This was spoken by the prophet concerning Tyre, that great mercantile city where all the commerce of the East found its outlet towards the West. Tyre, when the Chaldeans invaded Palestine, had greatly rejoiced at the fall of Jerusalem. She said, “Aha, she is broken that was the gates of the people: I shall be replenished now she is laid waste.” It was a cruel and selfish exultation. After a while the city in the sea came to feel the weight of the great oppressor’s arm; for thus said the Lord, “I will bring upon Tyrus Nebuchadrezzar king of Babylon, a king of kings, from the north. He shall set engines of war against thy walls, and with his axes he shall break down thy towers.” for thirteen years the city endured a siege under Nebuchadnezzar, and it was concerning this calamity that the prophet said, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” The merchant princes of Tyre had so managed the affairs of the State that they brought the Tyrians into desperate straits. They had incited them to stand out against the great king; and they discovered in due time that they were striving against a power too strong for them. Their policy had been a mistake. Comparing Tyre to one of its own galleys propelled with oars, the prophet declares, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

All the glories and the woes of Tyre are over now. “What city is like Tyrus, like the destroyed in the midst of the sea?” That page of history has long ago been turned over to give place to the rise and fall of other cities and empires; but the prophetic expression is still full of power. To many persons in our own day we may well cry with Ezekiel, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

First and foremost, this is truly applicable to sinners who are beginning to taste of the result of their sins-ungodly persons, who have chosen their own ways and followed their own devices, and now at last are finding that the way of transgressors is hard. Sinners may go unpunished for many a bright hour of the morning of life; but as the day grows older, the shadows fall, and their way is clouded over. I meet with many who may be well assured that God will ultimately punish sin, because the first flakes of the endless fire-shower have begun to fall upon them, and they cannot escape. They are beginning now to reap the first ripe ears of that awful harvest whose sheaves of woe shall fill their bosoms, world without end. In those who sin with the flesh the result of their vices is seen and felt to a horrible degree in their own bodies. Many a man bears in his bones the sins of his youth. Around us are many who already wish that they had never been born, because of the condition into which their wantonness has brought them. The sin which at the first seemed a dainty luxury, sweet to their palate, has now developed into a corrosive poison in their bowels, eating their flesh as with fire, and burning up their spirits. Lust was their pilot; the siren of pleasure lured them on, and now they are wrecks, breaking to pieces on the rocks. Despondent, ashamed, haunted with nameless terrors, afraid to hope, they dare neither live nor die. They are overcome with alarm, as they look forward; for if it be darkness behind, and night around, tenfold blackness lies before them by reason of their transgression and their sins. O sinner spent with sin, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

Certain transgressors are beginning to feel the result of wrong-doing in their circumstances. They have brought themselves from wealth to poverty by drunkenness, dishonesty, or vice. The owner of a fair estate is compelled to herd with the lowest of the low in a filthy lodging. He who was educated for a profession, and is skilled in learned languages, employs his superior knowledge to beg and cheat, and even then remains in loathsome rags. Not even in this world does sin pay its servants good wages. Drunkenness and idleness clothe a man with rags: these are the livery of sin. Those godly men who spend their lives in the painful business of seeking out the fallen often harrow our feelings with the dread stories of those who are truly prodigals, not merely in parable, but in literal fact, who have wasted their substance in riotous living, and now, if it were possible, would be glad to fill their belly with the husks that swine do eat, and no man gives to them. Many a broken-down sinner has in this house found his way back to the great Father. Oh, that it may be so during this service! Sorely tossed about, in sickness and in want, both of them the result of thy sin, thou art in a sorry plight at this hour. “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” Thou wouldst not take Christ to be thy pilot in thy youth: thou wert too proud to accept thy father’s God, thy mother’s Saviour: thou must needs have thine own way, and follow thine own devices; and now the desperate tuggings of thy passions have brought thee into deep waters indeed. Thou saidst in thy pride, “I will not be tied to my mother’s apron-strings”; but thou art now a captive, fastened with bonds of steel to one who will be no mother to thee, but a destroyer. Thou didst give up thy barque to pirate rowers, and now see where they have brought thee! The waters about thee are dark and tempestuous, and no port is near. One thing thou canst do, and I would have thee do it-warn others lest they come into thy place of danger. With broken health and lost estate, at least be humane; and when thou art most in thy misery, call to thyself the young who have not yet known thy evil ways, and charge them to shun thy course. If thou canst not be an example, I would use thee as a beacon. “Though hand join in hand, yet shall not the wicked be unpunished,” and thou art a proof of the same. “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

Others who have not yet been afflicted by any outward providence are beginning to feel the sting of sin upon their conscience. This will, I trust, be used for their good. I trust the Lord hath a kind intent towards them, and is condemning them in the inward court of conscience, that they may not be judged and condemned with the godless world at the last great day. The Lord’s eye perceives many that once were at ease in their iniquities who now are sore troubled by their own reflections. Like the troubled sea, they cannot rest: their memories are constantly casting up the mire and dirt of their former transgressions. There is no peace for them day or night. They know that they must die; they have heard also of judgment to come: the blast of the trumpet of doom is sounding in their ears, and therefore they cannot sleep at night, nor be at rest by day. A tempest is hurrying up; black masses of cloud hang overhead; thunder mutters from afar, and the lightning lights up the sky. Sin is ever before them. It casts ashes into their bread, and gall into their drink. Their merry comrades cannot make them out, for they were once as wild as any. Men wonder why it is that for them there seems to be no music in the lute, no pleasure in the bowl, no joy in the dance. They know not the voice which crieth to the troubled one-“Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

O soul, thou art come now where thy sins compass thee about, and shut thee in on every side. They seemed as if they were all forgotten, like dead men, out of mind; but they have risen again, and in their rising thou hast fallen. As a man pursued by wolves in the steppes of Russia seeks to escape from the hungry pack which hurry on so swiftly, so art thou trying to escape from thy sins; but all in vain. Thou hearest their howls behind thee as they chase thee with untiring feet; and what canst thou do? The sins of twenty years ago are upon thee! Fierce sins of thy hot and youthful blood, which seemed so harmless then; they are demons now from which thou canst not hide. What wouldst thou give to forget them? But they will not be forgotten. The devourers are near thee; their hot breath comes upon thee! Their fangs are in thy flesh! They taste thy blood! Verily, thou hast made a poor business of life to become the prey of such horrors! At a time of life when many a Christian man is in full vigour of usefulness, thou art worn out, and near to die, and near to hell. Thy sins are upon thee, even now they overtake thee; and what wilt thou do? O gallant barque, of the silken sail, and the painted hull, where art thou now? “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

Listen to me, then, while I speak to thee words which may seem harsh, but they are all meant in love to thee. Listen, I say, and take warning from thy present sorrows.

