Last Sabbath day we meditated upon the fact that those who came out of Egypt did not enter into the rest of God. “They could not enter in because of unbelief.” To-day I shall not seek so much to warn as to encourage, while we look at the way by which we can enter into the true rest. The faithful minister of God should be like the parent birds, who, when their young are old enough for flight, sometimes drive them from the nest to make them fly; and, at other times, go before them, twittering and stretching out their wings, to tempt their callow offspring to try the air. Thus, at times, we endeavour to drive, and anon we try to draw you to the flight of faith. Knowing the terrors of the Lord, we persuade; knowing the joys of true religion, we entreat. By all means we would induce men to quit the nest of their old trust, and fly to Christ by faith. If God will bless the Word, so that you put your trust in Christ, we shall be content; nay, more, our cups will run over with gratitude for your salvation.

In the text, we have a declaration of experience, “We which have believed do enter into rest,” to which is very singularly added, “As he said, As I have sworn in my wrath, if they shall enter into my rest.” The happy declaration is supported by the tremendous oath of judgment, which shut out the unbelieving race. There is usually a promise embedded in a threatening, like gold in quartz; just as there is generally a threatening as the reverse of the golden coin of promise. When we read, in the opening chapters of the Bible, “In the day that thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die,” it was implied, was it not, that if they did not eat they should live? Though that promise was not stated in words, it was implied in the threatening. So here, when we read, “I have sworn in my wrath, if they shall enter into my rest,” while we are taught that some could not enter in because of unbelief; it is implied in it that believers would enter in. Those who have faith in the divine promise shall enter in. If unbelief shuts men out, then faith is the door of entrance to those who have it. I beg you to grasp the kernel of promise which lies whole and safe within the shell of the threatening. God swore of those unbelieving Jews that they should not enter in, but he had declared that some should enter in; therefore a promise is left which will be fulfilled in those who have faith, and so are the true seed of faithful Abraham. These shall enter in; and certain of them in the text declare that they have done so: “We which have believed do enter into rest.”

I venture to say that the threatening in this case even gives a touch of rose colour to the promise, for it runs thus, “If they shall enter into my rest.” Whereas the declaration only says, “rest”: “we which have believed do enter into rest,” the word “My” is added. That little word is like a bright gleam amidst the blackness of the tempest. Oh, the glory of that which God calls “my rest”!

There is such a thing as the rest of God, and there is such a thing as our entering into it. I call your attention to the fact, that the two typical rests of the Old Testament were rests of God; and yet they were rests into which God’s people were to enter. The first rest was the rest of creation. When God had finished all his work upon this habitable globe he rested. But what follows? “He rested on the seventh day, and hallowed it.” To what end? That we might rest also. “Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days shalt thou labour, and do all thy work: but the seventh day is the Sabbath of the Lord thy God”; and therefore, because it is his Sabbath, he would have us share in it. “In it thou shalt not do any work.” It was a day sacred to holy rest. God will not rest alone. He will have his people in fellowship with him therein. “There remaineth a rest to the people of God”; because God hath his Sabbath. The other rest was the promised land, of which Mount Zion was chosen to be the centre. We read in Psalm one hundred and thirty-two, “For the Lord hath chosen Zion; he hath desired it for his habitation. This is my rest for ever: here will I dwell; for I have desired it.” Where the Lord rested, there he gave his people rest; for he adds, “I will abundantly bless her provision: I will satisfy her poor with bread.”

Thus God and his church are associated in happy fellowship. Neither the day nor the land is used as a type of rest with reference to God alone; he will have his people enter into his rest.

The true rest of God lies higher than times and places. The Lord God rests in the person of Jesus: in him he is well pleased. The Lord speaks of him as, “Mine elect, in whom my soul delighteth.” In the person of his Son, the heart of the Father finds perpetual joy: “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased.” But we also behold his glory-“The glory as of the only begotten of the Father, full of grace and truth.” By faith we see that in him which gives rest to our heart. Therefore was Jesus given: “This man shall be the peace.” The Lord Jesus is our true Noah, in whom we find safety and rest. He was both given in birth and given up in death to be the rest of weary souls.

Beloved; this morning I earnestly pray that you may be able to join in the declaration of the apostle Paul in the words before us. Though nearly nineteen hundred years have passed away, it is still true of those who believe, that they enter into rest. Some of us are now resting where the Lord rests, and our rest is daily deepening, so that ere long it will only need a moment’s change, and we shall rest with God in glory.

May the Holy Ghost direct us, while we shall, first, notice the people to whom this experience is confined: “They which have believed do enter into rest”; secondly, the experience itself: “We do enter into rest”; and thirdly, the personal assertion of this experience: we declare, without hesitation, that, having believed, we do enter into rest!

Follow me in meditation, and may the Spirit of God bless it to our souls, while we consider the people to whom this experience is confined. They rest, and no one else: they rest, because they have believed. As surely as unbelief shuts out, so surely does faith shut in.

What is to believe? To believe is, first of all, to accept as true the revelation of God; to give unfeigned assent and consent to all that God has made known in his Word, and especially to believe that he was, “in Christ Jesus, reconciling the world unto himself, not imputing their trespasses unto them.” We cannot take the further step of trust unless, first, we give credence to the testimony of God. In reference to the work of our Lord Jesus, we must, first, accept the facts concerning him, and the witness of God about him, or we cannot go further. What God saith is true, and to us it is true because God saith it. We set to our seal that God himself is true. We bow our judgments, our questionings, our consciences, our faith, before the throne of the Lord God of truth. This is an essential groundwork for saving faith.

The operative point of faith is the next one: we trust ourselves with him who is revealed: thus we carry our belief of truth to its practical conclusion. We come, just as we are, to the Saviour who bids us come; we rely for our salvation and acceptance with God upon the Lord Jesus Christ, as the Father reveals him. We see in him God’s appointed messenger of grace. We perceive him to be our covenant head and representative, and we rejoice to stand or fall with him. Chiefly do we receive him as our substitute, and, in consequence, our sacrifice. We believe in him as bearing our sins in his own body on the tree; as made sin for us, though he knew no sin, that we might be made the righteousness of God in him. It is of the essence of faith that we trust ourselves with the Lord Jesus, because of his finished work on our behalf. We trust Jesus in the faithfulness of God to the promises made to us in Christ Jesus. We lean upon the sure Word of God and work of Jesus. He hath not the faith which will bring him to heaven who doth not wholly trust himself with God in Christ Jesus.

Out of this trust must come action agreeable thereunto. He that trusts Christ appropriates to himself the blessings contained in him, and henceforth they become his heart’s treasure; and this changes the whole tone of his life. He that trusts in Christ becomes obedient to his Saviour’s word; just as the sailor who trusts his pilot yields to him the steering of the ship. He that has real faith in the unseen is willing to forego the pleasure and the profit of that which is seen and temporal, so far as it comes in conflict with that kingdom of God. He sees all that he needs in Jesus, and sets great store by him; for he believes that “it pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell; and of his fulness have all we received, and grace for grace.” Faith is an eye to see with, and a hand to grasp with. Faith joyfully accepts all that Jesus brings her, and for his sake she quits all other confidences. To be married to Christ she forsakes all other trusts and delights. This leads the believer to flee from sin: he sees that no good can come thereby, but only deadly evil. Moved by gratitude, he reckons himself dead to the world, because Jesus died, and alive unto God, because the life of Christ has quickened him. This leads to a daily rejoicing in Christ; for in proportion as we trust the Lord, and are governed by that trust, we become happy in the Lord. When we can say, “He is all my salvation and all my desire,” we shall not be afraid even on a dying bed. So far as I am trusting, I am resting.

