of surprise, “Lord, dost thou wash my feet?” It was a very natural expression of astonishment, and one which deserved no censure but at the same time it was not a very wise remark, for, albeit that it was a marvellously condescending action for the Lord Jesus to wash his disciples’ feet, he had already performed a greater condescension by coming upon the earth at all in the form of a man. For the Son of the Highest to dwell among mortals in a human body, capable of being girt about with a napkin, and able to take a basin and pour water into it, is a far greater marvel than that he should, being a man, leave the supper table and act as a menial servant by washing his disciples’ feet. Had Peter understood also what his Master had prophesied and explained to him, namely, the Lord’s approaching sufferings and death, he would have seen that for his Master to take a towel and basin was little compared with his having our iniquities laid upon himself, and being made a sacrifice for sin. It surprises you much to see the Lord of glory wear a towel, does it not amaze you still more to see him clad in the purple robe of mockery? Are you not still more astonished to see his vesture stripped from him, and to hear him cry upon the cross, “I may tell all my bones: they look and stare upon me.” It is wonderful that he should take the basin in the upper room, but surely it was more extraordinary that he should take the cup in the garden and drink in its full bitterness till he sweat as it were great drops of blood falling to the ground. To wash the disciples’ feet with water was certainly a surprising action, but to pour out his heart’s blood to wash us all was greater far; for this involved his death, his making his grave with the wicked, and his being numbered with the transgressors. The expression of Peter is thus seen to be very natural, but not very profound. Dear brethren, do you not think it very likely that our pretty pious speeches, which strike us as very proper, and seem to our friends to be very commendable, will one of these days appear to be mere baby prattling, and do even now appear so to the Lord Jesus. Those choice sayings, and holy sentences, which we have read with admiration and greatly valued,-even those are not like the words of Jesus for solid intrinsic weight and worth, but may in other lights appear far less beautiful than they now do. I have myself proved in different humours and frames of mind that the very things which struck me as being so very deep and gracious have at other times appeared to be one-sided, shallow, or questionable. We know in part, and prophesy in part: our highest attainments here are those of little children, and even for the close student, the deeply experienced Christian, the venerable man of years and the graciously anointed instructor of the churches, there is no room for boasting.

Note next, that our Saviour answered Peter’s speech in the words of the text, which are as admirable for their tone as for their matter. Which should we admire the most in this reply, its meekness or its majesty? To Peter’s ignorant simplicity how gentle he is! “What I do thou knowest not now; but thou shalt know hereafter.” And yet how royally he confronts Peter’s forward objection, and how distinctly his majestic personality puts down the too conspicuous individuality of Peter! “What I do thou knowest not now.” How perfect the blending of the majesty and the meekness! Who shall tell which of the colours is best laid on? This is ever the way of our Lord Jesus. You shall find through life, beloved, that whenever Jesus Christ comes to rebuke you, he will do so powerfully but gently; he will speak as a friend, and as a king; you will feel both his love and his authority, and own the power both of his goodness and his greatness. His smile shall not make you presume, nor shall his royal glance cause you to tremble. You will find his left hand supporting you while in his right you see his imperial sceptre. Blessed Saviour, art thou more meek or more majestic? We cannot tell, but certainly to our hearts thou art both kind and kingly, sweet and sovereign, gracious and glorious.

Let us now come to the words themselves. We have looked at the occasion of them, and at the manner of them, and we will now weigh their matter. The words themselves have suggested to me many thoughts, and among them this, first, that in our Lord’s doings there is much which we cannot understand. Our text is not merely true about the washing of the feet, but it is true concerning all that our Lord doeth-“What I do thou knowest not now.” We may know the external part of what he does, or think we do, but there is more in his actions than any of us can conceive. The external is not all; there are wrapped up within the mercies which we perceive other and yet greater mercies as yet unknown to us. You traverse the soil of Canaan and you drink of its rivers, and are refreshed by its corn and wine and oil, but the goodly land has hidden riches, its stones are iron, and out of its hills thou mayest dig brass. The brooks of which you drink derive their coolest waters from springs which have tapped “the deep which lieth under.” If thou knowest in some measure what Jesus does, yet the mystery is not altogether laid bare to thine eye; there are folds of his manifold grace which as yet are unopened. The work of Jesus is beyond thee-it is lower than thy fall, higher than thy desire; it surpasses thee, and is altogether too high for thee, thou canst not attain to the measurement thereof. Who can by searching find it out unto perfection?

Our want of knowledge of the divine doings is a wide subject, and I shall not attempt to explore its hithermost boundaries, but shall restrain myself by the text. Brethren, there are many things that God doeth which we cannot understand now, and probably never shall. For instance, why he permitted evil at first and tolerates it still. To this enquiry the divine answer would be “What I do thou knowest not.” Leave that alone. It is our highest wisdom to be ignorant where God has not enlightened us. It is great folly to pretend to know when we do not, and there lives not a man, nor ever will live a man, who has even an approximation to an understanding of the dread mystery of the existence of moral evil. The bottom of this abyss no mind can reach, and he is foolhardy who ventures on the plunge. Let this dread secret alone, thou canst not endure the white heat which burns around it. Many a man has lost the eyes of his reason while trying to peer into this fiery furnace. What hast thou to do with that which God conceals from thee? It is God’s business, not thine: the thing was done ere thou wast born, and he who permitted it can answer for himself if he careth so to do. So, also, with regard to predestination: that God ordaineth all things, and has before his eye the chart of everything that has been, is, or shall be, is most true; but who knoweth the depths of foreknowledge and destiny? To sit down and pluck the eternal purposes to pieces, to question their justice, and impugn their wisdom, is both folly and audacity. Here the darkness thickens, and out of it comes forth the oracle-“What I do thou knowest not.” The things which are revealed belong to us and to our children; and as to the unrevealed, if it be to the glory of God to conceal a thing, let it be concealed. Jesus has rent the veil of the holy place, and into the secret of divine love you may now freely enter, but other veils which he rends not you may not touch. Some truths are closed up from our understanding, even as the ark of the covenant was shut against prying eyes; let us not violate their sanctity lest we meet the doom of the men of Beth-shemesh, but let us zealously guard them as priceless treasures, that we may obtain the blessing which rested upon the house of Obed-edom. The same remark applies to the great designs of God in providence. He is pleased in prophecy often to tell us what he has meant by his providence, and perhaps it will be one of the enjoyments of the future state to see the hand of God in the whole current of history; but while incidents are occurring we must not expect to understand their drift and bearing. The wonderful tapestry of human history, all woven in the loom of God’s infinite wisdom, will astonish both men and angels when it is complete; but while it is yet unfinished it will not be possible for us to imagine the completed pattern. From between those wheels of providence, which are full of eyes, I hear a voice which saith, “What I do thou knowest not now.”

But we will confine ourselves to the loving acts of the Lord Jesus Christ, since what the Lord was doing with Peter was not very mysterious, nor a deed of transcendent power, nor of stern justice. He was humbly girding himself with a towel and pouring water into a basin to wash his followers’ feet. It was a very simple matter, and evidently a very gracious, kind, and condescending act; but yet, even concerning that, Jesus said, “What I do thou knowest not now.”