If the waters be great to-day, what will they be ere long? If now thou canst not bear the wages of sin, what wilt thou do when they are paid thee in full? “What wilt thou do in the swelling of Jordan?” What wilt thou do when they wipe the clammy sweat from thy brow, and tell thee that a few more gasps will send thee into eternity? O man, however great the waters are now, they are as nothing compared with what they will be at the last! Thou art only running with the footmen now, and yet they weary thee; what wilt thou do when thou contendest with horses? When the Lord shall walk through the sea with his horses, through the heap of great waters; what will become of thee? Thy case is lamentable. My heart weeps for thee. “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

Learn, I pray thee, this piece of timely wisdom. Thy rowers have brought thee into no quiet waters; they have found thee no harbours of delight: shall they any longer be thy rowers? Do this one thing to thine own soul if thou hast any sense left, or any pity on thyself; cry out against those who are ruining thee. Now say, “I will go no further with these rowers. God helping me, the helm shall be reversed.” If such be thy resolve, and the great Pilot shall come to thy help, thou wilt never drink again of the accursed cup, and thou wilt shun the company which has lured thee to thy present wretchedness. Hear me while I cry to thee, “Escape for thy life! Look not behind thee!” for mayhap thou wilt never have another hope of escaping; but thou wilt henceforth drift from bad to worse, till the worst of all shall come. “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters”-have no more to do with them. Oh that the Spirit of the Lord may help thee to break the oars and cast the rowers into the sea!

Remember, also, that they have rowed thee into the stormy waters, but they cannot row thee out of them. Thou canst find no rest by continuing in sin, neither canst thou save thyself from thy present forlorn condition. O man, cry mightily unto God. He will hear thee. He has revealed a way of deliverance for thee in the person of his dear Son, and all thy hope lies there. Hast thou not heard of Jesus, who can stay the wind, and bring thy vessel into an instant calm? While there is life in thee there is hope in Christ for thee. Thou art not yet in torment, not yet in hell; still does his good Spirit strive, with the chief of sinners dwell. Wherefore, though the sun be gone down for this day, I pray thee suffer it not to rise again until thou hast committed thy soul into the hands of thy Redeemer. In desperate jeopardy of eternal destruction, cry unto the mighty God for succour, and he will make bare his arm and rescue thee from thy destructions. Despair not. There is a Saviour, and a great one, and he has come hither to seek and to save that which was lost. Trust in him who is mighty to save. By the terror of thy destruction, I beseech thee believe in the great salvation. Cry-

“Jesu, lover of my soul,

Let me to thy bosom fly,

While the nearer waters roll,

While the tempest still is high!

Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,

Till the storm of life be past;

Safe into the haven guide;

Oh receive my soul at last.”

I have spoken very feebly; but I pray the Lord to bless it to every unconverted person within these walls.

And now, secondly, I think that I see another ship. It is not black with the grime of the world: it resembles the gilded barge of a mighty prince; but still, for all that, its rowers have brought it into great waters. This represents the self-righteous brought into distress. Many men are fondly persuaded that either they need no saving or that they can save themselves. Either in whole or in part, their natural goodness, or their benevolent actions, or their careful attention to external religion, will secure their safety. They suppose that by going to hear the gospel, by participating in sacraments, by contributing towards church work, and the like, they will find themselves borne securely towards the desired haven. This ship is rarely built. It resembles that to which Ezekiel likens Tyre: “They have made all thy planks of fir trees from Senir: they have taken cedars from Lebanon to make a mast for thee. Of the oaks of Bashan have they made thine oars; they have made thy benches of ivory inlaid in boxwood, from the isles of Kittim. Of fine linen with broidered work from Egypt was thy sail, that it might be to thee for an ensign; blue and purple from the isles of Elishah was thine awning.” There is no end to the gallant show which self-righteousness can exhibit. No ship of Tyre can excel it.

Yet to this glorious ship a trying voyage is appointed. Alas, my friend! thy rowers have brought thee into great waters. I would like you to think of the difficult journey which lies before you. The proposal is that you shall row yourself by your good works across you sea of sin to the port of glory. Before you enter upon a matter it is well to count the cost. Do you not know that, if you are to be saved by obedience to the law of God, your obedience must be absolutely perfect? If there be a breach of one single commandment, although all the others should be scrupulously kept, yet the law is broken, and the course of it descends. If you have a chain, and you break one link, it is of no further use. It is idle to say, “All the other links are strong.” The miner would not risk his life upon a chain with one dangerous link; and the strength of the whole chain must be measured, not by its strongest, but by its weakest part. Do you think, my friend, that you can perfectly keep the law of God? Can you do it as long as you live? I should like you to think what great waters the rowers are proposing to take you into if you are to win salvation by an obedience which shall never fail or falter. You see from Holy Scripture that God gave his Son Jesus Christ to die for us that we might be saved by his grace. Do you suppose that this gift of Jesus was a superfluity? There would have been no need for that great offering on the part of our Lord Jesus Christ if men can save themselves by their own merits. Calvary is a blot upon the character of Deity if salvation by self be possible. His own Son put to death without a stern necessity for it were the grossest charge that could be brought against the great Father! You certainly are attempting a very singular work if you are to perform that which cost the glorious Son of God his life. Great waters, dear friend-waters too great for your frail vessel.

Look, sirs, you who have been resting in your own righteousness; have you never sinned? Take even to-day to pieces; has no evil thought, or wrong desire, or wanton imagination, defiled its hours? Have you never spoken a sinful, unkind, untruthful, or proud word? Do you claim to have been absolutely perfect before your Maker from your childhood? Surely, you must have a brow of brass to make such a boast. What doth he say to you? “There is not a just man upon earth, that doeth good, and sinneth not.” “All we like sheep have gone astray.” “If we say that we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” Verily, my friend, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” If thou art to be saved by thy works, see where thou art! Any one day thou mayest slip and stumble, and then what becomes of all thy past life? for, “When the righteous man turneth away from his righteousness, and committeth iniquity, all his righteousness that he hath done shall not be mentioned: in his trespass that he hath trespassed, and in his sin that he hath sinned, in them shall he die.” If this be thy style of standing before God, it is a poor standing indeed. Canst thou ever be sure that thou wilt be safe in an hour’s time? Come, my friend, canst thou be sure that thou hast done enough, and felt enough, and prayed enough, and given enough alms, and gone a sufficient number of times to the meeting-house, or to the church? Canst thou be sure that it is well with thee even now? And if thy faith be in a priest, canst thou be sure that he that baptized thee, and confirmed thee, had the apostolical succession? Canst thou be sure that he that gave thee the sacrament was truly ordained? When thou liest dying, a thousand questions will haunt thee! Thou wilt have to ask thyself about this, and that, and the other; and on thy present way of going to work thou canst never be sure.

The religion of self-righteousness never proposes such a thing as security. It does not give the quiet of faith, much less the deep repose of full assurance. “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” Uncertainty follows uncertainty, and the wind of fear tosses the billows of doubt. Thou wilt have to slave thy fingers to the bone with incessant efforts, and then never have done. Thy life will be one perpetual tread-mill, and thou wilt never be an inch the higher. Thou mightest as well attempt to sail across the Atlantic on a sere leaf of autumn, as hope to reach heaven by thine own works. Thou hast no good works, man: thou art incapable of good works. Thy motive is tainted, and it pollutes all thy doings. Self-salvation is thine aim, and, therefore, thou art serving thyself, and not thy God. The motive is the essence of the deed. Now, the grand motive which makes virtue virtue is absent in the selfish heart. The motive of love is needful to acceptance with God, and thou knowest nothing of it. As yet, all thy labour comes of a joyless servitude: it is slave’s work for a slave’s wage; and the wage thou wilt get, for thou art a sinner, will be no more than death when all is done. “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.”

