I cannot say anything that is new upon this text. I have not even the desire to do so; but if I can remind you of old and precious truths, and also put you in remembrance of sweet experiences which are past, this will not be an unprofitable topic for our meditation.

I like to recall the fact that this Psalm was written by David, probably when he was a king. He had been a shepherd, and he was not ashamed of his former occupation. When he had to wear a crown, he remembered the time when he had handled the shepherd’s crook, and, as a lad, with his sling and stone, had kept watch over his father’s sheep in the wilderness. Some persons are too proud to remember their early employments, though such pride is both their folly and their shame. Many persons would not like, in their public devotions, to make use of expressions which would have any reference to their secular calling; but it seems to be perfectly natural, in David’s case, to hear him say, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” for he had himself been a shepherd, and knew just what the word implied.

By the gracious help of the Holy Spirit, let us see what we can get out of the metaphor used in our text. We must, of course, remind ourselves that we are not in the country where these words were written; we must, in thought, go to the East in order to get the full meaning of them. It is a great mercy that the Bible was not written according to the fashion of the West, for every-thing has changed in our part of the world. If this Book had been written, for instance, in the style of the earliest literature known in England, probably we should not have fully understood it, and other nations would have been altogether puzzled by it. But, in the East, there has been little or no change for centuries. Oriental manners and customs are almost the same to-day as they were in the days of David; so that, if we could go to Palestine at the present moment, we might find just such a shepherd as David was; and, in examining his habits and actions, we should learn the meaning of the metaphor that David used when he said, “The Lord is my Shepherd.”

We shall notice three things about the text; first, this sentence, if it be true to us, guarantees us certain privileges; secondly, it involves us in duties; and, thirdly, it suggests to us enquiries.

First, if this sentence is indeed true of each one of us, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” then this guarantees us certain privileges.

And first, the Eastern shepherd was the guide of his flock. The sheep never thought of going before him; it would have been an anomaly in nature for the sheep to go first, and for the shepherd to follow. They had no need whatever to know the way across the trackless desert; it was enough for them that the shepherd knew it. They need not know where the green pastures still remained throughout the droughts of summer, or where there were quiet resting-places where they might lie down at noon. It was sufficient for the sheep that the shepherd knew, and all that they had to do was patiently to follow where he led the way. David had no doubt often gone on in front of his flock thinking with an anxious heart of the place where he should lead them; and as he looked back at them, he could see that they were patiently following him, with no distraction to trouble their poor brains, and no vexations to worry their quiet minds;-happy that they were provided for, they grazed as they went along the way, not knowing, and not wanting to know, whither they were going, but quite content because their shepherd led the way.

Transfer this thought, Christian brother or sister, to yourself, and see how the Lord is your Guide. Look at the past, and note how he has guided you. How very little you and I have had to do with it after all! We have struggled; we have fretted; we have repined; we have fumed against the working of providence; but, after all, I do not know that we have had much more to do with it than the sheep in the stream has had to do with the way in which it has floated to the other side. There is far more of the hand of God in our life than there is of our own hand, if our life is what it ought to be. Think of our childhood, of the home where our lot was cast, of our youth, of the place where we were bound as apprentices, or where we first learned the rudiments of our various callings. And since then, what strange paths some of us have trodden! If we had been told, years ago, that we should be found here to-day, in the circumstances in which we are now found, we could not have believed it. There have been times, in our past history, when it has seemed as if a single straw might decide our destiny. We were at the cross-roads; and the left-hand road might have led us into endless sins and sorrows, but we were guided in the opposite direction, and so we were made to walk beside the still waters, and to lie down in green pastures. There have been many times when only a word was wanted, nay, when a weight no heavier than a feather from the wing of a butterfly was all that was needed to turn the scale against us, and to send us into quite a different orbit from that in which we now move. We can truly say that we have been divinely led until now; and although the journey has been like that of the children of Israel in the wilderness,-in and out, backwards and forwards, progressing and then retrograding, and often standing still,-yet the Lord has led us by a right way up to this present moment, and we can truthfully say,-

“Still have we found that promise good

Which Jesus ratified with blood;

Still is he faithful, wise, and just,

And still in him let Israel trust.”