My brethren, even the acts of our Lord Jesus Christ in his loving condescension we do not fully understand. Ah, think a minute; how can we? Does not our Lord’s love always surpass our knowledge, since he himself is the greatest of all mysteries? Let me read these words to you: “Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hands, and that he was come from God, and went to God; he riseth from supper, and laid aside his garments; and took a towel, and girded himself.” Do you understand the higher and the lower points of this transaction? You must comprehend them both before you can see what he has done. “Jesus knowing that the Father had given all things into his hand.” Can you see the glory of this? Jesus our Lord was conscious that his Father had made him Head over all things to his church, and that he had laid the government upon his shoulders, and given him the key of David, that he might open and no man shut, and shut and no man open. He knew assuredly that at his girdle swung the keys of heaven and death and hell, and that having fulfilled the commission of the Eternal God he was about to return to his throne. Have you grasped the idea? Do you perceive the glory of which Jesus was conscious? If you have done so, then descend by one long sweep:-he, this Lord of all, having all things in his hand, takes off his garments, foregoes the common dress of an ordinary man, and places himself in the undress of a servant, and wears a towel, that he may do service to his own disciples. Can you follow him from such a height to such a depth? A superior in the East never washes an inferior’s feet: Christ acts as if he were inferior to his friends, inferior to those poor fishermen, inferior to those foolish scholars who learned so slowly, with whom he had been so long a time and yet they did not know him, who soon forgot what they knew, and needed line upon line and precept upon precept. Having loved them to the end, he stoops to the extreme of stooping, and bows at their feet to cleanse their defilements. Who, I say, can compute the depth of this descent? You cannot know what Christ has done for you, because you cannot conceive how high he is by nature, neither can you guess how low he stooped in his humiliation and death. With an eagle’s wing you could not soar so high as to behold him as God over all blessed for ever, sitting at the right hand of the Father, the adored of cherubim and seraphim: nor could you dive, even if you dared to take a plunge into the abyss, until you reached the depth of “My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me”: and yet you must somehow know the interval, I was about to say the infinity, between these two points of height and depth before you could know what Jesus has done for you.

Moreover, think awhile. Was anything that Jesus did understood while he was doing it? He is born a babe in Bethlehem, but who knew what he did in the manger? A few shepherds and sages and two or three favoured saints discerned the Saviour in the babe, but to the mass of mankind he was unknown. God came on earth, and angels sung his advent, but O earth thy Lord might have said to thee, “What I do thou knowest not now.” He lived here the life of a mechanic’s son: that life was the most august event in all human history, but men knew not what it was or what it meant. “The world knew him not.” He came forward to preach the gospel; did they know who it was that spake as never man spake? Did they comprehend what he spake? Ah, no. He was hid from their eyes. At last he laid aside the life he had so strangely taken; who knew the reason of his death upon the cross? Did even his disciples know though he had told them? When earth shook, and graves were opened by his last cry, did even his own followers understand what a sacrifice had been offered? No, and till the Spirit was poured upon them from on high they did not comprehend that it behoved Christ to suffer. He could say to each of his own disciples, of all that he had done, “What I do thou knowest not now.”

This is true too of every separate gift which our Lord’s love has given to his people. You have been justified in Jesus Christ, but do you fully know the wondrous righteousness with which justification by faith has endowed you? You are accepted in the beloved, but did any one of you ever realise what it is to have full acceptance with the Father? I know you have realised the fact and rejoiced in it, but have you known, ay, can you know the full sweetness of its meaning? You are one with Christ, and members of his body: comprehend you that? You are joint heirs with Christ, know you the full significance of that? He is betrothed unto you in an everlasting marriage, know you what that meaneth? Ah no; these wonders of his love, we hear of them and we believe them, but “What I do,” saith he, “thou knowest not now.”

Our Lord is doing great things by way of preparing us for a higher state of existence. We shall soon be rid of this vile body, and be released from this narrow world: we are going to a sphere more suited for our heaven-born life, where we shall be the comrades of angels and commune with the spirits of the just made perfect, and serve the Lord day and night in his temple, but what the glory shall be we do not know, for the ear hath not heard it, nor the eye beheld it, nor the heart conceived it. As for the preparations which are going on within us to make us ready for this sublime condition, we know that they are being carried on, but we cannot as yet see their course, their separate tendencies, and their ultimate issues. The instrument does not comprehend the tuner: the tuner fetches harsh sounds from those disordered strings, but all those jarring notes are necessary to the harmonious condition which he is aiming to produce. If the discords were not discovered now, the music of the future would be marred. My brethren, concerning all that Christ has done it is true, “What I do thou knowest not now.” Oh, if his work were little we could measure it, if his love were scanty we could know it, if his wisdom were finite we could judge it; but, where everything is past finding out, who can pretend to know? Remember, that in our salvation Christ himself is the sum and substance, in it every attribute of his divinity is brought into exercise to the full, he makes it his glory, counting our salvation to be his coronet and crown jewels; and therefore it is not at all marvellous that we should not know what he does.

Our second thought is a sweet one. Our want of understanding does not prevent the efficacy of our Lord’s work. “What I do thou knowest not now,” and it does not signify: the Lord will do it just as well. Peter does not know what Christ is doing when he washes his feet, but the Master washes them just as clean whether Peter understands it or not. Jesus did not say, “There, Peter, you do not understand what I am doing by washing your feet, and so I shall not wash them until you do.” No, no; he moves on with the basin and towel, and washes them clean, though Peter does not know why. Is not this a great mercy, brethren, that the blessings which Christ bestows upon us are not dependent for their efficacy upon our capacity to understand them? Just look out a little in the world and see how true this is. A mother has her little child on her lap, and she is washing its face: the child does not like the water, and it cries. Ah, babe, if thou couldst understand it thou wouldst smile. The child cries and struggles in the mother’s arms, but it is washed all the same; the mother waits not for the child to know what she is doing, but completes her work of love. So is the Lord often exercising divine arts upon us, and we do not appreciate them, neither are we pleased; perhaps we even strive against his work of love, but for all that he perseveres, and turns not away his hand because of our crying. Does the tree understand pruning, the land comprehend ploughing? yet pruning and ploughing produce their good results. The physician stands at the bedside of the patient and gives him medicine, medicine which is unpalatable, and which in its operation causes the patient to feel worse than he was before; this the sufferer cannot understand, and therefore he draws unhappy conclusions; but the power of the medicine does not depend upon the patient’s understanding its qualities, and therefore it will do him good, though it puzzles him by its strange manner of working If a fool eats his dinner, it will satisfy his hunger as much as if he were a philosopher, and understood the processes of digestion. This is a great mercy, for the most of men can never become philosophers. It is not necessary for a man to be learned in the nature of caloric in order to be warmed by the fire, or comforted by a great coat. A man may be ignorant of the laws of light, and yet be able to see; he may know nothing of acoustics, and yet be quick of hearing. A passenger who does not know a valve from a wheel, enters a carriage at the station, and he will be drawn to his journey’s end by the engine as well as if he were learned in mechanics. It is the same in the spiritual as in the natural world. The efficacy of spiritual forces does not depend upon our capacity to understand them. I have mentioned this very simple fact because it really is necessary for us to remember it. We are so knowing, or think we are: we think it so essential that we should form a judgment of what the Lord is doing. Ah, dear brethren, there are more essential things than this. It is better to trust, to submit, to obey, to love, than to know. Let the Lord alone; he is doing rightly enough, be sure of that. Is he to be questioned and cross-questioned by us? Are we to judge his judgment? Dare we demand answers to our impertinent enquiries and say, why this, and why that, and why the other? Were he a God if he would submit to such examination? If we call ourselves his disciples, how can we justify a spirit which would arraign our Lord? Be still and know that he is God. What more would you know? Remember that the things which you understand are for your good, but they can only bring you a small amount of benefit, because they must be in themselves small, or you would not be able to measure them. When a great, deep good is coming to you, you will not be able to comprehend it, for your comprehension is narrow: yet it will be none the less but all the more a blessing because you know it not. Joseph is gone, and here is his bloody coat! “Without doubt he is torn in pieces! All these things are against me. Ah, how my heart is broken with the loss of my darling child; I cannot understand it; it cannot be right.” So talks poor Jacob, but it was right, all the same for that. Joseph was on the sure road to Pharaoh’s throne, and to providing for his brethren in the land of Egypt. So it is with you, my brother, under your present trial and affliction; you cannot understand it now, but that does not make a pennyworth of difference; it is working out for you a far more exceeding and eternal weight of glory. Be content to let faith rule, and knowledge wait, and what thou knowest not now thou shalt know hereafter.