According to the statement of the writer of this epistle, faith, wherever it exists, brings with it rest. Let me sketch three or four cases in proof, such as I have seen myself. Yonder is a man who has come to a right idea of his guilt before God. He went on merrily enough for years, till the Holy Spirit shone into his soul, and caused him to see the evil of his life. He began to think. Looking back upon his past conduct, he became uneasy; for he felt that he had lived without God, and therefore he had lived an unprofitable life towards his best Friend. He became greatly disturbed in spirit, not only by day, but even by night: his dreams were tinctured with fear. He felt that he was all wrong, and he feared he could never be set right. In such a condition rest is out of the question! What is to be done? In eager desire he goes from one place of worship to another, and he reads the Scriptures and godly books; but he finds no rest, and he will find none until he begins to see Jesus. How often have I seen the enlightenment which comes of faith! When the man sees that God is full of love towards him, that he is willing to receive him guilty as he is, and to blot out all his sin for Jesus’ sake; that Christ on the tree bore the penalty of his transgressions-then, I say, an enlightenment comes over his soul. I have seen the countenance transfigured as the divine witness has shone into the mind. It has been to the man as when the sun ariseth and the shadows flee. When his heart has said, “Christ for me,” then has he led his captivity captive. An overpowering delight has filled the soul, has flashed from the eyes, shone forth in every feature, and overflowed at the lips. Oh, the joy of knowing by faith that Christ has saved me, that in him I am reconciled to God! Nothing else will give us this rest save confidence in God in Christ Jesus.

Observe another case. This person was once a Christian professor, leading the way in public service; but he declined gradually, and at last he fell into grievous open sin. He has been cut off from the visible church; and necessarily so, for he has wandered into sinful habits, and mixed with evil associates. He is ill at ease. Like an unquiet spirit, he is seeking rest, and finding none. If there had been nothing of grace in his heart, he might have been satisfied with the husks of the world; but he has enough grace remaining in him to make him miserable. His foot finds no resting place. He is not willing, as yet, to go back to the church; and yet he cannot be content away from the fold. He is as a bird which has wandered from its nest, or a dog which has lost its master. It is only as that man beholds again the vision of the Crucified Lover of his soul that he will see a hope of rest. He must again see his God, clothed in human flesh, bleeding and dying for him; for in that sight alone will he find a window opened in heaven through which a backslider’s prayer may enter. It is the eye of Jesus which makes Peter repent, and the voice of Jesus which makes Peter confess his love. I invite any who are in a backsliding condition to come with weeping to the pardoning Saviour. Do not distrust him because of your sin, but trust him because of his merit. Come back, come back to your first husband; for it was better with you then than now! Say, “Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.” Turn to the way of faith, for this is the homeward path.

I have seen the like result of faith in another case, which is very different from the last. A Christian man endowed with large power of thought, in an evil hour, quitted his moorings, and drifted out into the deep. He saw others sailing on the great and wide sea, and he thought it a brave thing to imitate them. To-day he has lost his compass, and does not believe in his chart. He neither knows what he does believe, nor what he should believe: his intellect is like a whirligig, his belief twists about like a weathercock. All around him is a haze, and all beneath him is a quicksand. He fears that before long there will remain in his mind no capacity to separate fact from fiction. He fears that there is no truth; for all doctrine has become to him as the baseless fabric of a vision. Only one thing he knows-he is not happy, and he views with regret the restfulness of former days. My distracted brother, your only hope of intellectual rest lies in believing your God. Oh, that you would subject your intellect to the Holy Spirit! Come, cast away your pride, and sit at the feet of Jesus. Become a little child, that you may enter the kingdom. Have you not had enough of this plague of the period-the thing which betrays its character by calling itself “honest doubt”? While you are your own guide, you will go astray; but when you will place your hand in that hand which bears the nail-print, you shall be safe and happy. Then will you sing, “He leadeth me beside the still waters.” There is sound intellectual rest to be had by him who will submit himself to the infallible teaching of God, and will wait from day to day upon the Holy Ghost for light upon his path. “We which have believed do enter into rest,” and the rest is not that of ignorance and agnosticism, but of clear knowledge, for we know and have believed the love which God hath towards us. Our standing is on the rock of a revelation which has been made over again in our hearts by the Holy Ghost. While those who rely on their culture are as barques driven upon the rocks, we stand on safe ground, and are not shaken.

Let me give you one more picture. Tread softly, for the shadow of death is over yonder bed! Weakness will scarce bear the sound of your footfall. His pulse is faint and few, the man is dying! See how his tender wife wipes the death-sweat from his brow! Come hither, ye philosophers, and cheer his last hours with the joys of evolution! Come, ye advocates of a new theology, and cheer him with your criticisms! Poor heart, he sees no consolation in all that you can set before him. He turns himself to the Lord Jesus, and cries-

“Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;

Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies:

Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee,

In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.”

If he can but see “the sacred head once wounded,” he will have rest. How sweet! how deep! how perfect that rest will be! Men die not when they breathe their last with the living Saviour near them. In unruffled calm the spirit takes its flight from earth, and that word is fulfilled, “Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord from henceforth: Yea, saith the Spirit, that they may rest from their labours.” Behold, how they bathe their souls in seas of heavenly rest; they have obtained joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing have fled away. In ten thousand thousand instances they that have believed have, even in their mortal agony, entered into rest. Blessed be the Lord for this!

Thus have I set before you who these people are; they are not those who merely talk of religion, but they have true faith in God. They do not hesitate and delay, but they have once for all believed, and are now walking by faith. They are not questioners, but they believe God with a simple, child-like confidence. These are they that enter into rest, and nobody else will ever do so. I wish some of you would take this decisive step, and end this wretched pretence of wisdom, this self-conceited trust in “culture”: for it will be your greatest gain in life to trust your God, and enter into rest.

Our second point is the experience itself: “we which have believed do enter into rest.” I shall now speak of what I know of a surety, and of what many of you know also. We will propound no theory, and indulge no imagination, but keep to matters of fact.

Wherein do we rest? Brethren, we rest where God rests: that is, in the person of the Lord Jesus Christ. What a wondrous personality we see in him! As God, he is the infinite delight of the Father. As personified Wisdom, our Lord Jesus says, “I was by him, as one brought up with him; and I was daily his delight, rejoicing always before him.” We cannot tell how much the Father loves him, and how perfectly he rests in him. When God looked upon fallen man he could not rest in him, for it repented him that he had made man upon the face of the earth. There was one Man only upon whom the Father’s eye rested with pleasure; and even in the foresight of his birth and death he took pleasure in him. When Noah presented the sacrifice which symbolized the atonement, we read that the Lord smelled a sweet savour of rest. The Father takes an intense delight in the glorious person of the Lord Jesus. He cannot rest in the creation which is made subject to vanity; he cannot rest in fallen man, but he rests in One that is near akin to him, and at the same time near akin to us. Jesus counts it not robbery to be equal with God, and yet counts it not beneath him to be made like ourselves. To the Father and to us he is the place of our common rest. How happy are we to find rest in a person! This is warm and substantial comfort. You cannot rest in the words of a doctrine as you can in the bosom of a person. Take a poor child that is lost in the street. Talk to it upon cheering themes. These ought to comfort it; but the little one goes on crying. Sing to it, and reason with it. It is all in vain. Run, fetch its mother! See how it smiles! It nestles in her bosom, and is at rest. A person yields the heart-comfort. So it is with our Lord Jesus Christ. In life, in death, it is a delightful thought that our salvation rests in the hands of a living, loving personality; we depend upon a divine and human person, an accessible helper, to whom we may come at all times. Oh, yes, “we which have believed do enter into rest” in the person of the Well-beloved!