It is easy to say that the Lord has been our Shepherd in the past, it may not be so easy to say that he is our Shepherd in the present, and will be our Shepherd in the future. Yet we have nothing to do with the future except to follow in the path of humble trust in the Lord, and of obedience to his Word. It is not for me to sit down, and make a plan of all I mean to do next week, or next month, and so on through all my life. I have no right to forestall my troubles, or to begin to calculate my future wants. I am bound to live in simple dependence upon God, who sends just enough manna for each day, but no more. If I am in any dilemma, if I am in any difficulty, if I do not know which way I should take, had I not better go and tell my Heavenly Father so, and ask him to direct me? I must remember that I am not my own shepherd, and that I am not to guide myself any more than the sheep is to guide itself; but that I am to look to my great Shepherd, to watch for indications of his will, and to receive those indications either from his Word, or from his providential dealings with me, or from the operations of his gracious Spirit within my heart; and then that I am to follow where God leads me, having nothing to do with the making of the road, but only following the Lord my Shepherd wherever he leads me.

Dear brethren and sisters in Christ, I wish we recollected this truth more than we do; I mean, in all things. For instance, in the matter of doctrinal opinions, some people have a certain minister as their shepherd; you know that there are certain people who will not go an inch beyond the point to which Mr. A-- leads them. Then Mr. B-- is the prophet of somebody else, Mr. C-- is the very pope of another, and Mr. D-- is the perfection of doctrine to a fourth; and beyond these earthly leaders none of them will go. Let us, however, all follow the Lord as our Shepherd. I am to make my appeal to this blessed Book, and to ask his gracious Spirit to teach me what is here revealed; and when his Spirit has taught it to me, I am to let that be sufficient, and to believe it. Even if I am the only person who so believes it, that shall make no difference to me. If God has guided me, I must follow.

So is it with regard to all the various stages of our life. The young Christian ought to seek God’s guidance in the important matter of marriage; and the young tradesman should seek divine guidance as to where he shall set up his business, or commence his daily labour. In emigrating to another land, in removing from one house to another, in every step of life, we act wisely when we say, “O Lord, let everything be as thou wilt; we bring hither the ephod that we may enquire what is thy will even as they did of old.” There ought to be a distinct recognition, on our part, that we desire that God should guide us; and we should constantly come to him to consult with him; for, if we do not, we shall be constantly making mistakes, and getting into confusion; and, then, who but ourselves shall bear the blame, in that we went before the fiery-cloudy pillar, chose our own path, and so fell into the ditch? One of the Puritans said, “He who carves for himself will cut his fingers, and get an empty plate;” and it is so in the order of God’s providence. And another said, “He who runs before the cloud goes on a fool’s errand, and will have to come back again;” and so it shall be. The sheep before the Shepherd is out of place and out of order; but the sheep behind the Shepherd, quietly, patiently, and humbly following him, is both according to the order of nature and the order of grace. Let us, then, as the Lord’s sheep, learn to take that position henceforth, and not attempt to usurp the prerogative of our great Shepherd.

Another great privilege which naturally comes to us through this relationship is that we have provision for our wants. An Eastern shepherd of course provides for his flock as far as he can. This may not be a very difficult matter in England; but it is exceedingly difficult in countries where fodder is not so readily obtainable as it is here. In the summer droughts, the shepherd will have to go on foraging afar; and when those droughts have continued a long while, there will be only a few places, by the margins of the deep rivers, where grass can still be found. Then the prudent shepherd, as soon as he finds that the winter is coming on, will seek to shelter his flock in those secluded pastures which still remain green; and then, as the spring returns again, he conducts them to the spot where the young grass is waiting for them. He has to be thoughtful ever, and they have to be thoughtful never, at least with regard to their daily provender. He thinks of autumn while it is still springtime, and he has his eye upon the winter even in the midst of the summer. As for the sheep, it is enough for them if they lie down in the grass that is nearest to them, or walk gently by the still waters just where they are.