A third thought is that our not being able to know, what the Lord doeth should never shake our confidence in him. I hope, dear brethren, our faith in Christ does not rest upon our capacity to understand what he does: if so, I fear it is not faith at all, but a mere exercise of self-conceited carnal reason. Some things which the Lord has done bear upon their very forefront the impress of his infinite love, but I hope you know enough of him now to be able to believe that where there are no traces of love apparent to you, his love is as surely there. I rejoice in that part of my text which runs thus: “What I do.” This washing of the feet was not being done by Bartholomew, or Nathanael: it was the personal act of the Lord himself. Now, when the Master and Lord is the actor, who wants to raise a question or to suggest enquiry? It must be right if he does it: to question his conduct would be an insult to his majestic love. Do you know Christ? Then you know the character of his deeds? Do you know your Lord? Then you are sure that he will never act unkindly, unbecomingly, or unwisely. He can never send a needless sorrow, or wantonly cause a tear to flow. Can he? Here, then, is the question, not-why is it done? but, who is doing it? and if the Lord is doing it, we can have no doubt about the excellence of his design. We believe that he is right when we cannot see that he is so. If we do not trust him far beyond what we know, it will show that our confidence in him is very limited. When a person only obeys another because he chooses to obey, and sees it a proper thing to do, he has not the spirit of implicit obedience at all; and when a person only confides in another as far as he can see that he is safe, he is a stranger to implicit confidence. Confidence has its sphere beyond the boundaries of knowledge: where judgment ceases, faith begins. “What I do thou knowest not now.” Ah, thou best beloved of our souls, in that saidst thou truly, but we can reply to thee, that we know and are sure that what thou doest is supremely good.

Fourthly, our want of understanding as to what our Lord does generally shows itself most in reference to his personal dealings with ourselves. “What I do thou knowest not now” refers to his washing Peter’s feet. Brethren, if there is anything which we are not likely to understand thoroughly well it is that which has to do with ourselves. We are too close home to see clearly. In this case the looker-on sees more than the player. We generally form a better opinion of the character, position, and needs of another than we do concerning ourselves. It is said of Moses’ face that every one saw it shine but one man, and that was Moses, for he could not see his own countenance. So, also, if a man’s face be black it is black to everybody but himself; he does not see his own spots. We cannot form accurate estimates of ourselves, and so we must not expect when Christ is personally dealing with us that we should be able to understand what he does to us. Besides, if the Lord be dealing with us in an afflicting way, we are generally in an unfavourable state of mind for forming any judgment at all, being, as a rule, too disturbed in mind by the affliction itself. When an hospital patient is under the knife he is a poor judge of the necessity of the operation or the skill of the surgeon. In after days, when the wound has healed, he will judge better than he can do when the knife is just cutting through nerve, and sinew, and bone. Judge nothing before the time. You are not in a right condition to judge, and therefore do not attempt it. When you are smarting under the rod, your opinions, and estimates, and forecasts are about as much to be depended upon as the whistling of the wind or the dashing of the waves. Cease from judging, calculating, and foreboding, and believe that he who ordains our lot orders all things in kindness and wisdom.

I do not wonder that Peter was puzzled and could not understand his Lord’s procedure, for it is always a hard thing for an active and energetic mind to see the wisdom of being compelled to do nothing. Here is a man who can drag a net to the shore full of big fishes, and instead of using his strength he is made to sit still and do nothing! Peter, the hardy, vigorous worker, must sit down like a gentleman, or a cripple, and do nothing. He cannot make it out. He has been very useful, and he thinks he could be useful now; he could at any rate wait at the table, or carry the basin, or wash his fellows’ feet, if it must be done. But he is bound to sit still and do nothing, and he does not see it. Brethren, the hardest work a man ever has to do who wants to serve the Lord Jesus is to stand aside in forced inactivity and take no share in what is going on. It is hard to be put on the shelf among the cracked crockery, and to be of no more use than a broken vessel, while yet you feel you could be useful if you had but strength to leave your chamber. The proud idea that you have been wonderfully useful tempts you to repine at being laid among the lumber, and you feel it to be a very mysterious business altogether.

Then, what is worse, Peter not only cannot do anything, he is a receiver from others, and must be waited on by them, and chiefly by his Master, whom he at other times loved to serve. To have his feet washed must have appeared to a hardy fisherman like Peter a strange luxury. He would say, “Cannot I do it myself? I am not used to be waited on.” To sit there, and, while doing nothing, to be also engrossing the care of another, must have been a singular position to him. It is very unpleasant to an active man to be unable to work and to be dependent upon others for every little detail and necessary of life. To borrow other people’s strength, and tax other people’s care, is not desirable. To stand in need of anxious prayers, and to arouse pitying thoughts, seems strange to those who have been accustomed to do rather than to suffer. “Why,” you seem to say, “I have prayed for them, I have worked for them; are they now to pray and work for me? I have fed the sheep; are the sheep going to feed me? I have washed the saints’ feet; are they going to wash mine? Am I to be dependent upon others and not be able to lend a hand or lift a finger? Ah, well, we must not ask questions, but we are very apt to do so. We do not know, and we become inquisitive, but the Saviour says, “What I do thou knowest not now.”

All the while there is very prominent in our mind a sense of insignificance and unworthiness, which makes our receipt of favours the more perplexing. “What,” says Peter, “I, I unworthy Peter, shall I be washed by the Lord Jesus Christ?” So it seems to us unworthy sinners, “Why should God’s people be thinking about me, and careful about me? Why has the Lord himself deigned to make my bed in my sickness? Why has his blessed Spirit condescended to be my comforter, applying precious promises to me? Whence is this to me?” We do not comprehend it; we are lost in wonder, and it is no marvel that we are.

Yet, dear brethren, if our eyes are opened, the Lord’s afflicting dealings are not so wonderfully mysterious after all, for we need purging and cleansing even as Peter needed foot-washing. We greatly need the sacred purgation of Jesus’ love for the removal of daily defilement. Sometimes trials in business, sad bereavements, acts of ingratitude, pains of sickness, or depressions of spirit, are just the basin and the water and the towel in which our Lord is washing our feet. We are clean through the blood of Jesus, but the daily cleansing we still need. It is a wonder that some of us are ever out of the furnace, for our dross is so abundant. I shall not be surprised if I find myself often under the flail, for the straw and the chaff are plentiful in me. Some metals are so apt to rust that it is no wonder that they are often burnished. Some soils need a deal of ploughing; they are very apt to cake and grow hard, and therefore must be broken up; so it is with us, there is a needs be for what the Lord is doing.