I remember when I reached those same terrible seas. I used, as a youth, sometimes to think that I was as good as other lads, and perhaps I was, for I had not fallen into the grosser vices. I fancied that if anybody was saved by a moral life, I might be. But oh, when God lifted the veil of my nature, and I saw what my heart really was, I sang to another tune. I had been down into the cellar of my heart a great many times in the dark, and it seemed pretty fair; but when the Holy Spirit opened the shutters, and let in the light, what loathsome abominations I saw there! My life, too, no longer appeared to be the goodly thing I had imagined it. Ah, no! my comeliness was turned into corruption. Let but a man get the light of God streaming into his soul, convincing him of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment to come, and all reliance upon self, in any form, will seem to him to be the most hateful of crimes. What crime is there that is more like the pride of Lucifer than the pride of a wretched rebel, who talks about meriting heaven, and finding entrance amongst glorified spirits, without washing his robes in the blood of Jesus, under the pretence that they were never foul. Does he imagine that he will be admitted to the courts of the Eternal King, to sing his own praises, and thus insult the Lord? While others come there through rich and free and sovereign grace, and, therefore, rapturously adore almighty love, is he to reach the blissful shores to magnify his own excellence? I tell you, sir, that if you have put to sea in the barque of self-righteousness, however strong the rowers who tug those three banks of oars, and make the vessel leap through the waves, the day shall come when you will hear a voice across the waters crying, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters: the east wind hath broken thee in the midst of the seas.” The voyage is too great for you: shipwreck is sure. May God give you grace to shun the attempt! Flee from your own works to Christ’s work. Place your trust where God has placed his love, namely, in the Lord Jesus. Then shall you have good works indeed, but they shall be the cargo which you carry, not the ship which carries you. They shall then be grounded upon the motive of gratitude, and not of selfishness; and then shall real virtue be possible to you-virtue based on love to God. When you are delivered from your sin, and safe in the righteousness of Christ, then will you say, as each believer does when his heart is warm with affection,

“Loved of my God, for him again

With love intense I burn:

Chosen of him ere time began,

I choose him in return.”

Thus have we seen two gallant ships in grievous straits, and we have hearkened to counsels by which we may avoid their dangers. May God bless my simple word!

But now, very briefly, there is a third case, the errorist in his difficulties. This is a very common sight in these wayward times. I might say to many a man who has ventured out to sea under the strong impulse of curiosity, trusting to his own proud intellect, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” The only safe course for a thoughtful man is to trust in God, and to accept the Scriptures as infallible truth. There is our anchorage. Every mind needs a fixed point: we must have infallibility somewhere: my infallible guide is Holy Scripture. I know of no other anchorage. The revelation of God to man in the person of the Son of God, even Christ Jesus, is the one and only hope of men, and the word of the Lord in which we have the divine testimony to the appointed Saviour is our oracle and court of appeal.

But there are men who cannot abide this; and, first of all, I think that they begin to get into great waters when they resolve to be guided by their own judgment and their own intellect, without submitting to the teachings of Christ. It is proud and dangerous work to set up to be your own guide. You are undertaking a very large responsibility when you refuse to sit at Jesus’ feet, and prefer to assume the teacher’s chair. If you will rely upon your own wisdom, wit, and will, you choose a highland road, rough, rugged, and full of perils. You cast away the possibility of that sweet peace which comes of reposing on superior wisdom; you miss, in fact, that joy of faith, that sweet rest of mind which is the reward of the lowly of heart. Simple trust in Christ is to me the well-spring of comfort. To believe because the Lord speaks is rest to my heart. I could not live except as I leave questions with God, and accept his word instead of all reasoning.

O my wise and thoughtful friend, do you know what will soon happen to you? You will probably fall under the domination of another’s intellect: you will become the shadow of some greater man. The man who will be guided by nobody is usually guided by some one more foolish or more knavish than himself. I have seen both cases. I have seen a man of superior abilities crouching at the feet of a semi-idiot, who seemed to the other to be a profound mystic; and I have also seen the deep, designing man of brazen impudence towering above an abler man, and cowing him into submission. He swore that he would be independent, and to be so he cast off all old beliefs, and fettered himself to foolish falsehood. He would not stay at home with his father to partake of the joyous heritage, for he longed for freedom. Alas! before long a master sent him into his fields to feed swine. He could not believe the simplicities of truth; but now he groans beneath the monstrosities of superstition.

“Hear the just law, the judgment of the skies!

He that hates truth shall be the dupe of lies;

And he that will be cheated to the last,

Delusion, strong as hell, shall bind him fast.”

The man has given up the old doctrine because it was difficult, and has accepted new doctrine which is ten times more difficult. He would not be credulous, and now he is a hundred times more so. Creation staggered him, and he tries to believe in evolution. Faith in Jesus seemed hard, but he must now accept Agnosticism. The difficulties of unbelief are ten times greater than the difficulties of faith. We may require a great stretch of faith to accept all that the Holy Spirit teaches; but once believe in his faithful word, and you have found a way of life; if you do not this, you have continually to enlarge the gullet of your credulity, and remain for ever receptive of mere wind, which can never fill the mind. Unbelief calls you to go from improbability to impossibility; from extravagance to romance; from romance to raving. I appeal to candid persons who have ventured from the moorings of faith to sport upon the waves of modern speculation, whether they are not conscious of a great loss. When faith evaporates there is a speedy departure of spiritual power. The new notions intoxicate, but they do not sustain. The near approach to God is gone when the old faith in the atonement is shaken; and the enjoyment of hallowed communion ceases when the din of perpetual controversy frightens away the dove of peace. I have heard it remarked that the modern apostles, when they preach, often discourse very prettily-for they are clever men; but all sense of enjoyment of what they preach is wanting. They are not themselves feeding upon what they hand out. There is no beaming light upon their faces as of men who are enamoured of the doctrines they proclaim. Small delight can their teachings cause them, and you see that it is so. They are not heralds arrayed to adorn a banquet, but surgeons gathered to an operation. Well may they be without enjoyment, for there is nothing to enjoy. Who smiles as he sits down to a meatless, marrowless bone? Who rejoices as he lifts a shining cover which has nothing beneath it? In the dogmas of modern thought there is not enough mental meat to bait a mouse-trap: as to food for a soul, there is none of it; an ant would starve on such small grain. No atonement, no regeneration, no eternal love, no covenant: what is there worth thinking upon? “They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid him.” They have taken away the light, the life, the love, the liberty of free grace, and they have given us nothing in the stead thereof but pretty toys, which they themselves will break before many days are past. O sirs, it is all very fine to be amused in the hey-day of our health with “bubbles from the brunnen” of superior intellects; but times will come when the soul will have to do business on great waters, and then it will need substantial help. When a man comes face to face with eternity, he demands certainties about which his heart has no shadow of question.