Next, we rest in his work. That work I can only roughly outline to you. It was a life of perfect obedience, completed by a death of shame and agony. The life and the death were all for us: in our room and place he obeyed and suffered. “It pleased the Father to bruise him; he hath put him to grief”; and because of that bruising and grief, it is written, “The Lord is well pleased for his righteousness’ sake; he will magnify the law, and make it honourable.” Sinners are reconciled to God, and all offence is removed out of the way. Such rest does the Father find in the life and death of his Well-beloved Son that he raised him from the dead, and set him at his own right hand in the heavenly places. God rests in the work of Christ; and so do we. Beloved, when you get a faith’s view of the work of the Redeemer, do you not feel that all your fears and forebodings are sweetly laid to rest? The full Atonement, the perfect Righteousness, the glorious Victory, are not these quiet resting-places? The covenant of grace, and all the blessings it contains, are not these a joy for ever? Can you not say of the Word of the Lord,

“My faith can on this promise live,

Can on this promise die”?

I scarcely need to mention, as a separate item, the perpetual life of Christ. We have not a dead Saviour. I heard one speaking about the blood of Christ as a dead thing; but indeed that in which we trust has a living efficacy. Beloved, the blood of Christ is the blood of a living Christ. He died, but not as a bullock dies at the altar; for he died to live again, which the bullock could not do. We trust in him who liveth and was dead, and is alive for evermore. Because he lives we shall live also. Lift up your eyes, and see your Lord upon the throne! Behold him risen from the dead, and know that he is coming soon, in all his glory, to receive you unto himself. I ask you if you cannot find perfect rest in the thought that he ever liveth, and is therefore able to save to the uttermost? Yes, preach Christ to the soul, he is true balm for its wounds. The love of Jesus is a pillow for every aching head. Let our Lord be near, and, like John, we find rest upon his bosom.

Do you ask me what is comprehended in this rest? I answer-all things. Here we lay every burden down. Personally I do at this moment rest in Jesus as to all the past. Whatever there has been of sin to grieve over, whatever of mistakes, folly, or wrong-all this is no more my load, for it was laid on Jesus as my scapegoat, and he carried it away into the wilderness of forgetfulness. He has finished transgression, and made an end of sin. I also rest in him in reference to the present. Whatever there may be of evil occurrent, or of need pressing, or of danger secret, or of slander foul, I leave all with him in whom my soul reposes, who says to me, “Let not your heart be troubled.” They say, there is a skeleton in every house; I know of none in mine: yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil. We are set free from present fret and worry by that dear hand which ruleth all things, and causeth all things to work together for good. Concerning to-day we enter into rest. But there is the future. We foolishly try to look through the veil which hides the morrow from our view; but it is all in vain. Why should we wish to know what God conceals? It is known to our Father in heaven; and that is enough for our faith. We can leave the future where we leave the past. He that believeth thus enters into rest as to the past, the present, and the future. We cast all our care on our Lord, for he careth for us. The poor committeth himself unto God; and when he has so done, he is quiet, and his soul is even as a weaned child. I see no cloud in my sky: Jesus fills it all. How can the children of the bride-chamber mourn while the Bridegroom is with them? Let us rest and rejoice.

What are the excellencies of this rest which comes by believing? I answer, they are very many. It brings us honour. “Unto you that believe, he is an honour.” It is a glorious thing to rest where God rests. Many people would give their eyes to be invited to stay with the Queen; but, oh, to dwell where God dwells, and to rejoice where God rejoices! Every believer has this dignity.

This rest is also a wonderful source of strength. When the tree strikes deep root it gets vigour for fruitage. No man has any great power to work successfully while he is worried. The fulcrum must rest, or the lever will not work. Fret creates a great leakage in a man, and his force runs away uselessly; but when care is ended, and he enters into rest with Christ, then all the force and energy of his being turns to holy service for God and man.

Rest in Christ Jesus also gives an incentive to diligence; for we feel that since we have such sweet rest ourselves, we would wish others to have it. We tell out the news which gladdens us. We cannot hide from the multitudes around us the glad tidings which have charmed away our griefs.

This rest also brightens life. When you enter into rest, life is not a dull and dreary round, such as the blind horse finds at the mill. Life is not a chain, which we must drag behind us, but wings on which we soar into the joyous blue, and hold converse with the choristers of heaven. I know not how to express my thankfulness that ever I had a being, seeing it is crowned with well-being in Christ Jesus. I could not say, “’Tis something better not to be.” Nay, nay, life is a favour now that I know my Lord. This rest in Christ is a fair antepast of heaven. We eat from the tables of celestials. “Men did eat angels’ food” in the wilderness; and so do we to-day. We drink from the chalices of the glorified. When you rest in Christ you know what heaven’s repose must be like, and your heart is glad.

What are the limits of this rest? We may place them where we will. “According to your faith, so be it unto you.” “We which have believed do enter into rest.” It is an entrance, and no more, as yet. But when an Israelite had an entrance into Canaan, it was his own fault if he did not penetrate the interior, and traverse the land from Dan to Beersheba. “Ask, and ye shall receive.” “All things are possible to him that believeth.” If you are not perfectly restful, it is not the fault of the rest. If you are not as restful in heart as saints in heaven, you have only yourself to blame. You have the same ground for rest as they have, and the same Lord by his presence and power to work repose in your spirit:

“How sweetly rest thy saints above,

Which in thy bosom lie!

The church below doth rest in hope

Of that felicity.”

There is not a joy in the covenant of grace but what you may have, if you have faith enough to lay hold upon it. There is an unlimited range of bliss before you: arise and take possession in the name of God; for it is all yours. But still, for the most part here below all that we can get is an entrance, and we are happy if it is administered to us abundantly. We cross the threshold of our Father’s house, and take the first chair in the first room we come to: this is a great privilege; but let us go further in and press into his presence-chamber. Anyhow, let us say, “I will dwell in the house of the Lord for ever.”

Under the third head I must draw your attention to the personal assertion of this experience: “We which have believed do enter into rest.” I like the plain and positive speech of the apostle for himself and his friends. If the apostle had belonged to the same school as some of our good but weak brethren, he would have said, “We that have believed hope that we may some day know a little of what the rest of faith means. We sometimes hope, but oftener fear. We are afraid to believe too certainly, lest it should be presumption. We sometimes indulge a faint hope that ultimately we may find rest.” This is very weak milk-and-water, and no one will ever get much joy out of it. Let us attain to something better than this. Paul did not talk so. He said, “We which have believed do enter into rest”; and he said no more than is true. Some dog barks at me. I know what its bark means. My opponent cries, “You are too dogmatical, and too positive.” To which I reply, “I cannot help being dogmatic when I say that I see what I know I have seen, and declare that I feel what I know I am feeling.” Would you have me doubt my own consciousness? I know whether I am at rest or not.

I do not invite any of you to say that faith gives you peace unless it does so. It must be a matter of fact. We want no empty profession. I remember hearing of a pious minister who was asked to speak one day upon the subject of joy in God. He stood up and said, “I am sorry that I have been requested to speak upon this topic; for the fact is, I am not walking in the light, but I am crying, ‘Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation.’ I have grieved my heavenly Father, and I am in the dark.” He sat down and sobbed; and so did all his brethren. This honest confession did far more good than if he had patched up a tale, and told of some stale experience years before. If you have not entered into rest, do not say that you have. Fictitious experience is dangerous to the forger of it. Experience borrowed from other people is like the borrowed axe, sure to fall into the ditch, and make its user cry, “Alas!”