In Peter’s case there was a needs be of fellowship, for our Lord said, “If I wash thee not thou hast no part with me.” You cannot have fellowship with Christ except he does this or that for you, nay, especially except he tries you; for how shall you know the suffering Saviour except you suffer yourself? Communion with the afflicted Redeemer is promoted by our personal afflictions. There was a needs be yet again for Peter and the rest to learn the lesson of washing their brethren’s feet by seeing the Lord wash theirs. No man can rightly wash another’s feet till his own feet have been washed by his Saviour. It is in the kingdom of Christ a law that there must be experience before there can be expertness. Thou must be comforted or thou canst not comfort; thou must find mercy thyself or thou canst not lead others in the search; thou must be washed or thou canst not wash. Thus there were good reasons for our Lord’s act, but they were not seen by Peter, nor do the motives for our Lord’s dispensations towards us always appear upon the surface. When Jesus himself is dealing with us, especially if it be in a way of trial, we do not understand it, and he has need to say, “What I do thou knowest not now.”

Our last thought for the present is this, upon this point and upon many others we shall one day be informed. “What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter.” That “hereafter” may be very soon. Peter knew within a few minutes what Jesus meant, for he said to him, “Know ye what I have done unto you? If I your Lord and Master have washed your feet, ye ought also to wash one another’s feet.” Thus the light was not long in breaking. Why are you in such a hurry when you are in trouble to begin spelling out a naughty reason for God’s dealings, when, if you will but wait, you shall know the right reason in a short time? A child is in an ill temper because there has been a rule made by the father and not explained, and so it sits down and sulks, and thinks of some unkind, ungenerous motive on the father’s part. In a minute or two after it understands it all, and has to eat its own words, and confess, “How bad of me to impute such unkindness to my dear loving father, who is always seeking my good.” If you will get reasoning in haste about your Lord’s dispensations, you will have to take all your reasonings back, and you will have to afflict your soul for being so hasty; therefore wait awhile, for “thou shalt know hereafter,” and that “hereafter” may be very near.

Peter understood his Master’s washing his feet better after his sad fall and threefold denial. I should not wonder that when the Lord turned and looked upon Peter, and he went out and wept bitterly, the penitent disciple said to himself, “Now I begin to see why my Lord washed my feet.” When he perceived how sadly he needed washing, he would prize the token which his Lord had given him. He saw his own frailties and imperfections as he had not seen them before, for he had said, “Though all men should be offended, yet will I never be offended”; but after his sad denial he knew himself to be as apt to err as the rest of the brotherhood. At a certain point of your experience you will possibly discover the explanation of your present adversity.

After the Lord had met with Peter at the sea and had said to him, “Feed my sheep,” and “Feed my lambs,” another method of explanation was open to him. When Peter began to be a pastor and to deal with the souls of others, he would clearly see why his Master washed his feet, for he would find that he had much to do of the same kind of service. Often does our work for Jesus unfold the work of Jesus, and we know our Lord by being called to follow in his steps.

Yonder in heaven, best of all, Peter understands why the Master washed his feet, and surely sometimes Peter must inwardly smile to think of what he once thought and said. Peter sings amid the heavenly throng, “Unto him that loved us and washed us from our sins in his own blood,” and then he thinks to himself, “In my folly in the days of my flesh I said unto him, ‘Thou shalt never wash my feet.’ I loved him when I said it, but what monstrous folly lay in my speech.” Ah, he understands it now, and we shall understand as he does soon. All things will be clear when we once pass into the region of light. I anticipate the blessed confidences of heaven. How blessed will be those familiar revelations of mysteries so long obscure! What sweet communications there will be between God and his people in the world to come. I look foward to the time when we shall see the knots untied and the riddles all explained: then shall we see the good of apparent evil, and the life which lay in the bosom of death. Could we hear the stories of pilgrims who have reached home they would run like this-“I was travelling a pleasant road, blessing God for so delightful a pilgrimage, but suddenly a huge rock fell across my path, and I had with regret to turn back and traverse a more rugged road. I never understood why until I came home to heaven, and now he tells me, ‘Child, there was a precipice but a little way in front, and you would have been dashed to pieces, and therefore I blocked up your way.’ ” Another who has reached the desired haven will tell us, “The vessel in which I sailed was wrecked; she struck upon a rock, and on a broken fragment of her timbers I swam to shore. I could never comprehend the reason for this calamity till now, but now I learn that the barque was being steered by crafty hands to a shore whereon I should have been made a slave and kept in lifelong captivity, and there was no way of deliverence but by dashing the bark to shivers, and landing her passengers where they would be free.”

Brethren, you will, probably, bless God in heaven more for your sorrows than your joys. When you once ascend the celestial hills you will see that the best blessings came to you in the roughest garments; your pearls were found in oyster-shells, and your jewels were brought out of Egypt. Sickness, trial, adversity, bereavement, and pain have been more truly angels of God to you than your wealth, your health, your strength, your comfort, infinitely more so than your laughter and your ease. O brothers and sisters, we shall know hereafter. Well, as we shall know hereafter, we may leave the knowing till then, and give all our attention to the obeying and the trusting.

I have done when I have added a warning to those out of Christ. There are some in this congregation who do not know my Lord. I have been much exercised in my mind about you while I have been confined to my chamber and unable to address you, and my prayer has been that the Holy Spirit would bless to your conversion the messages of my brethren who have kindly occupied this pulpit. If you still remain unconverted, I would like to say to you that you do not know what God has been doing with you, and you do not know what he is doing with you now; but you will know hereafter. You have Sabbath days, but you do not know their value: you will value them differently by-and-by when you lie dying, and especially when you are called before the judgment seat of God. You have your Bible, and you neglect it; you do not know that God has sent a love letter to you in that form; you will know it when you stand before his awful bar. Some of you have been pleaded with very often, and earnestly entreated to lay hold on eternal life; and the Lord has backed up our entreaties by sending sickness to you and personal trouble. Well, you have not known much about it, and you have not wished to know, but you will have to know hereafter. If you die without Christ you will wake up in eternity and cry, “Ah me, that ever the Lord should call me and I refuse, that he should stretch out his hand and I should disregard.” In hell it will be an awful discovery, “I was the subject of gospel invitations, I was the object of earnest entreaties, but I continued in my sin, and here I am eternally lost.” What I earnestly desire should happen would be that you should this morning find out what the Lord has done for you, and should understand it, and should open your eyes and say, “Here am I, a man who has lived long in sin, and I have been spared on purpose that God might save me ere I die.” Or perhaps it will take this form: “Here I am, a young man, and I came in here this morning with no precise motive, little knowing what God was about to do with me, but I know it now; he has brought me hither that I may, this morning, believe in Jesus, and give my heart to him.” O hearers of the gospel, if you once come to know what God has really done with you and for you, you will hardly forgive yourselves for your conduct towards him; you will say, “Did he really love me so, and redeem me with such a price, and have I been so unkind and thoughtless towards him?” You will upbraid yourselves and chasten yourselves, and grieve to think you should have treated so good a friend so ill. O may the divine Spirit this morning open your eyes to know what the Lord Jesus does unto you, and his grace shall be magnified in you. Amen and amen.

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-John 13:1-17.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-327, 689, 778.

THE ANCHOR

A Sermon

Delivered on Lord’s-Day Morning, May 21st, 1876, by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington.

“Wherein God, willing more abundantly to shew unto the heirs of promise the immutability of his counsel, confirmed it by an oath: that by two immutable things, in which it was impossible for God to lie, we might have a strong consolation, who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us: which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast, and which entereth into that within the veil; whither the forerunner is for us entered, even Jesus, made an high priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.”-Hebrews 6:17-20.