Now certainly, beloved brethren and sisters in Christ, as the Eastern shepherd thus provides for his sheep, so will God provide for us. We have a double set of wants, yet we shall find that God is as all-sufficient for us as he would be if we had a sevenfold set of wants. I say that we have a double set of wants. There are, first, our bodily wants, and these are many, and they are constantly recurring. I am not quite certain that, to have a sure provision for this life, is the most excellent thing for our spirituality. It is, of course, the most comfortable thing, and, in many respects, the most desirable, and gives the most opportunities for usefulness; but I am not sure whether fulness of bread is not always a very great temptation. Certainly, if I have wanted to find deep, robust, vigorous piety, I must confess-though I have no preference for one class over another,-that I have usually found it amongst those who have had to live from hand to mouth, and to struggle hard for their daily bread; for this experience brings men and women into real and palpable contact with the God of providence; and, as I appeal to these children of poverty, and ask them whether God supplies their needs, they take out their little diaries; or, if they do not carry them in their pockets, they carry them in their hearts, and they begin to tell of instance after instance in which the God of Abraham has revealed himself to them as Jehovah-Jireh; and, as they look forward to the future, they confidently cry, “The Lord will provide.” Sometimes, such a promise as this, “Bread shall be given him, his waters shall be sure,” is very sweet to me; but when I have heard it from the lips of some poor bed-ridden old woman, who has long been depending upon the charity of others, and she has told me of remarkable interpositions of the Lord’s hand in her times of need, then the promise has seemed to glisten and glitter with unusual and extraordinary radiance. Are not some of you, dear friends, sometimes in such a plight that you have to say, in the morning, “Where shall I get bread for this evening’s meal?” This must be a choice text for you, “The Lord is my Shepherd.” Remember that ancient promise, “Trust in the Lord, and do good; so shalt thou dwell in the land, and verily thou shalt be fed.”

Our greater want, however, is our spiritual want, and there are often moanings among God’s people because they are not spiritually fed as they ought to be. It is the crying sin of some ministries that they are not feeding ministries; if I am to believe what I am told, by many of God’s people, they do not find the service of the sanctuary to be satisfactory to their souls. Brethren, if we profess to preach the gospel, and this is the case with us, it is a grievous fault on our part, and we must mend our manners in this respect; but far oftener, I think, the Lord’s people are not fed because of their own folly. They look up to the pulpit, but they do not see much there; if they looked up to the hills, whence cometh their help, they would never be disappointed. When we look to the pastor, and not to the Master, the Master says, “They are looking to the wrong person, so they shall get nothing;” but when we look to the Master, he often supplies our needs through the pastor. Let us esteem the divinely-chosen channel as far as we should; but let us never forget that it is the fountain that yields the supply. Though you may be tempted to say, when such-and-such a man is taken home, “I shall never be able to enjoy any other ministry as I have enjoyed that man’s,” you must check yourself, and say, “It is the same living truth that survives, it is the same God who still lives, whoever else may die.” “The grass withereth, and the flower thereof falleth away: but the Word of the Lord endureth for ever. And this is the Word which by the gospel is preached unto you;” and therefore you shall still be fed, for the Lord is your Shepherd.