I have lain by the hour together consciously looking into death, in as bitter suffering of body and mind as a man might well endure; and I tell you nothing will then satisfy the heart but the atoning sacrifice; nothing will avail to clear the sky but a distinct view of Jesus as a substitute and a vicarious sacrifice for human sin. Nothing cheers me at such times but the eternal covenant, ordered in all things and sure; promises founded upon the faithfulness of God; grace given by the sovereignty of God to guilty and undeserving men: you may do with lighter things, but I must have these, and nothing less. Grace, with omnipotence and immutability to back it, will bear my spirit up, and nothing else. But if you will let go the old gospel, if you will go from one new theory to another, after a short time you will come into misery of the direst order. I have seen men give up first of all the communion of saints; then all belief in the Word of God. After that they have gone into the common pleasures of worldlings, and so they have drifted and drifted till at length the seat of the scorner, the song of the drunkard, or the stews of the unchaste have afforded them carrion suited to their taste. How many who only meant to go a little from the old ways of truth have gone too far aside even for themselves! Truly, my speculative friend, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” I am not intending to follow you. You are so wise that I am satisfied to be a fool, because I would wish to be the reverse of what you are. I am content to be weak, for your strong mind is bringing you small profit. I would not at any time rest my soul’s eternal hope upon a theory, or upon the workings of my own brain. I need a firmer foundation. On the truth revealed in this Book, on the clear and certain verities of Holy Scripture, I dare risk my soul for time and for eternity, without the shadow of a doubt. I would earnestly entreat you to do the same, lest by-and-by your rowers bring you into great waters.

Why, to me it seems very great waters to be brought into to be forced to say that I know nothing. One walking with me observed, with some emphasis, “I do not believe as you do. I am an Agnostic.” “Oh,” I said to him. “Yes. That is a Greek word, is it not? The Latin word, I think, is ignoramus.” He did not like it at all. Yet I only translated his language from Greek to Latin. These are queer waters to get into, when all your philosophy brings you is the confession that you know nothing, and the stolidity which enables you to glory in your ignorance. As for those of us who rest in Jesus, we know and have believed something; for we have been taught eternal verities by him who cannot lie. Our Master was not wont to say, “It may be,” or, “It may not be”; but he had an authoritative style, and testified, “Verily, verily, I say unto you.” Heaven and earth shall pass away, but not one jot or tittle of what he hath taught us shall cease to be the creed of our souls. We feel safe in this assurance; but should we quit it, we should expect soon to find ourselves in troubled waters.

Now I pass on to dwell for a moment upon another sight, which is as sad as any of the others; perhaps more sad. Behold the backslider filled with his own ways. O wanderer from the Lord thy God, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” I have seen and talked with some to whom this text has become an awful truth. There are some here to-night who, if I brought them upon this platform, and they had the courage to speak, could unfold a tale of measureless misery which they have brought upon themselves by departing from the Lord. Look at yonder woman. She once rejoiced in the gospel as one that findeth great spoil. It is thirty years ago; but at that time she knew the truth, and loved it. She was the joy of the pastor who brought her to Christ, for she was earnest, intense, devoted. There were years of gracious walking, and then there came a temptation. She grew cold in heart, she was poor, she was infatuated, she turned aside, she was wretched, she found comfort in the glass. Drop the veil. It is many years ago since that fall, and she plunged on in suffering, misery, and sin, such as I will not attempt to describe. She became a mere wreck; death stared her in the face. She returned to us, and said, “Let me be taken into the church before I die; for I have never lost, after all, the life of God in my soul; but, oh, I stepped aside, and from that day sorrow has pursued me. Restore me to the church, for I am by grace restored to God.” As you looked at her, you said, “Poor weather-beaten barque! it was an ill day for thee when thy rowers brought thee into these great waters.”

You know how it begins: first of all, that holy, joyful walk with God is lost. You used to sing from morning to night for joy of heart, for, like Enoch, you walked with God. Alas! that music came to a close. It did not seem much-merely to lose rapturous enjoyment; but it was much in itself, and it meant more. Then there came a loss of relish for the means of grace. The services were long, and the ministry grew dull: the prayer-meeting was not worth attending, and week-night services were too much of a good thing. Secret prayer was neglected, and the Bible was unread. The forms of religion were kept up longer than the enjoyment of it; but there was no life, no power in them. After that there came a general fault-finding with brethren, a quarrelling with sisters, a constant cavilling at this and that. Nothing was good enough. The soul was drifting, and it fancied that the church and the world were no longer what they were, just as men in a boat fancy that the shore is moving. How many endeavour to be blind to their own declensions by pretending to see fault and falsehood in other people! Then there came a distaste for Christian company: godly people were too common-place and prosaic. The love of something “brighter” called them away from solid conversation. Occasionally they were found in places doubtfully virtuous and unquestionably irreligious. Songs other than those of Zion began to be relished, and teachings not of the Bible were listened to.

All the while there was an inward unrest, and there was a yearning of the spirit for better things. The man felt, every now and then, that he was losing sight of shore, and floating into dangerous places: he was uneasy as to whither the currents would carry him, and did not feel safe under his new pilot. Then on a black day there were rocks ahead-rocks from which in former years his vessel had steered clear with ease; and now a current and a wind drove the ship that way, and before he was well aware of it the man was wrecked. To quit our figure, the sin which the man once hated he now played with; he did not mean to yield, but he gave way a little, and soon became the slave of appetite. He that sat at the sacramental table was now to be seen intoxicated. She that would have communed only with believers in Christ was now found in very dubious society.

At last it went further: it came to actual and open sin, and ruin followed. I cannot tell how long that sinner may remain in his sin. How long David continued impenitent I need not mention, but oh that he had never fallen into it! Oh that he had never idled that day away upon his bed so as only to rise at eventide to see a sight that led him to rush headlong into foul transgression! O brothers and sisters, when you begin to get a little away from Christ you do not know how far you may yet go, nor how soon you may commit the grossest crimes. There may be some here to-night who once were preachers of the gospel, or earnest Sunday-school teachers, or Christian women devoted to the cause of God; and now, alas! they are separated from the fellowship of the church, aliens from the commonwealth of Israel, outcasts from the communion of saints!

O friend, “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” Oh that he would come who owns thy barque, who shed his blood for thee! Oh that he would step into thy vessel, and take the helm and turn thee round to-night by a great stroke of his almighty grace, and turn thy head to the port of peace! Do you ask, “Will he receive me again?” Listen to his voice: he saith to thee, “Turn, O backsliding children, saith the Lord; for I am married unto you.” Take with you words, and come to him at once, for he is ready to receive you. Do not linger. But O backslider in heart, ere yet thou art filled with thine own ways, come home, come home and say, “Return unto thy rest, O my soul.” Remember that if you are a child of God you will never be happy in sin. You are spoiled for the world, the flesh, and the devil. In the day when you were regenerated there was put into you a vital principle, which can never die nor be content to dwell in the dead world. You will have to come back, if indeed you belong to the family: prodigal as you are, you are still a child. Though you return with every bone broken, you will have to return. He that is married to you has not forgotten the marriage bond. Though you have forsaken him, and defiled yourself with many lovers, yet it is written, “He hateth putting away.” He cannot endure a divorce; his almighty love will win thee back. He cannot and he will not give thee up. Read those memorable passages in Jeremiah and Ezekiel, where the Holy Ghost uses that simile which I scarcely dare use to-night, where the most defiled and corrupt of adulterous souls are still bidden to come back to their first husband, because still the marriage bond holds good, and the Lord will neither let them go, nor suffer them to continue in sin. “Thy rowers have brought thee into great waters.” Oh for a steersman to guide thee into port! Return, return. I leave my text and those to whom it applies with the God of all grace. May he bless you all, for Christ’s sake! Amen.