Faith is the divinely-appointed way of receiving the blessings of grace. “He that believeth shall be saved,” is one of the main declarations of the gospel. The wonders of creation, the discoveries of revelation, and the movements of providence are all intended to create and foster the principle of faith in the living God. If God reveals aught it is that we should believe it. Of all the books of Holy Scripture it may be said, “these are written that ye might believe, and that believing ye might have life.” Even if God conceals anything, it is that we may be able to confide in him; since what we know yields but little space for trust compared with the unknown. Providence sends us divers trials, all meant to exercise and increase our faith, and at the same time in answer to prayer it brings us varied proofs of the divine faithfulness which serve as refreshments to our faith. Thus the works and the words of God cooperate to educate men in the grace of faith. You might imagine, however, from the doctrine of certain teachers that the gospel was “Whosoever doubts shall be saved,” and that nothing could be more useful or honourable than for a man’s mind to hang in perpetual suspense, sure of nothing, confident of the truth of no one, not even of God himself. The Bible raises a mausoleum to the memory of its heroes, and writes upon it as their epitaph “these all died in faith”; but the modern gospel derides faith, and sets up instead thereof the new virtue of keeping abreast with the freshest thought of the age. That simple trust in the truthfulness of God’s word, which our fathers inculcated as the basis of all religion, would seem to be at a discount now with “men of mind” who are able to cope with “modern thought.” Shame upon professed ministers of Christ that some of these are worshipping at this shrine, and are labouring after the repute of being intellectual and philosophical by scattering doubts on all sides. The doctrine of the blessedness of doubt is as opposed to the gospel of Jesus Christ as darkness is to light, or Satan to Christ himself; it is invented as a quietus to the consciences of those proud men who refuse to yield their minds to the rule of God.

Have faith in God, for faith is in itself a virtue of the highest order. No virtue is more truly excellent than the simple confidence in the Eternal which a man is helped to exhibit by the grace of the Holy Spirit. Nay, not only is faith a virtue in itself, but it is the mother of all virtues. He that believeth becomes strong to labour, patient to suffer, fervent to love, earnest to obey, zealous to serve. Faith is a root from which may grow all that can adorn the human character. So far from being opposed to good works, it is the ever-flowing fountain from whence they proceed. Take faith away from the professed Christian and you have cut the sinew of his strength, like Samson you have shorn him of his locks, and left him with no power either to defend himself or to conquer his foes. “The just shall live by faith,”-faith is essential to the vitality of Christianity, and any thing which weakens that faith weakens the very mainspring of spiritual power. Brethren, not only does our own experience teach us this, and the word of God declare it, but the whole of human history goes to show the same truth. Faith is force. Why, even when men have been mistaken, if they have believed the mistake they have displayed more power than men who have have known the truth, but have not heartily believed it; for the force that a man hath in dealing with his fellow men lies very much in the force of conviction which his beliefs have over his own soul. Teach a man the truth so that his whole heart believes in it, and you have given him both the fulcrum and the lever with which he may move the world. To this very moment the whole earth is tremulous like a mass of jelly beneath the tread of Luther, and why? Because he was strong in faith. Luther was a living believer, and the schoolmen with whom he had to contend were mere disputers, and the priests, and cardinals, and popes with whom he came into contact were mere traders in dead traditions, therefore he smote them hip and thigh, with great slaughter. His whole manhood believed in what he had learned of God, and as an iron rod amongst potters’ vessels, so was he among the pretenders of his age. What has been true in history all along is most certainly true now. It is by believing that we become strong: that is clear enough. Whatever supposed excellencies there may be in the much vaunted receptive condition of the mind, the equilibrium of a cultured intellect, and the unsettled judgment of “honest” disbelief, I am unable to discern them, and I see no reference to them in Scripture. Holy writ neither offers commendations of unbelief nor presents motives nor reasons for its cultivation. Experience does not prove it to be strength in life’s battle, or wisdom for life’s labyrinth. It is near akin to credulity, and unlike true faith, it is prone to be led by the nose by any falsehood. Unbelief yields no consolation for the present, and its outlook for the future is by no means comforting. We discover no intimation of a sublime cloud-land, where men of self-appreciating brain-power will eternally puzzle themselves and others: we hear no prophecy of a celestial hall of science were sceptics may weave fresh sophistries, and forge new objections to the revelation of God. There is a place for the unbelieving, but it is not heaven.

Coming to our text, whose tone is far removed from all uncertainty, we see clearly that the Lord does not desire us to be in an unsettled condition, but would put an end to all uncertainty and questioning. As among men a fact is established when an honest man has sworn to it, so “God willing more abundantly to show unto the heirs of promise the immutability of his covenant, confirmed it by an oath.” Condescending to the weakness of human faith, he himself swears to what he declares, and thus gives us a gospel doubly certified by the promise and oath of the everlasting God. Surely angels must have wondered when God lifted his hand to heaven to swear to what he had promised, and must have concluded that thenceforth there would be an end of all strife, because of the confirmation which the Lord thus gave to his covenant.

In working out our text, I must direct you to its most conspicuous metaphor. This world is like a sea, restless, unstable, dangerous, never at one stay. Human affairs may be compared to waves driven with the wind and tossed. As for ourselves, we are the ships which go upon the sea, and are subject to its changes and motions. We are apt to be drifted by currents, driven by winds, and tossed with tempests: we have not yet come to the true terra firma, the rest which remaineth for the people of God; God would not have us carried about with every wind, and therefore he has been pleased to fashion for us an anchor of hope most sure and stedfast, so that we may outride the storm. I shall not attempt to preach from the whole of the great text before us, for it would require seven years at least, and a Dr. John Owen, or a Joseph Caryl to bring forth a tithe of its meaning. I am simply going to work out the one set of truths suggested by the image of an anchor, and may God grant that all of us this morning who know the meaning of that anchor may feel it holding us fast by its grip within the veil; and may others, who have never possessed that anchor before, be enabled to cast it overboard this morning for the first time, and feel throughout all the rest of their lives the strong consolation which such a holdfast is sure to bestow upon the believing heart.

First, let me call your attention to the design of the anchor of which our text speaks.

The design of an anchor, of course, is to hold the vessel firmly to one place when winds and currents would otherwise remove it. God has given us certain truths, which are intended to hold our minds fast to truth, holiness, perseverance-in a word, to hold us to himself. But why hold the vessel? The first answer which would suggest itself would be to keep it from being wrecked. The ship may not need an anchor in calm waters; when upon a broad ocean a little drifting may not be a very serious matter: but there are conditions of weather in which an anchor becomes altogether essential. When a gale is rushing towards the shore, blowing great guns, and the vessel cannot hold her course, but must surely be driven upon an iron-bound coast, then the anchor is worth its weight in gold. If the good ship cannot be anchored there will be nothing left of her in a very short time but here and there a spar; the gallant vessel will go to pieces, and every mariner be drowned; now is the time to let down the anchor, the best bower anchor if you will, and let the good ship defy the wind. Our God does not intend his people to be shipwrecked; shipwrecked and lost, however, they would be if they were not held fast in the hour of temptation. Brethren, if every wind of doctrine whirled you about at its will you would soon be drifted far away from the truth as it is in Jesus, and concerning it you would make shipwreck; but you cost your Lord too dear for him to lose you; he bought you at too great a price, and sets too great a store by you for him to see you broken to pieces on the rocks; therefore he has provided for you a glorious holdfast, that when Satan’s temptations, your own corruptions, and the trials of the world assail you, hope may be the anchor of your soul, both sure and stedfast. How much we need it! For we see others fall into the error of the wicked, overcome by the deceivableness of unrighteousness, and left for ever as castaways. “Having no hope and without God in the world.” If you have done business on the great waters for any length of time, you must be well aware that were it not for everlasting truths which hold you fast, your soul had long since been hurried into everlasting darkness, and the proud waters had long ere this have gone over your soul. When the mighty waves have lifted up themselves, your poor bark has seemed to go down to the bottom of the mountains, and had it not been for unchanging love and immutable faithfulness, you heart had utterly fainted. Nevertheless, here you are to-day, convoyed by grace, provisioned by mercy, steered by heavenly wisdom, and propelled by celestial power. Thanks to the anchor, or rather to the God who gave it to you, no storm has overwhelmed you; you are under way for the port of glory.