“Well,” cries one, “we do not rest, we are hard at work for our Lord.” And so am I; but this is rest to me, now that I am at peace with God. The labour of love for Christ is only another word for rest. He says, “Take my yoke upon you: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.” Carry Christ’s burden, and your shoulders shall have rest. We do not mean sleep or idleness when we speak of rest: that is not rest, but rust. Our rest is found in the service of God.

“Oh,” says one, “I have such a world of trouble”! Do you think you are the only one? Some time ago, I met with a certain younger brother who has been made to suffer through taking the right side in the Down-Grade controversy. He wrote to me of his sore trials. I sympathized with him; but I reminded him that he was not alone in them. When Montezuma was being roasted alive by the Spaniards, one of his nobles, who was being tortured with him, cried out in his agonies. The king bade him be quiet, adding, “Dost thou think that I am on a bed of roses?” No, my friend, you are by no means alone. Tribulation is no strange thing to the favourites of heaven. Is it, therefore, impossible to rest? By no means. Does not our Lord say, “In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” The holy children enjoy their greatest peace in the seven times heated furnace. Our greatest joys swim on the crests of the huge billows of trouble. Through much tribulation we come to the kingdom, and even in the midst of that much tribulation, we glory, since we enter into rest.

“Oh,” says one, “I find a conflict going on within me.” Do you? So do I. Who does not feel a struggle while pressing forward towards perfection? Can there be rest where there is conflict? I answer, Assuredly. He that is at rest in his heart is the man to fight. While he cries, “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death?” he is able at once to add, “I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.” “We are troubled on every side, yet not distressed.” Our confidence in Christ is not shaken, though all confidence in ourselves is gone. The more we see of our wretchedness and vileness by nature, the more we rest in Jesus.

“Oh,” cries one, “sometimes my rest is broken.” So it may be, and yet you may have it still. Put the pieces together again, and have them well rivetted. Every now and then a child of God may fail as to the strength of his faith, and then he loses rest for a while; but as the object of his faith does not fail, since Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever, his rest soon comes back. Take down your harp. Your peace is like a river, and it flows with fresh waters. We have peace, and we must bear witness to it; for it is with many of us a matter of fact that by believing we enter into rest.

This declaration, that we have rest, should always be made with a holy purpose. We must not go about boasting of our peace. That is what little children do who know no better: they say, “Look at my new shoes.” There are many silly children nowadays who cry, “Look, how perfect I am!” Dear child, it will be better for you to be seen, and not heard. When you bear witness to your own enjoyment of the rest of faith, let it be your purpose, first to glorify God, who has given you this rest, and next, that you may convince others that such a rest is possible. How can we hope to convince others that there is the rest of faith, unless we enjoy it ourselves? Not long ago, one of our ministers was preaching upon salvation, and the work of the Spirit in the heart, when one of the congregation rose and asked him respectfully, “Sir, do you know all this by the report of others, or has this taken place in your own experience?” The preacher was by no means put about by the question, but rather rejoiced in it; for he could honestly reply, “I have trusted Christ. I am saved, and I know and feel the peace which results therefrom.” If he could not have made that solemn statement, he would have had no influence over the person who had put the question. If we show by our daily lives that we rest in Christ, we shall be more likely to draw troubled ones to Jesus. The man who was born blind, when his eyes were opened, did not hesitate to say, “One thing I know: whereas I was blind, now I see.” This was a powerful argument to prove the power and Godhead of him who had opened his eyes.

Brethren, if you can say as much as this-“By believing I have entered into rest,” be thankful; for this privilege is a gift of love. It is a wonderful instance of sovereign grace that such unworthy ones as we are should enter into God’s rest. But if you cannot say it, do not despair. Make it a point of question with yourself, “Why cannot I thus speak? Why have I not entered into rest? Is it because I have not believed”? Perhaps some fault of character may prevent your enjoying perfect rest. See where that flaw is. Are you living in any sin? If so the sun may have risen, but if there is a bandage over your eyes, you will still be in the dark. Get rid of that which blinds the eye. Or, are you trusting yourself as well as trusting in Christ? Are you relying on your experience? Then I do not wonder if you miss the rest of faith. Get rid of all that spoils the simplicity of your faith. Come to the Lord anew this morning. Possibly you are sickly in body, and this may cause you discomfort, for which you cannot otherwise account. Never mind, you may come just as you are, with all your sickness, weakness, or family trouble, and you may now rest in the Lord. Tell out your grief to Jesus, and he will breathe on you, and say, “Peace be unto you.” We ought to be at rest: we err when we are not. A child of God should not leave his bedroom in the morning without being on good terms with his God. We should not dare to go into the world and feel, “I am out of harmony with my Lord. All is not right between God and my soul.” A husband, if perchance he has had a difference with his wife, will not feel happy in going to business while that little cloud remains. In domestic life we are wise if we square all such matters before we separate. Let us part with a kiss. This method of unbroken fellowship should be carefully maintained towards God. Be at perfect rest with him. “Acquaint thyself with him, and be at peace, for thereby good shall come unto thee.” Set all straight to-day, so that you can say, “We which have believed do enter into rest.” And when that is done, if anything should again happen to break the golden chain, renew it by faith; for by faith alone we stand. Destroy, by the power of God’s Spirit, everything which weakens faith; for this will disturb your rest in God. Oh, that all the way between here and heaven we may journey on with restful hearts, led beside the still waters! I have seen, in an old book, a portrait of Mr. Sibbs, the famous Puritan, and it says at the bottom of the likeness, “Heaven was in him before he was in heaven.” Now, that must be so with us, for nobody gets into heaven who does not get heaven into himself first. Oh, to get heaven into us this morning, and keep it there for ever!

“Alas!” cries one, “I wish I had the rest you speak of, but I cannot find it, though I study much and work hard.” Hearken to a parable:-A little bird of the air found itself in a church. It was anxious to find its way into the open air, and so it flew aloft among the great timbers of the roof, where it was half buried, and almost blinded, by the dust which lay thick upon the beams. There were no seeds, nor fruits, nor waters in that dry and thirsty height. It then made a dash at a window, glorious with many colours; but it found no way of escape. It tried again and again, and at last dropped stunned upon the pavement of the aisle. When it recovered itself a little, it did not again fly aloft; but seeing the door open upon the level of the floor, it joyfully flew through it into the open country. You are that bird. Your pride makes you deal with high things up there in the roof. Among the lofty mysteries you are blinding yourself: there is no escape for you there, nor rest, nor even life. You seek a way through the glory of your own painted righteousness; but this will be death to you, if you persevere. Drop down upon the floor of honest confession and lowly penitence. Come to the ground by self-humiliation. When you get lower ideas of yourself you will see just before you the open door, Christ Jesus. As soon as you see him, use the wings of a simple faith, and you are at liberty, and no more a captive doomed to die. May God bring you down, that he may exalt you in due time, for Christ’s sake! Amen.

Portions of Scripture read before Sermon-Psalms 132, 23.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-917, 132, 684.

“JESUS WEPT”

A Sermon

delivered on lord’s-day morning, june 23rd, 1889, by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington.

“Jesus wept.”-John 11:35.