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-Part of Psalm 107.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-426, 589, 587.

“AND WE ARE”:

a jewel from the revised version

A Sermon

Intended for Reading on Lord’s-day, December 19th, 1886, delivered by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington,

On Lord’s-day Evening, July 19th, 1885.

Dear friends, the most of my text will be found in our Old Version; but for once I shall ask you to look elsewhere for a part of it.

A genuine fragment of inspired Scripture has been dropped by our older translators, and it is too precious to be lost. Did not our Lord say, “Gather up the fragments that remain, that nothing be lost”? The half lost portion of our text is restored to us in the Revised Version. Never did a translation of the New Testament fail more completely than this Revised Version has done as a book for general reading: but as an assistant to the student it deserves honourable mention, despite its faults. It exhibits here and there special beauties, and has, no doubt, in certain places brought into notice words of sacred Scripture which had fallen out: we have a notable instance in my present text. Turn to the First Epistle of John, the third chapter, at the first verse:-

“Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.”

So far we keep to our Authorized Version. Now read the Revised Version, and note the words added-

“Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called children of God: and such we are.”

The word “such” is not in the original. We therefore leave it out, and then we get the words-and we are. There are only two words in the Greek-“and we are.” That the addition is correct I have not the slightest doubt. Those authorities upon which we depend-those manuscripts which are best worthy of notice-have these words; and they are to be found in the Vulgate, the Alexandrian, and several other versions. They ought never to have dropped out. In the judgment of the most learned, and those best to be relied on, these are veritable words of inspiration. So far as doctrine is concerned, it does not matter much whether they are or are not in the original text, because we get the same words farther on. “Beloved, now are we children of God, and it is not yet made manifest what we shall be. We know that, if he shall be manifested, we shall be like him; for we shall see him even as he is.”

The point that struck me as being most worthy of notice was that when the apostle had said, “We shall be called children of God,” he then adds,-We are not only to be called so, but we are so. The glory of it is that we now have this thing. We have it in possession: “and we are.” This little interjected assertion, “and we are,” brings most forcibly before my own mind the truth of our present sonship towards God-“That we should be called children of God: and we are.”

Let me now introduce to you my text as I mean to preach from it:-

“Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called children of God: and we are.”

Our text begins with the exclamation “Behold.” This word “Behold” is a word of wonder. John had lived among wonders. John’s life, from the time of his conversion, was a life of wonders, not only in what he saw with his natural eye, but in all the sights that the Lord gave him to see with his spiritual eye when he appeared to him in “the isle which is called Patmos.” His life was crowned with wonders in his memorable escape from martyrdom, when, according to tradition, he was cast into a caldron of boiling oil, but came out unharmed, his Master having determined that he was not by martyrdom to glorify his name. If ever there was a seer among men to whom wonders became common things, it was John. Yet as he wrote this heavenly epistle, he could not help bursting out in exclamations of amazement such as do not generally come from writers so much as from speakers: “Behold,” saith he, “Behold, what manner of love!”

I believe, my brethren, that if we realized the truth of our own adoption into the family of God, we should never leave off marvelling at it. That any man of mortal race should become a child of God might astound us; but that we ourselves should be such should amaze us beyond degree. We ought to cry “Behold! Behold!” Let us begin to talk of it now, for we shall never cease to speak of it when we reach the New Jerusalem. Our regeneration and adoption are complex miracles of grace; a cluster of wonders condensed into one. It would seem too good to be true if the Lord himself had not revealed it. We will call upon angels, and principalities, and powers, and say to them with delighted wonder, “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us.” Admire, O sanctified intelligences, that God should do this for unworthy sons of Adam!

“Behold what wondrous grace

The Father hath bestow’d

On sinners of a mortal race,

To call them sons of God!”

But this “Behold” is also a note of instruction. It is as if the man of God said, “Stand still, and consider the extraordinary love of God.” Do not speak of it, for some of these things slip glibly from the tongue; but sit down, and ponder, and weigh, mark and behold. Behold, what manner of love. Here, take your glass, and look at it microscopically. Study it. Wonder at it. Study it with every faculty concentrated upon it; for you shall find new excellences in it every time you look into it. “Behold, what manner of love”: the very manner of it is exceedingly sublime and adorable. Do not merely glance and go your way; but stop and rest, and pry into this secret, comparing this love with all other loves, and the manner of it with the manner of men. Come hither, and dig where there are nuggets of pure gold to reward every moment of your industry. Here, sink your shafts, and go into the depths to bring up this priceless treasure. Behold: read, mark, learn, inwardly digest, and still behold again. Look, and look, and look on; for there will be no end to the discoveries you will make. When you have looked, remember that you have not been gazing upon a mere appearance, but have beheld an actual fact: “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God.” When you have beheld this, then look again, and behold with equal admiration that it is no supposition, or fancy, or romance; the Lord calls us children: “and we are.”

Thus having introduced the text with its own note of exclamation, I invite you to behold the two wonders which are enshrined within it. I would first say-Let us behold with joyful wonder our being called the sons of God, and then, secondly, let us behold the equal wonder of our being really so, expressed in those three words, “and we are.”

First, then, behold the wonder of our being called the sons of God.

Who calls us so? That is the wonder. Men take upon themselves great names without any right to them. There are degrees among men that are degrees of shame, because the persons who wear them were never justly entitled to them. It is one thing for us to call ourselves children of God, and another thing for the Father to bestow his love so that we are truly called the sons of God. Whence comes this princely title of “sons of God”? Who calls the saints the sons of God?

The Father himself does so. He speaks unto them as unto children. He deals with them as with sons. He is pleased in infinite love to bid them say, “Our Father”; and he answers to them by calling them children and heirs. He acknowledges their sonship, and pities them as a father pitieth his children. He has called them sons, saying, “I will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord God Almighty.” Oh, what a blessing it is to have God calling you his child; the great Almighty and Infinite One looking upon you with a Father’s love, and saying, “Thou art my son”! He speaks the truth, and we may believe it, and be sure: he knows his own children, and gives the name of sons to none whom he will in the end disown. He calls us his children; and we are.

Who has called us the sons of God? Jesus himself, the firstborn among many brethren, has called us so. Did he not speak of “my Father and your Father”? What did he mean when he was not ashamed to call us brethren? Everywhere our dear Lord and Master speaks of us as belonging to the one family of which he is the Head. By sweetly taking us into union with himself Jesus practically calls us sons of God; and we are.