An anchor is also wanted to keep a vessel from discomfort, for even if it be not wrecked it would be a wretched thing to be driven hither and thither, to the north and then to the south, as winds may shift. Unhappy is he who is the creature of external influences, flying along like thistledown in the breeze, or a rolling thing before the whirlwind. We require an anchor to hold us so that we may abide in peace, and find rest unto our souls. Blessed be God, there are solid and sure truths infallibly certified to us, which operate powerfully upon the mind so as to prevent its being harassed and dismayed. The text speaks of “strong consolation.” Is not that a glorious word,-we have not merely consolation which will hold us fast and bear us up against the tempest in times of trouble, but strong consolation so that when affliction bursts forth with unusual strength, like a furious tornado, the strong consolation, like a sheet anchor, may be more than a match for the strong temptation, and may enable us to triumph over all. Very restful is that man who is very believing.

“Hallelujah! I believe!

Now the giddy world stands fast,

For my soul has found an anchor

Till the night of storm is past.”

An anchor is wanted, too, to preserve us from losing the headway which we have made. The vessel has been making good way towards port, but the wind changes and blows in her teeth: she will be borne back to the port from which she started, or to an equally undesirable port, unless she can resist the foul wind; therefore, she puts down her anchor. The captain says to himself, “I have got so far and I am not going to be drifted back. Down goes my anchor, and here I stop.” Saints are sometimes tempted to return to the country whence they came out, they are half inclined to renounce the things which they have learned, and to conclude that they never were taught of the Lord at all. Alas, old Adam plucks us back, and the devil endeavours to drive us back, and were it not for something sure to hold to, back we should go. If it could be proved to be, as certain cultivated teachers would have us believe, that there is nothing very sure, that although black is black it is not very black, and though white is white it is not very white, and from certain standpoints no doubt black is white and white is black; if it could be proved, I say, that there are no eternal verities, no divine certainties, no infallible truths, then might we willingly surrender what we know or think we know, and wander about on the ocean of speculation, the waifs and strays of mere opinion: but while we have the truth, taught to our very souls by the Holy Ghost, we cannot drift from it, nor will we though men count us fools for our stedfastness. Brethren, aspire not to the charity which grows out of uncertainty; there are saving truths and there are “damnable heresies”; Jesus Christ is not yea and nay; his gospel is not a cunning mixture of the gall of hell and the honey of heaven, flavoured to the taste of bad and good. There are fixed principles and revealed facts. Those who know anything experimentally about divine things have cast their anchor down, and as they heard the chain running out, they joyfully said, “This I know, and have believed. In this truth I stand fast and immovable. Blow winds and crack your cheeks, you will never move me from this anchorage: whatsoever I have attained by the teaching of the Spirit, I will hold fast as long as I live.”

Moreover, the anchor is needed that we may possess constancy and usefulness. The man who is easily moved and believeth this to-day and that to-morrow, is a fickle creature. Who knows where to find him? Of what use is he to the younger sort and the feeble folk, or indeed to any one else? Like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed, what service can he render in the work of the Lord, and how can be influence others for good? He believes not, how can he make others believe? I believe that the orthodox disbeliever is more largely a creator of infidelity than the heterodox believer: in other words, I fear that the man who earnestly believes an error has a less injurious influence upon others than the man who holds the truth in indifference, and secret unbelief: this man is tolerated in godly company, for he professes to be one of ourselves, and he is therefore able to stab at piety beneath her shield. The man knows nothing, certainly, but only hopes and trusts, and when defending truth he allows that much may be said on the other side, so that he kisses and stabs at the same time.

Our God has provided us an anchor to hold us fast lest we be shipwrecked, lest we be unhappy, lest we lose the progress we have made, and lest our character should become unstable, and therefore useless. These purposes are kind and wise; let us bless the Lord who has so graciously cared for us.

Secondly, I invite you to consider the make of the anchor-“That by two immutable things, in which it was impossible for God to lie, we might have a strong consolation.”

Anchor-making is very important work. The anchor-smith has a very responsible business, for if he makes his anchor badly, or of weak material, woe to the shipmaster when the storm comes on. Anchors are not made of cast iron, nor of every kind of metal that comes to hand, but they are made of wrought iron, strongly welded, and of tough, compact material, which will bear all the strain that is likely to come upon it at the worst of times. If anything in this world should be strong it should be an anchor, for upon it safety and life often depend.

What is our anchor? It has two great blades or flukes to it, each of which acts as a holdfast. It is made of two divine things. The one is God’s promise, a sure and stable thing indeed. We are very ready to take a good man’s promise, but perhaps the good man may forget to fulfil it, or be unable to do so: neither of these things can occur with the Lord, he cannot forget and he cannot fail to do as he has said. Jehovah’s promise, what a certain thing it must be! If you had nothing but the Lord’s bare word to trust to surely your faith should never stagger. To this sure word is added another divine thing, namely, God’s oath. Beloved, I scarcely dare speak upon this sacred topic. God’s oath, his solemn assertion, his swearing by himself! Conceive the majesty, the awe, the certainty of this! Here, then, are two divine assurances, which like the flukes of the anchor hold us fast. Who dares to doubt the promise of God? Who can have the audacity to distrust his oath?

We have for our anchor two things, which, in addition to their being divine, are expressly said to be immutable-that is, two things which cannot change. When the Lord utters a promise he never runs back from it-“the gifts and calling of God are without repentance.” Hath he said and shall he not do it? Hath he promised and shall it not stand fast? He changeth never, and his promise abideth from generation to generation. Then comes the oath, which is the other immutable thing; how could that be altered? God has pledged the honour of his name, and it is not supposable that, under such circumstances, he will retract his engagements and deny his own declarations. Ah, no-

“The gospel bears my spirit up.

A faithful and unchanging God

Lays the foundation for my hope

In oaths, and promises, and blood.”

Notice next of these two things that is said-“Wherein it is impossible for God to lie.” It is inconsistent with the very idea and thought of God that he should be a liar. A lying God would be a solecism in language, a self-evident contradiction. It cannot be, God must be true, true in his nature, true in his thoughts, true in his designs, true in his acts, and assuredly true in his promises and true in his oath. “Wherein it is impossible for God to lie.” Oh, beloved, what blessed holdfasts have we here!” If hope cannot rest on such assurances what could it rest upon?

But now, what is this promise, and what is this oath? The promise is the promise given to Abraham that his seed should be blessed, and in this seed should all nations of the earth be blessed also. To whom was this promise made? Who are the “seed”? In the first place, the seed is Jesus, who blesses all nations; and next, our apostle has proved that this promise was not made to the seed according to the flesh, but to the seed according to the spirit. Who, then, are the seed of Abraham according to the spirit? Why, believers; for he is the father of the faithful, and God’s promise, therefore, is confirmed to all who exhibit the faith of believing Abraham. To Christ himself, and to all who are in Christ, is the covenant made sure, that the Lord will bless them for ever and make them blessings.