He, who can truly say, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” may make sure of a third blessing, namely, that of constant keeping and safe protection. How many are our enemies! Brethren and sisters, we are exposed to attack on all sides. “Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall.” A cold shiver has often gone through me when I have witnessed or heard of the falls of some whom I have honoured and respected, and of whom I would have said that it was more likely that the stars would fall from their orbits than that these people should fall from their integrity. But, alas! the best of men are but men at the best; and some brightly shining objects in the Church’s sky have proved to be only meteors, “wandering stars, to whom is reserved the blackness of darkness for ever.” It is pitiable, and it is also humbling, and it should lead to great heart-searching, and make each one of us ask, “Shall I forsake him too?” And why should you not do so? What is there in you, dear friend, more than there is in any other professor, why you should not prove an apostate after all? What is there about me that I should stand where so many others have fallen? There is nothing to hold me up if I am left to myself; but if, confessing my liability to fall, confessing my liability to be seized by the lion, and the bear, and the wolf, I can still say, “The Lord is my Shepherd,” I am safe! The sheep is not safe because it says, “I am stronger than the lion;” or, “I am able to escape from the bear;” or, “I shall always be able to avoid the wolf.” Silly sheep, what canst thou do to protect thyself from thy foes. Yet the sheep might feel safe enough if it knew that David was near, to snatch it out of the jaws of the lion, or to rescue it from the paws of the bear; and, beloved, we know that our Shepherd will never let any of his sheep perish. He has owned us too long, and bought us too dearly, and loved us too well ever to let us go. You remember that he said to his disciples, even concerning the children who believed in him, “It is not the will of your Father which is in heaven that one of these little ones should perish.” He also said, “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me; and I give unto them eternal life; and they shall never perish, neither shall any (man or devil) pluck them out of my hand.”

So, if you are the Lord’s sheep, you shall be protected, provided for, and guided till you reach the upper fold on the hill-top of glory.

You all know that the meaning of the text has not been even half brought out by these three thoughts, for, to shepherdize, to pastorize, to exercise the pastoral office, is a very great and important work. The work of a true shepherd is not restricted to guiding, supplying, and protecting the sheep; there are a thousand other things that he has to do. I think I have heard that there is no animal (except a man,) that has so many forms of sickness as a sheep has. It may be afflicted in any part of its body, from its feet up to its head. There is not a single portion of a sheep but seems to be subject either to internal or to external ailments; it almost always seems to need doctoring. A shepherd requires to be to his flock all that a father is to his family, only that he has fifty families instead of one. At certain seasons, he must be up all night looking after the lambs, and yet be all day watching over the sheep. Then, in addition to their sicknesses, sheep have a great number of follies. If there is a hole in the hedge, they are sure to find it out, and press through it. If there is the richest clover in the field, and nothing but dry sand outside, they will get through the hedge; and if but one leads the way, all the rest will follow it in its folly. If one should leap over the parapet of a bridge into a river, they would all follow, even though they should all be drowned. They are prone to wander, and ready for all sorts of mischief, but they never assist the shepherd in the slightest degree. In this respect, we are just like the silly sheep, yet our good Shepherd supplies all the needs, pities all the infirmities, and pardons all the wanderings of his poor wayward flock; we may indeed say that, like as a shepherd pitieth his flock, and careth for them, so our Heavenly Father pitieth them that fear him, and lovingly tendeth them day and night with constant care. Just as Jacob told Laban that, in the day the drought consumed him, and the frost by night, so that his sleep departed from his eyes, Christ can say that he watches over his bloodbought flock, and keeps every one of the sheep with unwearying care.

Now, brethren and sisters, I feel as if I could not say any more about these privileges of the Lord’s sheep, but as if I wanted to stop and sing about them. What music there is here,-“The Lord is my Shepherd.” That little word “is” puts the whole matter beyond all question. “The Lord is my Shepherd;” then I shall be safely guided right up to the hill-top of heaven, I shall always be amply provided for; my fortune is made, and I shall be no loser come what may; my bank is good, and its wealth can never be diminished; while, as to all other matters, protection from my foes, or whatever else I shall need between here and heaven, all is secured to me because Jehovah is my Shepherd.

Now, in the second place, I must speak more briefly upon the duties which are involved in this relationship.