The Holy Spirit also dwells in all the heirs of heaven, and thereby calls them sons of God. He bears witness with our spirit that we are the sons of God; and it is he who is given to us to be “the Spirit of adoption, whereby we cry, Abba, Father.” That “Abba, Father,” of ours is prompted by the Spirit of grace, who would never prompt a stranger and an alien to claim kinship with the Lord. Oh, no! The witness of the Holy Spirit is the witness of truth. A filial spirit implanted by the Spirit of God cannot deceive us. Thus Father, Son, and Holy Ghost call us the children of God; and we are.

With these the holy angels are in full accord. Not in words, perhaps; but in acts and deeds, which speak quite as loudly, they declare us to be the children of God. They bear us up in their hands, lest we dash our foot against a stone; and this they do because we belong to the divine family. “Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?” They own that we are heirs of God, and therefore they act as our waiting-servants.

All providence, brethren, owns us to be children of God, if we are indeed so. This is specially true of chastening providences. When they come to us they gently whisper, “What son is there whom the Father chasteneth not?” Yes, trials and afflictions, especially such as come for the truth’s sake, and because of our love to Christ, are tokens of sonship. The persecution which is involved in holy and separated living is the witness of providence that we are no longer of the evil seed, but are adopted sons of God.

Yes, and I trust that there are some here who can modestly say that they have even the witness of men; for they are called the children of God even by men who do not know much about the mysteries of the new birth. “Blessed are the peacemakers: for they shall be called the children of God”: they shall not only be so, but they shall extort from others the confession that they are so. I am sure that when William Penn dealt so kindly and peacefully with the Indians when everybody else was false to them, the untutored man of the woods felt that the Quakers were children of the Great Spirit. Their peacefulness was a mark of their descent from the God of peace. Any man or woman who shall be well known to bear injuries with patience, and to make no return but that of doing good for evil, shall be recognized, even by scoffers and blasphemers, as a child of God. God is love; and wherever there is love, men with more or less of intelligence trace it to God. They cannot help it. Blessed are ye, beloved, if ye have the witness even of your enemies, that you are the children of God: and you will have that witness if your lives are conformed to the holy law of love!

Behold, then, how God’s people are called the sons of God, called with a divine calling, to which all things bear corroborating witness, so that they believe, and are sure, and in reply to all voices attesting their sonship they cry, “and we are.”

Enquire next, what is involved in this calling them to be the children of God? What is there conspicuous in it? Read the passage. “Behold, what manner of --” What is the word? “What manner of gift the Father hath bestowed upon us that we should be called the children of God”? It might have been so written, and have been quite correct; but it is not so written. “Behold what manner of honour the Father hath bestowed”? No, no! “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us”; as much as to say that the adopting of a man to be a son of God is an act which involves so much of love that you are bidden specially to fix your eyes on the love of it, and to notice its manner. “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called children of God.”

Now just think for a minute what intense love is manifested to that man who is favoured to be called a child of God. It is love in the highest degree. What love you would have in your heart if you were to take a wanton and malicious enemy, and say, “You shall be my son”! If one had wronged you, and despised you, and defied your authority, and you should say to him, “You shall be my child from this time forth,” what a singular deed of love would this be! Yet it might not be very much for you to do, my dear friend; for you may be, after all, nothing very great: it would, however, be the utmost your love could devise. Only think of what it must be for God-even that Infinite and Eternal Spirit-to say, “Thou shalt be my child. I will take thee, though thou art an heir of wrath, and make thee mine.” Herein, indeed, is love, love worth the beholding.

It is certainly an undeserved love, because no man can possibly deserve to be made into a child of God. Grace in this instance is the sole source of the stream of goodness. You might think it possible that you could deserve some ordinary gift; but such a boon as to be made a son of God you could not deserve. If you had never sinned, I do not see that you could have had any right to sonship. The most faithful service does not make a servant into a son. Hadst thou been perfect, what wouldst thou have given to God as purchase-money for this high dignity? He is great and glorious without thy service. To be promoted to be a prince of the blood royal of heaven-it is not possible for any man to deserve this. No works can climb to this lofty place, faith only can reach it by the power of grace. “But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.” This power, this privilege, this honour of sonship before God, is gained in no other way but that of faith.

And oh! see the blessed manner of love there must be in it, since there is everlasting love in it; for, if God makes you to be called a son of God, that is done, and done for ever, and it never can be undone. Here is the joy of it. The servant abideth not in the house for ever: but a son abideth ever. The relationships that come of service begin and end. You know it is so among men. You can say to a hired servant,-“There, take your money, and be gone.” But you cannot say that to your son. Whatever you give him, or do not give him, if he be your son, he is your son, and always must be so. Especially is this true of the children of God-that they are not only called the children of God, but it is added, “and we are.” In very deed we are, and ever shall be, his sons. We are made really to be what we are said to be. We are called the children of God, and we are the children of God, and this cannot be undone. How greatly do I rejoice in the final perseverance of the saints! As I have often said, I would not go across the street to pick up the other kind of salvation, which only saves me for a while, and afterwards lets me slip through. Grace brings me into the family of God, and keeps me there. When the Lord calls me his son, I know what he means: he intends all that we mean by the relationship, and more. He does not mean that he will cast his children away, or suffer them to perish; but he means this-“I will put my fear in their hearts, and they shall not depart from me”; or, as the Lord Jesus puts it, “I give unto my sheep eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any man pluck them out of my hand.”

“Behold,” then, “what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.” It is infinite love that knows no end. It is the love of the Father-that glorious person of the blessed Trinity in whom the fountain of all grace is seen. It is the Father who in boundless love has called us to be his sons. How I do delight to trace this love up to the fountain head! Jesus says, “the Father himself loveth you.” It is not the death of Jesus which moved the heart of the Father to love us, as some fondly dream: the truth is that the Father’s love is the reason why Jesus was given. “Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us.” How it unveils the heart of the Father when we see that he who gave his Son for us has also bestowed upon us this manner of love, that we should be called his sons! Let us adore and love the great Father of our spirits, whose love is the first cause of all our blessedness.

Now, while I am asking for your wonderment in answer to the questions-Who calls us sons? And what is involved in the call? I will reply to another question: “Who are the persons thus called sons?” “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us that we should be called children of God.” It is bestowed upon us men and women. We are poor creatures when we make the best of ourselves; and yet he calls us sons of God. “Unto which of the angels said he at any time, Thou art my son? “Brethren, this dignity is reserved for us, whom he has made a little lower than the angels. Think of what his Only-begotten Son is like-that glorious Son of God of whom he says, “Let all the angels of God worship him.” Behold how in splendour of beneficence he deigns to call us also his sons, and so to put us side by side with the Only-begotten; not on an equality as far as his Godhead is concerned, for that cannot be; but yet bestowing on us that same love wherewith he loves his Son. He loves us in Christ even as he loves Christ himself. Behold, what manner of love it is, that we should be adopted and regenerated by the living God.