And what is the oath? That may refer to the oath which the Lord sware to Abraham after the patriarch had offered up his son, for which see the twenty-second chapter of Genesis: but I think you will agree with me if I say it more probably refers to the oath recorded in the one hundred and tenth Psalm, which I would have you notice very carefully,-“The Lord hath sworn, and will not repent, thou art a priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.” I think this is referred to, because the twentieth verse of our text goes on to say, “Whither the forerunner is for us entered, even Jesus, made an high priest for ever after the order of Melchisedec.” Now, beloved, I want you to see this anchor. Here is one of its hold-fasts,-God has promised to bless the faithful, he has declared that the seed of Abraham, namely believers, shall be blessed, and made a blessing. Then comes the other arm of the anchor, which is equally strong to hold the soul, namely, the oath of the priesthood, by which the Lord Jesus is declared to be a priest for ever on our behalf; not an ordinary priest after the manner of Aaron, beginning and ending a temporary priesthood, but without beginning of days or end of years, living on for ever; a priest who has finished his sacrificial work, has gone in within the veil, and sits down for ever at the right hand of God, because his work is complete, and his priesthood abides in its eternal efficacy. This is a blessed anchor to the soul: to know that my Priest is within the veil; my King of righteousness and King of peace is before the throne of God for me, representing me, and therefore I am in him for ever secure. What better anchor could the Comforter himself devise for his people? What stronger consolation can the heirs of promise desire?

We have no time to linger, though tempted to do so, and therefore I ask you to advance in the third place to notice our hold of the anchor. It would be of no use for us to have an anchor, however good, unless we had a hold of it. The anchor may be sure, and may have a stedfast grip, but there must be a strong cable to connect the anchor with the ship. Formerly it was very general to use a hempen cable, but large vessels are not content to run the risk of breakage, and therefore they use a chain cable for the anchor. It is a grand thing to have a solid substantial connection between your soul and your hope; to have a confidence which is surely your own, from which you can never be separated.

Our text speaks plainly about this laying hold of the anchor in the end of the 18th verse-“That we might have a strong consolation, who have fled for refuge to lay hold upon the hope set before us.” We must personally lay hold on the hope; there is the hope, but we are bound to grasp it and hold it fast. As with an anchor the cable must pass through the ring, and so be bound to it, so must faith lay hold upon the hope of eternal life. The original Greek signifies “to lay hold by main force and so to hold as not to lose our hold when the greatest force would pull it from us.” We must take firm hold of firm truth. Ah, brethren, as some men have a cloudy hope, so they would seem to have a very doubtful way of laying hold upon it: I suppose it is natural it should be so. For my part, I desire to be taught something certain, and then I pray to be certain that I have learned it. Oh to get such a grip of truth as that old warrior had of his sword, so that when he fought and conquered he could not separate his hand and his sword, for his hand clave to his sword as if it were glued to it. It is a blessed thing to get hold of the doctrine of Christ in such a way that you would have to be dismembered before it could be taken from you, for it has grown into your very self. Mind you have a sure hold of your sure anchor.

“Well,” saith one, “but may we lay hold upon it”? My answer is, the text says it is “set before us,”-to “lay hold of the hope set before us.” You may grasp it for it is set before you. If any of you were very faint and hungry, and you came to a person’s house, and he said “sit down,” and you sat down at the table, and when you sat there the master set before you a good joint of meat and some very pleasant fruits, and the like, you would not long question whether you might eat them, but would infer your liberty to do so because the food was set before you. Assuredly this is the welcome of the gospel. The hope is set before you. For what purpose is it so set? That you may turn your back upon it? Assuredly not. Lay hold upon it, for wherever truth is met with it is both our duty and our privilege to lay hold upon it. All the warrant that a sinner wants for laying hold on Christ is found in the fact that God has set Christ forth to be a propitiation for our sins. Christian man you are in a storm; here is an anchor. Do you ask “May I use that anchor”? It is set before you for that very purpose. I warrant you there is no captain here but what if he were in a storm, and saw an anchor set before him, he would use it at once and ask no questions. The anchor might be none of his, it might happen to be on board as a piece of merchandise; he would not care an atom about that. “The ship has got to be saved. Here is an anchor; over it goes.” Act thus with the gracious hope which God provides for you in the gospel of Jesus Christ: lay hold on it now and evermore.

Now, notice that our hold on the anchor should be a present thing and a conscious matter, for we read, “which hope we have.” We are conscious that we have it. No one among us has any right to be at peace if he does not know that he has obtained a good hope through grace. May you all be able to say, “which hope we have.”

As it is well to have a cable made of the same metal as the anchor, so it is a blessed thing when our faith is of the same divine character as the truth upon which it lays hold: it needs a God-given hope on our part to seize the God-given promise of which our hope is made. The right mode of procedure is to grasp God’s promise with a God-created confidence: then you see that right away down from the vessel to the anchor the holdfast is all of a piece, so that at every point it is equally adapted to bear the strain. O to have precious faith in a precious Christ! A precious confidence in precious blood. God grant it to you, and may you exercise it at this very moment.

Fourthly, and very briefly, let us speak of the anchor’s hold of us. A ship has hold upon her anchor by her chain cable, but at the same time the most important thing is that the anchor keeps its hold upon the ship; and so, because it has entered into the ground of the sea bottom, holds the vessel hard and fast. Brethren, do you know anything about your hope holding you? It will hold you if it is a good hope; you will not be able to get away from it, but under temptation and depression of spirit, and under trial and affliction, you will not only hold your hope-that is your duty, but your hope will hold you-that is your privilege. When the devil tempts you to say, “I will give it all up,” a power unseen will speak out of the infinite deeps, and will reply, “But shall not give you up, I have a hold of you, and none shall separate us.” Brethren, our security depends far more upon God’s holding us than our holding to him. Our hope in God that he will fulfil his oath and promise has a mighty power over us, far more than equal to all the efforts of the world, the flesh, and the devil to drag us away.

How is it that our divine anchor holds so fast? It is because it is in its own nature sure-“Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast.” It is in itself sure as to its nature. The gospel is no cunningly devised fable: God has spoken it, it is a mass of fact, it is pure, unalloyed truth, with the broad seal of God himself set upon it. Then, too, this anchor is “stedfast” as to its hold, it never moves from its lodgment. It is sure in its nature, and stedfast when in use, and thus it is practically safe. If you have believed in Christ unto eternal life, and are expecting that God will be as good as his word, have you not found that your hope sustains you and maintains you in your position?

Brethren, the result of the use of this anchor will be very comfortable to you. “Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast.” It will not prevent your being tossed about, for a ship at anchor may rock a good deal, and the passengers may be very sea-sick, but she cannot be driven away from her moorings. There she is, and her passengers suffer discomfort, but they shall not suffer shipwreck. A good hope through grace will not altogether deliver you from inward conflicts, nay, it will even involve them: it will not screen you from outward trials, it will be sure to bring them: but it will save you from all real peril. I may say to every believer in Jesus, that his condition is very like that of the landsman on board ship when the sea was rather rough, and he said, “Captain, we are in great danger, are we not”? As an answer did not come, he said, “Captain, don’t you see great fear?” Then the old seaman gruffly replied, “Yes, I see plenty of fear, but not a bit of danger.” It is often so with us; when the winds are out and the storms are raging there is plenty of fear, but there is no danger. We may be much tossed, but we are quite safe, for we have an anchor of the soul both sure and stedfast, which will not start.

One blessed thing is that our hope has such a grip of us that we know it. In a vessel you feel the pull of the anchor, and the more the wind rages the more you feel that the anchor holds you. Like the boy with his kite: the kite is up in the clouds, where he cannot see it, but he knows it is there, for he feels it pull; so our good hope has gone up to heaven, and it is pulling and drawing us towards itself. We cannot see our anchor, it would be of no use if we could see it; its use begins when it is out of sight, but it pulls, and we can feel the heavenly pressure.