As a shepherd has duties appertaining to his office, so also have the sheep. The first duty of a sheep-that which naturally comes to a sheep,-is confidence in the shepherd. When I have heard people talk of silly sheep, I have often wondered whether, if the sheep could speak, they might not talk of more silly men; for, of all the foolish things that a sheep never did, surely this is one;-as it was in the meadow, eating the grass, it never did stop all of a sudden, and say to itself, “I do not know what will become of me in the winter! There will be deep snow on the ground, and I shall not be able to get at the grass; I cannot really see how I shall be provided for!” I never heard, even in a fable, of a sheep’s woolly head being disturbed in that fashion; it has a shepherd to provide for it, and it relies upon him to provide for all its needs. Yet you and I, dear friends, sometimes do this silly thing, which a sheep would not do; we say, “We cannot imagine what we shall do if we are ever in such-and-such circumstances!” Probably, we never shall be in such circumstances, yet, we keep on supposing what we shall do if that is our lot. Some persons have a little factory in their house for making trouble. When God does not send them any, they make some for themselves; and I have heard that home-made troubles are just like home-made clothes,-they never fit properly, and they always last longer than any others. The trouble that I make for myself is sure to be a far greater trouble than any that God sends me. You smiled at what I said just now; but it is a fact that many Christians, who might be happy, and who ought to sing all day long, begin forestalling to-morrow’s sorrow; and, as God will not give them to-morrow’s strength until to-morrow comes, they find their imaginary burden too heavy for their back to bear. You know how the brave little band of warriors fought at Thermopylæ. Bravery alone would have been of small service to them, so they took their stand in a narrow pass, where their foes could only advance one at a time; and, consequently, Leonidas and his brave followers, though very weary, could hold the pass against the Persian host. Now, beloved, you are at the narrow pass of “to-day.” Therefore, meet your troubles one by one; and, as they come, God’s grace will make you more than equal to them, and enable you to overcome them; but when you get into the broad field of months and years, and begin to think of a month’s troubles, and a year’s trials, you will fear that you will never be able to conquer them. Get into your proper place, and stand there like a sentinel who is willing, if necessary, to die at his post.

Our first duty, then, as the Lord’s sheep, is confidence in our Shepherd; and, next, we must love our Shepherd. Dr. Thomson, in his admirable work, “The Land and the Book,” tells us that, in the East, there often springs up an intimate affection between the shepherd and his sheep. There are some sheep which will keep at a distance from the shepherd; if he sits down at one end of a field, they are pretty sure to be at the other end; but there are others which keep closer to him, and there are some which are so fond of the shepherd that you never see him without also seeing them close by his side. If he stops, they stop; if he moves, they move. They love the pasture, but they love the shepherd better still. Dr. Thomson tells us that these sheep are generally the fattest of the flock because the shepherd is sure to give them the best of the food. They love him, and he loves them; he loves all the sheep, but he loves these with a very special kind of love; and, beloved, if we loved Christ more, we should have more true happiness, more real spiritual enjoyment. I am afraid that some of us, who do love our Lord, are like Peter when he followed Christ afar off. We should be far happier if we could take John’s position, and lean our heads upon Christ’s bosom. There is an election inside the election of grace. You know that Christ had many disciples, but that out of them he chose twelve to be his apostles; out of those twelve apostles, he chose three favourites, Peter, James, and John, and out of that select band of three, he chose one who was called “that disciple whom Jesus loved.” They were all the sheep of the good Shepherd, and all of us who believe in Jesus are God’s children, but there are some who seem to be more dutiful and more obedient children than others are, and who walk in closer communion with their Lord, and these have the best of the Christian life, and the highest degree of spiritual enjoyment. I hope that you and I, who call Christ our Shepherd, do love him much, and feel that the love of Christ constraineth us to yield to him our heart’s deepest affection.