And this is true, recollect, of that poor man who does not know where to-morrow’s bread shall come from. You say he is not respectable, but I say that he is right honourable, for God has called him his son. I mean that man whose name was never heard of, who lives in a room in a back street, and when he dies will be buried in the corner of the cemetery, “unwept, unhonoured, and unsung.” Yes, God has bestowed this manner of love upon him-that he is called one of his sons. Ay, I mean that poor consumptive girl: I mean that lame, decrepit youth: I mean that blind man who begs his bread. Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed on such as these. Poor cottagers, hard-working men and women, cobblers and tinkers, and chimney-sweepers, and navvies-such as these he calls the sons of God when he has renewed them by his grace. Ah! and I mean those who are lying yonder in the hospital and in the workhouse infirmary, who are nearing their last hour upon beds found for them by charity. These are God’s children if they believe in Jesus. They pine away till bed-sores make it hard to move, and harder to lie still. Dissolved by pain, they are melting away into eternity; but behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon such poor, frail mortals as these, that they should be called the sons of God.

Yet the wonder rises a stage higher when we recollect that these are not only men, but sinners. Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us sinful ones, that we should be called the children of God. He has taken us from the dunghill, and washed us, and then made us to sit at his royal table. You know the story of the infant in Ezekiel cast out in the open field, defiled in its own blood, and how he that passed by looked on it, and said, “Live,” and washed it, and swaddled it, and fed it. It is just what the Lord has done for us poor sinful men and women. We were cast out under condemnation; but behold what manner of love he hath bestowed upon us guilty ones to make us children of God. Alas! even after we are made his sons we are not free from evil: we still need that abundant grace should have patience with us. Still do we grieve him by lukewarmness and backsliding, and yet he calls us children. Behold, what manner of love he hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God.

There! I do not feel as if I wanted to preach about it. I long to sit down, and cry over it for very joy of heart. That ever God should have put me among his children shall be my everlasting wonderment. How could he love such a vain, frail, sinful, troubled creature, full of all manner of infirmities! Yet the Spirit of adoption makes me cry with boldness, “Doubtless thou art my Father.” I cannot help it. I know that I am his, and I dare not question it. But what manner of love, what manner of love, he hath bestowed on me! Do you not say the same? Does not the gracious Spirit of God now move on your soul, and make you stand in amazement at divine grace? Do you not melt with humble gratitude? What was there in you? What is there in you that you should be a son of God? “If children, then heirs; heirs of God, joint-heirs with Jesus Christ;” why are we lifted to such a privilege? The blessing of sonship has earth and heaven wrapped up in it, and all this is ours. If we know ourselves we mourn our want of worthiness, and yet we rejoice that we are the Lord’s dear children. When we consider the persons who are called the children of God, there is, indeed, reason to say, “Behold, what manner of love!”

And, once more, let me just go over the ground again, and show you what is connected with being called the children of God.

It is, as it were, God’s public acknowledgment of his relation to us: he owns us as sons. Sometimes we hear of clandestine marriages, which may be valid, but the man seems to be ashamed to own his wife. He pleads that he could not introduce her into the noble family to which he belongs, and so he keeps the marriage in the dark, and he does not own the children. This is after the manner of wicked men: but God is not ashamed of us when he takes us to be his children. It is written concerning our Lord Jesus, “For this cause he is not ashamed to call them brethren.” I have heard of some fine gentleman in London, dressed in all his best, walking out in the park. He had a poor old father who lived in the country, and who came up dressed in his rustic raiment to see his son. As the son was not at home when the father reached the house, he went into the park to find him. Now the fine gentleman did not absolutely disown his father, but he went out of the park at a pretty sharp trot, for fear anybody should say, “Who is that country fellow you were talking with?” He did not like to own his father, because he was a labourer. That is mean as the mud in the kennel, is it not? We could not thus wonder if the glorious Lord refused to own us. There is such a come-down from the loftiness of his holiness to the depth of our faultiness. But yet he has such love, such a manner of love, that he bestows upon us this honour, that we should be openly called the sons of God. He himself tells us so in our text. His Spirit makes the avowal. “There,” he says, “you poor people that love me, you sick people, you unknown, obscure people, without any talent, I have published it before heaven and earth, and made the angels know it, that you are my children, and I am not ashamed of you. I glory in the fact that I have taken you for my sons and daughters.”

There is, moreover, this involved in it, that he claims out loving obedience. Do not put dishonour upon your Father’s name. Stand up for your Father. It is one of the marks of a true child that he cannot bear to say or do anything that would place his Father’s name under a cloud. God, as it were, stakes his honour upon the character of every one of his people. He has said, “They shall be called my children.” Now, if you do anything that is wrong or base, what will men think of your Father? He has condescended to call you a child: do not let his name be evil spoken of through you. He has put this high honour upon us, that we should be called his sons and daughters; let us seek so to behave ourselves that men may see our good works, and glorify our Father who is in heaven.

I have taken up all this time with the first part of the verse; but we must not forget the second part of it, “and we are.” I shall only introduce it to your meditation, and indeed this is all that is wanted, if you are able to repeat the words on your own account, and say, “and we are.”

The second and greatest wonder is the wonder of our really being the sons of God. “And we are.”

Adoption gives us the name of God’s children; the new birth gives us the nature of God’s children, and so in both senses we are. Adoption is the legal act by which our Father receives us; regeneration is that spiritual deed by which we receive the nature of our Father. Every man that is really adopted into the family of God also really becomes a son of God by being begotten again unto a lively hope. I want to put it to you, my hearers, whether you can on this double ground join in these inspired words, and say, “And we are.”

Let us work out the question. Are we really the children of God? We must answer that question by another-Do we truly believe in the Lord Jesus Christ? I have already quoted the inspired declaration: “But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name.” We can answer that question. Are we believing in the Lord Jesus Christ with all our heart? Is he our confidence? Do we trust in his blood and righteousness? If so, if we believe in him, he has given us the right and the power to become the sons of God.

That question alone might settle it; but let us go a little farther. If we indeed can say, “and we are,” then we have received some measure of the nature of God. Have you, brethren, become spiritual? God is a spirit. Do you hate sin? God is holy. Do you love that which is right? Let your conscience speak. Do you endeavour to act generously? Does love rule you? Do you seek to be pitiful, and tender, and courteous, and kind? Have you love to God, and love to men? For, if not, you have not the nature of God, for God is love. Have you somewhat of that nature, and is there within you a longing and a striving, to have the whole nature of God in you, as far as it can dwell in mortal man? Remember, no person can be a child of God if he has not something of likeness to God. If you are not in the least like your Father, then you make a mistake if you profess to be his child. “Ye are made partakers of the divine nature,” says one of the apostles, “having escaped the corruption that is in the world through lust.”

Am I a child of God? Then listen: I have a love to my Father. If you are truly born from above, your heart goes out in longings after him to whom you owe your heavenly birth. If you are no child of God, you can live without him; indeed, you will try to do so. To the most of men God is virtually non-existent. They look up to the skies, and view the wondrous lights of heaven, but they never think of him who shines through them. They do not believe that there is such a Being; or else they own that there must be a design and a designer, and there is an end of the matter with them. Whether there is a God or not is no matter of importance to them. How different is it with the regenerate! To us God is all in all. To love God is the great fact of my life. The tears run down my cheeks when I think of him. He is everything to me.