And now, lastly, and best of all, the anchor’s unseen grip, “which entereth into that within the veil.” Our anchor is like every other, when it is of any use it is out of sight. When a man sees the anchor it is doing nothing, unless it happen to be some small stream anchor or grapnel in shallow water. When the anchor is of use it is gone: there it went overboard with a splash; far down there, all among the fish, lies the iron holdfast, quite out of sight. Where is your hope, brother? Do you believe because you can see? That is not believing at all. Do you believe because you can feel? That is feeling, it is not believing. But “blessed is he that hath not seen and yet hath believed.” Blessed is he who believes against his feelings, ay, and hopes against hope. That is a strange thing to do, hoping against hope, believing things impossible, and seeing things invisible: he who can do that hath learned the art of faith. Our hope is not seen, it lies in the waves, or, as the text says, “within the veil.” I am not going to run the figure too closely, but a mariner might say that his anchor is within the watery veil, for a veil of water is between him and it, and so it is concealed. Such is the confidence which we have in God, whom having not seen we love.

“Let the winds blow, and billows roll,

Hope is the anchor of my soul.

But can I by so slight a tie,

An unseen hope, on God rely?

Steadfast and sure, it cannot fail,

It enters deep within the veil,

It fastens on a land unknown,

And moors me to my Father’s throne.”

Albeit our anchor is gone out of sight, yet thank God it has taken a very firm grip, and “entered into that which is within the veil.” What hold can be equal to that which a man hath upon his God when he can cry, “Thou hast promised, therefore do as thou hast said”? What grasp is firmer than this, “Lord, thou hast sworn it, thou canst not run back. Thou hast said that he that believeth in thee is justified from all sin. Lord, I believe thee, therefore be pleased to do as thou hast said. I know thou canst not lie, and thou hast sworn that Christ is a priest for ever, and I am resting in him as my priest who has made a full atonement for me. I therefore, pledge thee to thine oath, accept me for the sake of Jesus’ sacrifice. Canst thou reject a soul for whom thine own Son is pleading? He is able to save to the uttermost them that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make intercession for me: my Lord, this is the hold I have upon thee, this is the anchor which I have cast into the deep, mysterious attributes of thy wondrous nature. I believe thee, and thou wilt not make me ashamed of my hope.” Oh, brethren, what a hold you have upon the living God when you rely on his oath and promise! Thus you hold him as Jacob held the angel, and the blessing you will surely win at his hands.

Note next, that when an anchor has a good grip down below, the more the ship drags the tighter its hold becomes. At first, when the anchor goes down, perhaps, it drops upon a hard rock, and there it cannot bite, but by-and-by it slips off from the rock and enters into the bottom of the sea; it digs into the soil, and, as the cable draws it on, the fluke goes deeper and deeper till the anchor almost buries itself, and the more it is pulled upon the deeper it descends. The anchor gets such a hold at last that it seems to say, “Now, Boreas, blow away, you must tear up the floor of the sea before the vessel shall be let go.” Times of trouble send our hope deep down into fundamental truths. Some of you people who have never known affliction, you rich people who never knew want, you healthy folks who were never ill a week, you have not half a grip of the glorious hope that the tried ones have. Much of the unbelief in the Christian Church comes out of the easy lives of professors. When you come to rough it, you need solid gospel. A hard-working hungry man cannot live on your whipped creams and your syllabubs-he must have something solid to nourish him; and so the tried man feels that he must have a gospel which is true, and he must believe it to be true, or else his soul will famish. Now, if God promises and swears, have we not the most solid of assurances? The firmest conceivable faith is no more than the righteous due of the thrice holy and faithful God. Therefore, brethren, when greater trouble comes believe the more firmly, and when your vessel is tossed in deeper water believe the more confidently. When the head is aching, and the heart is palpitating, when all earthly joy is fled, and when death comes near, believe the more. Grow surer and surer yet that your Father cannot lie; yea, “Let God be true and every man a liar.” In this way you will obtain the strong consolation which the Lord intends you to enjoy.

The text concludes with this very sweet reflection, that though our hope is out of sight we have a friend in the unseen land where our hope has found its hold. In anxious moments a sailor might almost wish that he could go with his anchor and fix it firmly. That he cannot do, but we have a friend who has gone to see to everything for us. Our anchor is within the veil, it is where we cannot see it, but Jesus is there, and our hope is inseparably connected with his person and work. We know of a certainty that Jesus of Nazareth, after his death and burial, rose from the grave, and that forty days afterwards, in the presence of his disciples, he went up into heaven, and a cloud received him. We know this as an historical fact; and we also know that he rose into the heavens, as the comprehensive seed of Abraham, in whom are found all the faithful. As he has gone there we shall surely follow, for he is the firstfruits of the full harvest.

According to the text, our Lord Jesus has gone within the veil as our high priest. Now, the high priest within the veil is in the place of acceptance on our behalf. A Melchesidec high-priest is one who has boundless power to bless and to save unto the uttermost. Jesus Christ has offered one bloody sacrifice for sin, namely, himself, and now for ever he sits down at the right hand of God, even the Father. Brethren, he reigns where our anchor has entered; we rest in Christ’s finished work, his resurrection power, and his eternal kingship. How can we doubt after this?

We are next informed that Jesus has gone within the veil as a forerunner. What is a fore-runner if there be not others to run after him? He has gone to lead the way, he is the pioneer, the leader of the great army, the first fruits from the dead, and if he has gone to heaven as a forerunner, then we who belong to him will follow after. Should not that reflection make our hearts glad?

We are told next that as a fore-runner our Lord has for us entered-that is entered to take possession in our name. When Jesus Christ went into heaven he did as it were look around on all the thrones, and all the palms, and all the harps, and all the crowns, and say “I take possession of all these in the name of my redeemed. I am their representative and claim the heavenly places in their name.” As surely as Jesus is there, the possessor of all things, so shall we also each one come to his inheritance in due time.

Our Lord Jesus by his intercession is drawing us to heaven, and we have only to wait a little while and we shall be with him where he is. He pleads for our home-bringing, and it will come to pass ere long. No sailor likes his anchor to come home, for if it does so in a storm matters look very ugly; our anchor will never come home, but it is drawing us home; it is drawing us to itself, not downwards beneath devouring waves, but upwards to ecstactic joys. Do you not feel it? You who are growing old, do you not feel its home drawings? Many cords hold us here, but they are getting fewer with some of you-the dear wife has faded away, or the beloved husband has gone; many of your children have gone too, and a host of friends. These are all helps to draw you upward. I think at this very moment you must feel as if your barque were about to change by some magic power from a ship which floats the waters to an eagle which can fly the air. Have you not often longed to mount while singing

“Oh that we now might grasp our guide!

Oh that the word were given!

Come, Lord of hosts, the waves divide,

And land us all in heaven!

My cable has grown shorter of late, a great many of its links have vanished, I am nearer my hope that when I first believed. Every day hope nears fruition, let our joy in it become more exultant. A few more weeks or months, and we shall dwell above, and while we shall need no anchor to hold us fast, we shall eternally bless that divine condescension which produced such a holdfast for our unstable minds while tossed upon this sea of care.

What will those of you do who have no anchor? for a storm is coming on. I see the lowering clouds, and hear the distant hurricane. What will you do? May the Lord help you at once to flee for refuge to the hope set before you. Amen.

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-Hebrews 6.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-230, 193, 632.