A great storm was stirring the mind of Jesus. We find, on looking at the original, that he was indignant and troubled. We 1have a very literal translation in the margin of the Revised Version; and instead of reading, “He groaned in the spirit, and was troubled,” we find it, “He was moved with indignation in the spirit, and troubled himself.” What was this indignation? We cannot think that it was caused by the unbelief of his friends, or even by the pretended sympathy of those malicious Jews who hastened to accuse him to the Pharisees; but we look further and deeper for the reason of this heat. He now stood face to face with the last enemy, death. He saw what sin had done in destroying life, and even in corrupting the fair handiwork of God in the human body; he marked, also, the share which Satan had in all this, and his indignation was aroused; yea, his whole nature was stirred. Some read it, “He roused himself,” instead of reading, as we have it in our version, “He was troubled.” Certainly, there would seem to be an active sense in the expression: it was not so much that he was troubled, as that “He troubled himself.” The waters of his soul were clear as crystal, and therefore when troubled they were not mudded; yet they were all stirred. It could be seen that his holy nature was in a ferment, and an inarticulate expression of distress fell from him. Between indignation at the powers of evil, grief for the family who had been bereaved by death, sorrow over those who stood by in unbelief, and a distressing realization of the effects of sin, the Lord’s heart was evidently in a great storm. Instead of the thunder of threatening, and the lightning of a curse, all that was perceptible of the inward tempest was a shower of tears; for “Jesus wept.” A hurricane rushed through his spirit; all the forces of his soul were disturbed; he shuddered at the sight which was about to be set before him; he was thrilled from head to foot with emotion; yet the result of the storm was not a word of terror, nor a glance of judgment, but simply a blessed shower of tears: “Jesus wept.” If all our righteous indignation displayed itself in tears of pity, we should have fulfilled the text, “Be ye angry, and sin not.”

“Jesus wept.” I have often felt vexed with the man, whoever he was, who chopped up the New Testament into verses. He seems to have let the hatchet drop indiscriminately here and there; but I forgive him a great deal of blundering for his wisdom in letting these two words make a verse by themselves: “Jesus wept.” This is a diamond of the first water, and it cannot have another gem set with it, for it is unique. Shortest of verses in words, but where is there a longer one in sense? Add a word to the verse, and it would be out of place. No, let it stand in solitary sublimity and simplicity. You may even put a note of exclamation after it, and let it stand in capitals,

“JESUS WEPT!”

There is infinitely more in these two words than any sermonizer, or student of the Word, will ever be able to bring out of them, even though he should apply the microscope of the most attentive consideration. “Jesus wept.” Instructive fact; simple but amazing; full of consolation; worthy of our earnest heed. Come, Holy Spirit, and help us to discover for ourselves the wealth of meaning contained in these two words!

We read of other men that they wept. Abraham, when he buried Sarah, wept; Jacob had power with the angel, for he wept and prevailed; of David we are continually reading that he wept. His friend Jonathan and he once wept together, and were not unmanned, but were the more truly men for weeping. Of Hezekiah we read that he wept sore, and of Josiah that he poured forth tears over the sins of Judah. Jeremiah was a weeping prophet; and I might continue the list, but if I did, it would not be at all remarkable that the sons of a fallen father should weep. With all the sin and sorrow that surrounds our manhood, it is no marvel that it should be said of any man, “He wept.” The earth brings forth thorns and thistles, and the heart brings forth sorrow and sighing. Is there a man or woman here who has not wept? Have we not all, sometimes, felt a sweet relief in tears? Looking round upon this great assembly, I could point to you, one by one, and say, “He wept, and he wept; and she wept, and she wept”; and none would wonder that such has been the case. The marvel is that the sinless Son of God should, in the days of his flesh, know the meaning of strong crying and tears. The fact worthy to be noticed and recorded is that “Jesus wept.” On that subject we shall meditate this morning; and may the Lord make our thoughts profitable!

First, I would remind you that “Jesus wept,” because he was truly man: secondly, “Jesus wept,” for he was not ashamed of his human weakness, but allowed himself to reveal the fact that he was, in this point also, made like unto his brethren. Thirdly, “Jesus wept,” and therein he is our instructor. Fourthly, he is our comforter; and lastly, he is our example. We can only give a little space to each of these five things.

First, “Jesus wept,” for he is truly man. Many facts prove the completeness of our Lord’s taking up of our nature. Not in phantasm, nor in fiction was Jesus a man; but in reality and truth he became one of us. He was born of a woman, wrapped in swaddling bands, fed from the breast. He grew as a child, was obedient to his parents, and increased in stature and in wisdom. In manhood he worked, he walked, he wearied. He ate as we do: we find it mentioned that he fasted, and that he hungered. After his resurrection he ate a piece of a broiled fish, and of a honeycomb, to show that his body was real. His human nature was sustained, as ours is, by supplying it with food. Though on one occasion, sustained by divine power, he fasted forty days and forty nights, yet as man he ordinarily needed food. He drank also, and gave thanks both for food and drink. We find him sleeping with his head upon a pillow, and resting upon the curb of the well of Sychar. He suffered all the innocent infirmities of our nature. He was an hungered, and was disappointed when, early in the morning, he came to a fig-tree seeking fruit, but found none. He was weary: “Jesus, being wearied with his journey, sat thus on the well.” That he thirsted we know, for he said to the Samaritan woman, “Give me to drink”; and on the cross he cried in burning fever, “I thirst!” In all things he was made like unto his brethren. “Himself took our infirmities, and bare our sicknesses.” His humanity was our humanity to the full, although without sin. Sin is not essential to humanity: it is a disease of nature; it is not a feature found in humanity as it came from the Creator’s hand. The Man of men, in whom all true humanity is found in perfection, is Christ Jesus.

The fact that Jesus wept is a clear proof of this. He wept, for he had human friendships. Friendship is natural to man. Scarcely is he a man who never had a friend to love. Men in going through the world make many acquaintances, but out of these they have few special objects of esteem, whom they call friends. If they think to have many friends, they are, probably, misusing the name. All wise and good men have about them choice spirits, with whom their intercourse is more free, and in whom their trust is more confident than in all others. Jesus delighted to find retirement in the quiet home at Bethany; and we read that “Jesus loved Martha, and her sister, and Lazarus.” Alas, my brethren! every friendship opens a fresh door for grief; for friends are no more immortal than ourselves. “Jesus wept” at the grave of his friend just as you and I have done, and must needs do again. Behold your Lord, like David weeping for his Jonathan, and see how human he is in his friendships.

“Jesus wept,” for he was truly human in his sympathies. He did not merely walk about among us, and look like a man, but at a thousand points he came into contact with us. Jesus was always in touch with sorrow; happy are they that are in touch with him! Our Lord saw Mary and Martha weeping, and the Jews weeping that were with her, and he caught the contagion of their grief: “Jesus wept.” His sympathies were with sorrowing ones, and for this reason, among others, he was himself “a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief.” He loved first his Father in heaven, whose glory was his main object; but he loved intensely his chosen, and his sympathy with them knew no bounds. “In all their afflictions he was afflicted.” Jesus was far more tender towards humanity than any other man has ever been. He was the great Philanthropist. Alas! man is often the cruellest foe of man. None more unkind to man than men. Not the elements in their fury, nor wild beasts in their rage, nor diseases in their terror, have made such havoc among men as men drunk with the war spirit. When has there been such cruel hate on the part of the most savage monster towards man as has raged in the hearts of bloodthirsty warriors? To this hate our Lord was a perfect stranger. There was no flint in his heart. He was love, and only love; and through his love he descended into the depths of grief with the beloved ones whose lot was sorrowful; and he carried out to the full that sacred precept, “Weep with them that weep.” Jesus was no unsuffering seraph, no cherub incapable of grief, but he was bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh; and therefore “Jesus wept.”