“Do not I love thee from my soul?

Then let me nothing love:

Dead be my heart to every joy,

When Jesus cannot move.

“Hast thou a lamb in all thy flock

I would disdain to feed?

Hast thou a foe, before whose face

I fear thy cause to plead?”

It cannot long be a question with the child of God whether he loves his Father or not. It may occasionally happen that he has to make the enquiry, for times and circumstances will test him; but before long he comes to the solemn conclusion, “Thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee.”

More than that-if I am a child of God, I learn to trust my Father. I do not know a more delightful act of childhood than trustfulness in a parent. And how often if we trust God we shall be rewarded! A circumstance happened to me yesterday. I cannot help telling it to you. I received a note from one of the trustees of the Orphanage to say that the running account was so low that, when the cheques were paid on Friday morning, we should have overdrawn our banking account. I did not like that state of things; but I did not fret about it. I breathed a prayer to God that he would send money to put into the bank to keep the account right. Last night, at nearly ten o’clock, I opened a letter that came from Belfast, and it had in it a cheque for £200, being the amount left as a legacy. I wrote across my acknowledgment, “O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt his name together!” That amount put the account square for the time being; and though the Orphanage has no ready money to go on with, still that does not matter, God will send more means during the week, and at all other times when the expenditure calls for it. At the moment when I opened the letter, and found the £200, I felt as if my hair stood on end, because of the conscious nearness of the Lord my God. My brother, Hugh Hannah, when he sent that cheque, and sent it on that particular day, did not know that it would come just when I was praying to God for help in a time of trouble; yet it came exactly when it was sought for. If I were to tell my own personal experience of the way in which God hears prayer, it would seem to you as if it could not be true; it would appear too romantic. But oh, it is a blessed thing to take everything to God, little or big, and leave all with him! I am resolved to live and die trusting in the living God, and you shall all mark for yourselves whether he forsakes me, or bears me through. See how your child trusts you. He comes to you, and cries, “Please, father, I have a thorn in my finger;” or, “Please, father, I have lost my pocket handkerchief.” No matter what his trials are, the child brings them all to father or mother. You turn from your business, and attend to him. You say, “My dear, I will see to you directly.” You love your little boy, and therefore his little concerns are not too little for you. And God, who gave us to be called the sons of God, teaches us to cry, “and we are”; and leads us in that confidence to go to him with each day’s burden and care, and prove for ourselves that we are the objects of the Father’s love.

Now, the true child of God not only shows love and trust, but he also suffers sorrow when he has grieved his Father. If you grieve over sin, if you grieve over error, if you grieve over your omissions, if you go to God with tears in your eyes because you are not what he would have you to be, this sorrow proves that you are one of his children. He that can sin without sorrow will one day sorrow without hope. A broken heart is one of the surest signs of sonship. We have this grief, and this proves that we are sons of God, “and we are.”

You may also know a child by his joys. If a child has joy when his father is glad, when his father’s name is honoured, oh, then you believe that he is his father’s child! I thought to myself one day, “Well, I have preached this gospel to vast crowds of people; but is it my own? Perhaps I have only an official hold of it; and have no personal grip of it for myself” I had a day’s respite, and I went in to hear the word in a humble, out-of-the-way room. I sat down on a form, and heard a working-man preach the gospel very sweetly. By the way, the sermon was originally my own, and this the preacher acknowledged most freely; but as he preached it I found myself melted down with the story of God’s love. My heart was so hot within me that I was ready to shout “Hallelujah!” when I heard the preacher magnifying the name of Christ Jesus, my Lord; and I said to myself, “Oh, you are a child of God, after all! You love this food as well as the other children do; and though you generally have to stand at the table and be a waiter, and sometimes wish you could sit and have a meal yourself, yet still you do love this heavenly bread. You have a taste for the things that God provides for his people.” Yes, I could talk thus to myself, and of myself; and feel myself to be a child of God. I came away comforted; for I felt that I had a share in the joys of the heirs of salvation.

Need I go on to tell you what are the sure evidences of being a child of God? The man who is truly such cries, “Why, everything is an evidence.” Wherever he is, God is with him; and if he thinks that he has wandered away from God five minutes, he cries to be back again. He sees his Father everywhere, where the infidel cannot see him at all. He spies him in the cloud. He hears him in the thunder. He beholds his flaming glory in every lightning flash, and his tender pity in every dew-drop. With God and on God the believer lives; in God he lives; and God lives in him. All his expectations are from God. Everywhere, in every time, and in every way, he proves that he is a child of God, because he continues to draw his life from his divine Father.

Then God gives him one more seal of his being his child; and that is, that he chastens him. I know an old friend who used to tell me that for sixty years he had never known a day’s illness. A splendid healthy old man he was; and about three months ago the old man took typhoid fever. I went to see him, and when he got better he came to see me; and, sitting down, he said, “Well, sir, you see I am not the man I was, but I have made a great advance through this sickness. I have never known any weakness before; but now I have been brought very low. The Bible says: ‘If ye be without chastisement, whereof all are partakers, then are ye bastards, and not sons.’ Oh,” he said, “I am not a bastard after all. I have had my chastening, and I hope I shall take up my sonship more than I ever did before,” God grant that every chastened child may gather assurance from the covenant rod! You, dear child of God, will not be long without a touch of the rod! May you have as little of it as the Lord judges to be proper! As for myself, I owe everything to the furnace and the hammer. I have made no progress in heavenly learning except when I have been whipped by the great Schoolmaster. The best piece of furniture in my house has been the cross. My greatest enricher has been personal pain, and for that I desire to thank God. I can sing with the poet,

“God in Israel sows the seeds

Of affliction, pain, and toil;

These spring up and choke the weeds

Which would else o’erspread the soil.

Trials make the promise sweet;

Trials give new life to prayer;

Trials bring me to his feet,

Lay me low, and keep me there.”

The children of God under the rod can say, “And we are.” Thank God for anything which emphasizes that affirmation-“And we are.” It is wondrous love that we should be called the children of God; “and we are.” The bastard kicks against his father’s stroke, but the wise child kisses the rod, and blesses the hand that uses it, and cries, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.” This is a sure seal of our true sonship.

The text says, “And we are.” I must turn it round, and say, “Are we?” And when you have worked that out, and you can say, “Yes,”, then I want you all to get to be very positive about this matter-“Now are we the sons of God.” I pray that you may be able to say boldly, “And we are.” When you are depressed, and your spirit hangs fire, say, “We are.” When the devil says, “If you are the children of God,” give him a slap in the face with this, “And we are.” And when the world says, “What? You call yourselves sons of God?” say, “Yes, and we are.” Whenever doubts and fears come in, drive these evil birds away from eating your ripe fruit, and let this be the shout you use, “And we are.” “Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called children of God: and we are.” Called by his name, may we enjoy the full assurance of faith through believing in Jesus! Amen.

Portion of Scripture read before Sermon-1 John 4.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-728, 750, 626.