Another duty of the sheep is that of following the shepherd. It is a fractious, wandering, troublesome sheep that is always wanting to have its own way, and to go where it pleases. It is true that the shepherd still loves the wandering sheep, and that he seeks it until he finds it; but there is another thing that he does which the parables do not tell us; and that is, he punishes the wandering sheep. When the shepherd finds his wandering sheep, he rejoices over it, but he takes care that the sheep shall not rejoice, and he makes it sorrow for having wandered from him. We are told, by those who have watched Syrian sheep, that they are often lame. A shepherd, who was asked by a gentleman what made a certain sheep lame, replied, “I lamed that sheep; I did it on purpose.” “Why did you do that?” asked the gentleman; and the shepherd answered, “It was always wandering, and I could not afford the time to go after it, so I lamed it, and it cannot wander away now.” Sometimes, when the sheep have been wandering, they get such a stroke from the shepherd’s crook that you would think it would break their backs. Certainly, this is what you and I will get if we are Christ’s sheep, and yet persist in wandering. Like the Eastern shepherd does, he will lame us because he will not lose us. He will even beat us because he loves us. Whether obedient children will escape the rod, or not, it is certain that those who are disobedient shall be made to smart for it as surely as their Father loves them.

There is one other thing that ought to be true of me if the Lord is my Shepherd, and that is, I ought to recognize his rights over me, and his property in me. The Eastern shepherd is usually the owner of his sheep. He may sell it, or kill it, or do what he likes with it; and no one can dispute his right to do so. And a genuine Christian feels that Christ has an absolute right in him. Whether he is to live or to die, to sorrow or to rejoice, should be no matter of choice to a Christian; he should feel that whatever is his Master’s will is also his will. The seal of an American Missionary Society is an ox standing between an altar and a plough, with the motto, “Ready for either,”-ready to work in God’s field yoked to the plough, or ready to fall beneath God’s sacrificial axe, and to smoke upon God’s altar,-ready, with Paul, to be offered up when the time of our departure is at hand. We have not a true idea of the rights of God over us, or even of our own condition before him unless we feel that we are the sheep of his pasture, and that he may do with us exactly as he wills.

Now I want, just for a few minutes, to speak upon the third point, which is this,-the text suggests a great many enquiries.

We must not flippantly talk as if all the promises in Scripture belonged to all of us; for, my dear friend, it may be that the Lord is not your Shepherd; and if that is the case, the sheep’s portion is not yours. We ought to be very careful not to put God’s promises into the hands of those to whom they do not belong. The other day, I saw a little tract bearing this title, “It is certain that God loves you;” and I burned it, for I was afraid that somebody, who had no right to it, might see it, and believe that it was true. I do not believe that God loves every individual who might pick that tract up in the sense in which such an, individual would understand the expression. I know that God loves, in a certain sense, all the creatures that he has made; but such love as that gives me no comfort so long as I am an unreconciled sinner under condemnation because I have not believed in God’s dear Son. I dare not say to every one of you, “The Lord is your Shepherd;” for I do not think that all of you are his sheep. I cannot help fearing that there are some here who have no part nor lot in this matter, for they are still “in the gall of bitterness, and in the bonds of iniquity.”

I am going to put a few questions to you, or to point out some of the characteristics of one who can say, “The Lord is my Shepherd.” If I am the Lord’s sheep, I shall have something of the of sheep’s disposition. I shall perceive that his Spirit has wrought in me at any rate some divine gentleness. I know some professors who seem to me to be more like wolves than sheep. They snap their jaws like wolves do, and their very speech seems to be like a wolf’s howl. They dislike this, and they hate that, and they cannot endure the other; in fact, nothing pleases them. A sheep has its likes and its dislikes, but it does not snarl, and snap, and howl, and growl; it is the wolf that does that, but the sheep is of a gentler disposition. A man, who cannot bear an insult, is surely not a Christian man. A man, who always revenges an injury done to him, surely is not a Christian; that is, one who is like Christ, “who, when he was reviled, reviled not again; when he suffered, he threatened not.” He could truly say, “I gave my back to the smiters, and my cheeks to them that plucked off the hair: I hid not my face from shame and spitting.” The giving up of what is our right, the giving up of what we may fairly claim as our own, is the very mark of Christ’s sheep.