He was a man, dear friends, for he was stirred with human emotions. Every emotion that ever thrilled through your bosom, so far as it is not sinful, has had its like in the bosom of the Lord Jesus Christ. He could be angry: we read in one place that “he looked round about on them with anger.” He could be pitiful; when was he not so? He could be moved with compassion for a fainting crowd, or with scorn of a crafty ruler. Did he not speak with great indignation of the scribes and Pharisees? Yet, was he not tender as a nurse with a child, when cheering the penitent? He would not break the bruised reed, nor quench the smoking flax; yet he uttered faithful warnings, and made terrible exposures of hypocrisy. Our Saviour, at the moment described in our text, felt indignation, pity, love, desire, and other emotions. He who is all bowels of tenderness, was stirred from head to foot. He was troubled, and he troubled himself. As when water is shaken in a phial, so was his whole nature shaken with a mighty emotion, as he stood at the grave of Lazarus, confronting death and him that hath the power of it. Our Lord proved himself a man when it was said that “Jesus wept.”

Note, too, that his pure body and his sinless soul were originally constituted as ours are. When his body was formed according to that Scripture, “A body hast thou prepared me,” that holy thing had in it the full apparatus of grief: the lachrymal gland was in his eye. Where there is no sin, one would say there should be no sorrow; but in the formation of that blessed body, all the arrangements for the expression of grief were as fully prepared as in the case of any one of us. His eyes were made to be fountains of tears, even as are ours. He had about his soul also all the capacity for mental grief. As I said aforetime, so say I yet again, it would seem that there should be no tears where there are no transgressions; and yet the Saviour’s heart was made to hold sorrow, even as an amphora was made for wine. Yea, more, his heart was made capacious enough to be a reservoir wherein should be gathered up great floods of grief. See how the sorrow bursts forth in a mighty flood! Mark the record of that flood in these amazing words, “Jesus wept.”

Beloved, have a clear faith in the humanity of him whom you rightly worship as your Lord and your God. Holding his divinity without doubt, hold his manhood without mistake. Realize the actual manhood of Jesus in all lights. Three times we read he wept. Doubtless he sorrowed full often when he was not seen; but thrice he was known to weep. The instance in our text was the weeping of a Friend over the grave of a friend. A little further on, after a day of triumph, our Lord beheld the city and wept over it: that was the weeping of a Prophet concerning judgments which he foresaw. It is not recorded by any evangelist, but Paul tells us, in the Epistle to Hebrews, that with strong crying and tears, he made appeal to him that was able to save him from death, and was heard in that he feared. This third record sets forth the weeping of our Substitute, a sacrificial weeping, a pouring out of himself as an oblation before God. Treasure up in your mind these three memories, the weeping of the friend in sympathy with bereavement, the weeping of the Judge lamenting the sentence which he must deliver, and the weeping of the Surety as he smarts for us, bearing griefs which were not his own, for sins in which he had no share. Thus thrice was it true that “Jesus wept.”

Now, let us change the line of our thought a little, while we say, “Jesus wept,” that is, he was not ashamed of his human weakness. He could have repressed his tears-many men do so habitually. I do not doubt that there may be great sorrow, very great sorrow, where there is no open expression of it. In fact, most of you must have felt times when grief has struck you such a stunning blow that you could not weep, you could not recover yourself sufficiently to shed tears: the heart was all on fire with anguish, and the eyes refused the cooling drops. The Saviour could doubtless, if so he wished, have hidden his grief; but he did not choose to do so, for he was never unnatural. As “the holy child Jesus,” he was free from pride, and wore his heart where men could see it.

For, first, remember his talk when he spoke to his disciples. He never concealed his poverty. There is an idea abroad that respectability is maintained by the pretence of riches, whereby real need is hidden. It is thought disreputable to seem to be poor, even when you are so. There may be something in the affectation, but our Lord did not countenance such a course; for he said, “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man hath not where to lay his head.” Though he was rich, yet for our sakes he became poor, and he was never ashamed to let it be known that he was poor. So, too, he was “despised and rejected of men,” and he did not pretend to be unaware of it. He did not try to make out that he was exceedingly popular, and that nobody had a word to say against him; but he owned that they had called the Master of the house Beelzebub. He knew what they had called him, and he was not ashamed of being made the butt of ridicule and the target of reproach. When they ascribed his miracles to the power of Satan he met the charges with an overwhelming reply; but he was not ashamed that slander had befallen him as well as poverty. As for his sufferings and death, how frequently do we find him talking to his disciples about it, till Peter would have stopped him if he could! Our Lord spoke of his being betrayed into the hand of sinners, and despitefully entreated, and spat upon. He spoke openly of his being “lifted up.” He even dwelt upon the minute items of his coming passion: he had no wish to deny the fate which he knew awaited him. Why not die, and say nothing about it, if so it must be? Not so the Saviour. He has become a man, and he is not abashed at that which necessarily follows as a part of his humiliation. Being found in fashion as a man he becomes obedient to all that is required of his manhood, and before all observers he takes his place in the ranks. “Jesus wept.”

Jesus wept on this occasion, although it might have been misunderstood and misrepresented. Do you not think that the Jews who stood there would sneeringly say, “See, he weeps! The miracle-worker weeps! He calls himself the Son of God, and yet he stands weeping there like any ordinary man!” Here was opportunity for scorn at his manifest weakness, and even for blasphemy at the evident token of it; but our Lord did not act upon policy; he allowed his true feeling to be seen. He did not, like the Stoic, claim respect for his manhood by holding himself within himself, and refusing to let men see that he was of like feelings with them. No, “Jesus wept.” Tears may not be thought manly, but they are natural to man, and Jesus will not be unnatural. The enemies may say what they please, and even blaspheme both him and his God; but he will not act a part in the hope of silencing them. He acts the truth only, and weeps as his kind heart suggests. He thinks more of Mary and of Martha, and the comfort his sympathy may yield them, than of the cavilling ribaldry of unbelievers, which may forge an excuse for itself out of the loving weakness of his humanity.

“Jesus wept,” and thereby he revealed his love to Lazarus, so that others saw it and cried, “Behold how he loved him!” This is one proof that our Lord does not hesitate to declare his love to his people. When he sojourned upon earth he was not ashamed to find friends among ordinary mortals. Our glorious Lord, now that he is enthroned, “is not ashamed to call us brethren.” He is not ashamed to be written down in the same heavenly register as his poor people. His cheeks were bedewed with tears such as those which drop from our eyes, and by those tears all knew what manner of love he had towards his chosen. Blessed be his name! Many a great man might be willing to befriend a poor man with money, but not with tearful love; but here the blessed Master, in the midst of the assembled multitude, owns dead and rotting Lazarus as his friend, and seals the covenant of his love with tears.

“Jesus wept”: he was not ashamed to own the affliction which sin caused to his holy soul, nor the gash which the sight of death made in his heart. He could not bear to see the grave and its corruption. May we never think of the sin and misery of our race without sorrow! I confess I can never go through this huge city without feeling unhappy. I never pass from end to end of London without feeling a black and dark cloud, hanging like a pall over my spirit. How my heart breaks for thee, O sinful city of London! Is it not so with you, my brethren? Think of its slums, its sins, its poverty, its ungodliness, its drunkenness, its vice! These may well go through a man’s heart like sharp swords. How Jesus would have wept in London! He could not stand in the front of a lone grave, about to look upon a single corpse, without weeping. He saw in that one death the representation of what sin has done on so enormous a scale, that it is impossible to compute the devastation; and therefore he wept. What hast thou not done, O Sin! Thou hast slain all these, O Death! What a field of blood has Satan made this earth! The Saviour could not stand unmoved in the presence of the Destroyer, nor approach the gate of death’s palace without deep emotion. Of this he was by no means ashamed; and therefore he did not hold back his tears: “Jesus wept.” Brethren, holy emotion is not a weakness to be ashamed of. If at any time, in the midst of the world’s wickedness and gaiety, you weep, do not hide those tears! Let the thoughtless see that there is one, at least, who fears God and trembles when the Holy One is provoked.

“Jesus wept,” though he was about to work a wonderful miracle. The glory of his Godhead did not make him ashamed of his manhood. Singular thing, too, that he should weep just before the joy of raising the dead to life. He is God, for he is about to call Lazarus out of the grave; but he is man just as much as ever, and therefore he weeps. Our Lord was as much man when he raised the dead as when he worked in the carpenter’s shop at Nazareth. He was not ashamed to own his real manhood while he proved himself the resurrection and the life. This day in the glory of heaven he wears his scars, to show that, though God, he is not ashamed to be recognized as man. He makes this one of his glorious names-“I am he that liveth, and was dead; and, behold, I am alive for evermore”; therein describing his connection with our manhood in life and in death. Beloved, “Jesus wept” to show that he did not disdain the feebleness of that nature which he had taken up, that he might redeem it unto God.

Remember, that our Lord Jesus exercised three years of ministry, and each year was signalized by a resurrection. He began by raising the little daughter of Jairus, upon whose unmarred countenance death had scarcely set his seal. Then he went on to raise the young man at the gates of Nain, who was being carried out to his burial, dead but not yet corrupt; and now he consummates his glory by raising this Lazarus, who had been dead four days already. Yet, when he came to this crowning marvel, and thus displayed the perfection of his Godhead, he did not disdain to stand before all and weep. Jesus is the Resurrection and the Life, yet “Jesus wept.”

Thirdly, our Lord Jesus is our instructor in weeping. This is the most practical part of our discourse; be sure that you receive it by the teaching of the Holy Ghost.

Observe why Jesus wept, and learn a lesson from it. He wept because this was his method of prayer on this occasion. A great miracle was to be wrought, and great power was needed from on high: as man, the Lord Jesus cries to God with intense earnestness, and finds the fittest embodiment for his prayer in weeping. No prayer will ever prevail with God more surely than a liquid petition, which, being distilled from the heart, trickles from the eye, and waters the cheek. Then is God won when he hears the voice of your weeping. The angel at Peniel will slip from your dry hands; but moisten them with tears, and you will hold him fast. Before the Lord Jesus puts forth the power which raises Lazarus from the grave, he appeals to God with strong crying and tears. The Father appears for his weeping Son; and you, dear friends, if you want to win in prayer, must weep in prayer. Let your soul arouse itself to eager desire, and trouble itself to anguish, and then you will prevail. “Jesus wept” to teach us how to baptize our prayers unto God in a wave of heart-grief.

“Jesus wept” again, because before he would arouse the dead he would be himself aroused. A word of his could have wrought the wonder; yea, his mere volition would have been enough. But for our instruction he did not make it so. There was a kind of evil which went not out but with prayer and fasting, and here was a kind of death which would not yield unless the Saviour groaned and wept. Without great exertion of the life of Jesus, the death in Lazarus could not be subdued. Therefore the Lord aroused himself, and stirred up all his strength, troubling all his being for the struggle on which he entered. Learn hence, my brother, that if you think to do any great good in saving sinners, you must not be half-asleep yourself: you must be troubled even to tears. Perhaps the most difficult thing in winning souls is to get ourselves into a fit state. The dead may bury the dead, but they cannot raise the dead. Until a man’s whole soul is moved, he will not move his fellow. He might, possibly, succeed with those who are willing to be impressed; but the careless will be unmoved by any man who is unmoved himself. Tears storm a passage for warnings. If Christ’s whole self must be stirred before Lazarus is raised, we must be thrilled before we can win a soul. The fingers of decay are unwinding the goodly fabric which once was worn by the soul of Lazarus, and no voice can effectually command them to pause but one, which sounds forth from a bursting heart. That “stinking,” of which Martha spoke, can only be turned into the sweet odours of grateful life by the salt tears of infinite love. It is still more so in our case. We must feel, if others are to feel. Come, my dear sister, you that are going to the Sunday-school class this afternoon, because you must go; you must not go in that spirit. You, my brothers, who are going to preach or talk to your classes, and have as yet only one eye open; this will never do. Your Lord was all alive, and all sensitive, and you must be the same. How can you expect to see his power exercised on others if you do not feel his emotion in yourselves? You must be quickened into tenderness as he was, or you will not receive his life-giving power. When I am weak, then am I strong. “Jesus wept” when he raised dead Lazarus.

Jesus wept in full knowledge of several things which might have prevented his weeping. You have sometimes thought to yourself when weeping at the grave of a dear child, or wife, or husband, that you have been wrong in so doing; but this may not be the case. Our Saviour wept, though he knew that Lazarus was safe enough. I do not know what had happened to the soul of Lazarus: where Scripture is silent it is not mine to speak; but, wherever he was, he was perfectly safe; and yet “Jesus wept.” Moreover, Jesus knew that he was going to raise Lazarus to life; his resurrection was close at hand; and yet “Jesus wept.” Sometimes we are told that if we really believed that our friends would rise again, and that they are safe and happy even now, we could not weep. Why not? Jesus did. There cannot be any error in following where Jesus leads the way. Jesus knew, moreover, that the death of Lazarus was for the glory of God: he had said, “This sickness is not unto death, but for the glory of God”; and yet he wept! Have we not thought, “Surely it must be wicked to weep when you know that the bereavement will glorify God”? Not so, or else Jesus would not have wept under similar circumstances. Learn instruction: tears which else we might have regarded as contraband have now free admission into the realm of holiness, since “Jesus wept.” Sister, you may weep, for Jesus wept. He wept, with full knowledge of the happiness of Lazarus, with full expectation of his resurrection, and with the firm assurance that God was glorified even by his death: we may not, therefore, condemn what Christ allows.

“Jesus wept,” but he did not sin. There was not even a particle of evil in any one of the Redeemer’s tears. Salt there may have been, but not fault. Beloved, we can weep without sin. I do not suppose we have ever done so; but it is possible. It is not a sin to weep for those whom God has taken away from us, nor for those who are suffering. I will tell you why there was no sin in Christ’s weeping: it was because he wept in his Father’s presence. When he spoke in his sorrow, the first word was, “Father”: he said, “Father, I thank thee.” If you can weep in such a way that all the while you feel God to be your Father, and can thank him, and know that you are in his presence, your weeping is not blameworthy, but healthful. Let such floods flow on, for Jesus wept, and said, “Father, I thank thee.” Brethren, we sin when we either laugh or weep behind God’s back. Absence from God is the element of sin. When you cannot smile nor weep except by forgetting God and his law, then are you offending; but if you can get up to your great Father’s bosom, and bury your head there, you may sob away without stint; for that which he permits is evidently no offence. “Jesus wept,” but he never murmured. “Jesus wept,” but he never found fault with God’s dispensations. “Jesus wept” sweetly in submission, not bitterly in rebellion. I think this is good instruction here: may the Holy Spirit teach it to us! May the Lord write it on every weeper’s heart. Thou, Hannah, a woman of a sorrowful spirit, did Eli accuse thee? Come to Eli’s Master, the great High Priest; for he will not blame thee, but he will tell thee that thou mayest weep, for he also wept.

I must be brief upon my fourth point. “Jesus wept”: in this he is our Comforter.

Let me speak to those who are of heavy heart. “Jesus wept”: herein is our honour. Thou weepest, my friend, in good company; for Jesus wept. Let no man censure thee lest they not only blame thee, but Jesus also.

“Jesus wept”: herein is our sonship vindicated. Thou sayest, “Can I be the child of God, and yet go weeping?” Was not Jesus the well-beloved Son? and yet he wept. Ah! the question lies another way: “What son is he whom the father chasteneth not?” What child did God ever have that did not weep? He had one Son without sin; but he never had a son without sorrow. He had a Son that never deserved a stroke of the rod, and yet against that Son the sword was awakened. Mourner, thou art one of “The Worshipful Company of Weepers,” of whom Jesus is the Worthy Master. He is at the head of the Clan of Mourners: thou mayest well wear the plaid with the black and red crosses upon it; for thy Chieftain wore the same.

See now the real sympathy of Christ with his people, for herein is comfort. His sympathy lies not alone in words, not even wholly in deeds-it is more tender than these can be. Only his heart could express his tender sympathy, and then it was by tears-tears which were brought up like gold from the ore-bed of the heart, minted in the eyes, and then put in circulation as current coin of the merchant, each one bearing the King’s image and superscription. Jesus is our fellow-sufferer; and this should be our greatest solace. Oh, if we had a High-priest that knew not what it is to suffer as we do, it would be a most unhappy thing for us! If we fled to him for refuge, and found that he had known no grief, and consequently could not understand us, it would be killing to a broken heart. I saw a young bird yesterday fly where he thought he saw ready entrance; but, alas for him! there was an invisible barrier; he dashed against the glass, and stunned himself, and I was sad when I saw him lie dead outside my window. If in my grief I fled to Jesus, and there was about him a secret inability to sympathize, an incapacity to admit me to his heart; pure as crystal though that barrier might be, I should dash myself against it, and die in despair. A Jesus who never wept could never wipe away my tears. That were a grief I could not bear, if he could not have fellowship with me, and could not understand my woe.

Beloved, think how bravely our Lord endured: herein is confidence. Tears did not drown the Saviour’s hope in God. He lived. He triumphed notwithstanding all his sorrow; and because he lives, we shall live also. He says, “Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.” Though our hero had to weep in the fight, yet he was not beaten. He came, he wept, he conquered. You and I take scot and lot with Jesus: we share the tears of his eyes, and we shall share the diamonds of his crown. Wear the thorn-crown here, and you shall wear the crown of glory hereafter.

Let this comfort you, too, that, though he wept, he weeps no more: herein is heaven begun below. “Death hath no more dominion over him” in any sense or degree. He has done with weeping. So shall it be with us before long. How I love that promise: “Neither shall there be any more pain”! Heaven is without a temple, for it is all devotion; and so is it without a hospital, for it is all health and love. “The inhabitant shall no more say, I am sick.” “Oh for the no more weeping!” It will come to us before long, for it has come to Jesus. “The Lord God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.” We shall soon have no cause for sorrow, and no possibility of grief; for as he is, such shall we be; and as he is perfectly blessed, we shall be beatified in him. “Jesus wept”; but his weeping is all over. “Jesus wept”; but his sorrow is now a thing of the past, and so shall ours be ere long.

Fifthly, and lastly, “Jesus wept”: in this he is our example. We should weep, for Jesus wept. Jesus wept for others. I know not that he ever wept for himself. His were sympathetic tears. He embodied that command, “Weep with them that weep.” He has a narrow soul who can hold it all within the compass of his ribs. A true soul, a Christly soul, lives in other men’s souls and bodies as well as in its own. A perfectly Christly soul finds all the world too narrow for its abode, for it lives and loves; it lives by loving, and loves because it lives. Think of other weepers, and have pity upon the children of grief. To-day I want to touch your heart-strings, and move you to pity the pains, the agonies, of the many now lying within the wards of our hospitals, and the even greater miseries of those who pine for want of medicine and care, because they cannot get into the hospitals, but have to wear themselves out in hopeless disease. How must those suffer who have bad nursing and little food, and in the winter are pinched with cold! You and I may never suffer as they do, but at least let us grieve on their account, and stand ready to succour them to the best of our ability.

In another matter our Lord is our example; learn from him that our indignation against evil will best show itself in compassion for sinners. Ah, my dear friend! I heard you declaiming tremendously against drunkenness. I am glad to hear you: you cannot say anything too hard or too heavy about that degrading vice; but, I pray you, wind up your denunciation with weeping over the poor drunkard. I heard you speak, my other friend, on behalf of the League of Purity, and you smote the monsters of lasciviousness with all your force. I wish more strength to your arm! But when you have done, sit down and weep, that such filthiness should defile men and women, who are your fellow-creatures. Appeal to Parliament, if you wish, for the putting down of vice; but Parliament itself first needs correcting and purifying. A flood of tears before the thrice Holy God will do far more than the hugest rolls of petition to our senators. “Jesus wept”; and his tears were mighty weapons against sin and death. You feel indignant at the lazy, idle, loafing vagabonds whose very illness is produced by their own vice: I cannot condemn your virtuous wrath. But if you would in all things imitate Jesus, please note that it is not written that Jesus thundered, but that “Jesus wept.” Let indignation have pity mixed with it. I like not lightning without rain, nor indignation without tears. I know what you will say about the lack of thrift among the poor, about the absence of sobriety, the want of industry, and so forth. Admit all this sorrowfully; chide it tenderly; and then weep. You will do more good to the offenders, and more good to yourself, and more good to the best of causes, if pity moistens all. You may, if you will, beat the terrible drum, and sound the wartrumpet; but the noise will rather deafen than soften. The voice of your weeping will be heard deep down in the soul, and work more wonders than thunders of denunciation.

Lastly, when you have wept, imitate your Saviour-do something! If the chapter before us had finished with “Jesus wept,” it would have been a poor one. Suppose, after they had come to the grave, we had read “Jesus wept, and went about his daily business,” I should have felt small comfort in the passage. If nothing had come of it but tears, it would have been a great falling off from the usual ways of our blessed Lord. Tears! what are they alone? Salt water. A cup of them would be of little worth to anybody. But, beloved, “Jesus wept,” and then he commanded, “Roll away the stone.” He cried, “Lazarus, come forth”! When Lazarus struggled out of the tomb, Jesus said, “Loose him, and let him go.” Some of you are full of pity for the sick; but I hope we shall not end in mere sentiment. Do not let us say, “We were moved to sympathize with the sick, but we gave an awfully bad collection!” I should be ashamed to think of this morning’s meditation if it ended so. No, no; if you cannot raise the dead, give something towards rolling away the stone which shuts the poor out of the hospital; if you cannot restore them to health, at least do something towards removing their maladies. Loose them from this crowded city, and send them into the country to a Convalescent Home. Brethren, we can thus practically prove the truth of our sympathy; therefore, pass the boxes round!

Portions of Scripture read before Sermon-John 11:17-46; Hebrews 2:6-18.

Hymns from “Our Own Hymn Book”-912, 265, 327.