Again, sheep are known by being gregarious in their habits; they always like to be in flocks; and “we know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.” Many a time have I blessed the Holy Spirit for having inspired John to write that verse; and it is quite possible that some of you, dear friends, when you could not find any other evidence of grace, have been glad of such a mouse-hole as this into which your poor, tried, timid soul might creep and hide: “We know that we have passed from death unto life, because we love the brethren.” A genuine love to the true children of God is a sure sign that we are Christ’s sheep, just as the fact that the sheep flock together helps to prove that they are sheep. May we have more of this love to all our brethren and sisters in Christ;-not merely a love to some saints because they happen to be our own relations, or because they belong to our denomination, or because they agree precisely with us in sentiments;-but a love to all the saints, as saints, for Christ’s sake;-ay, a love even to the bad-tempered ones, the irritating ones, the unsaint like “saints.” It is very hard work to love some of these “saints.” I have often said that I know some good people with whom I would sooner live in heaven for ever than live for half an hour on earth, for they always seem to look at things at so curious an angle that I cannot possibly agree with them. Yet I must love them for Christ’s sake; for, if I do not love them, I must question whether I really am myself one of Chrst’s sheep.

Another evidence of being a sheep is that they are very particular in their feeding. A wolf can eat what the sheep would not touch, for the sheep must have nothing but that which is sweet and clean to feed upon. We have heard of some professors who can enjoy very questionable food. Mr. Rowland Hill had a man in his church who used to go to theatres; and when Mr. Hill questioned him as to how he could make a Christian profession, and yet frequent such places, he said, “Well, you see, Mr. Hill, I do not often go there; I only go occasionally just for a treat.” “Ah!” said the good minister, “then you are worse than I thought you were;” and then he used this illustration. “Suppose somebody should spread a report that Mr. Hill was accustomed to eat carrion; well, it would be a horrible story, but suppose I should say, ‘Oh, no! I do not eat carrion every day as a common article of diet; I only have a little now and then for a treat;’ people would say, and say truly, ‘What a filthy taste he must have! What a horrible appetite to call that a treat which is so foul!’ So, my friend, when, you say that you do not go into evil company, except sometimes for a treat, that proves which way the wind blows in your soul, and proves the direction in which your heart is set. It proves that you really love sin, or you would not roll it as a choice morsel under your tongue.” Oh, that God would teach us, by his grace, to estimate the true value of our actions, not by their outward appearance, but by the desire of our heart that prompts us to them; for, if we are kept back from sin merely by motives of respectability, or because our fellows are looking upon us, we are as guilty before God as if we had actually committed the sin, because our heart still goeth after its filthy idols.

We may also judge whether we are Christ’s sheep by one or two texts which Christ himself has given us. I quoted to you, just now, our Lord’s own words, “My sheep hear my voice.” Did you ever hear Christ’s voice? I did not ask whether you ever heard your minister’s voice; but whether you ever heard Christ’s voice. Did he himself ever speak to you so that you recognized that it was Christ’s voice that you heard? Beside that hearing of their Saviour’s voice, Christ’s sheep have a wonderful discriminating power by which they recognize him. I heard a gentleman, who had travelled in the East, say that he thought the sheep must know their shepherd because of the clothes which he wore, so he put on a shepherd’s garments, and went up to some sheep, but not one of the sheep mistook him for their shepherd. Then he called one of the sheep by its proper name, but it took no notice of him, and that reminded him of our Saviour’s declaration, “A stranger will they not follow, but will flee from him: for they know not the voice of strangers.” The sheep have such a keen ear that they can detect the tones of their own shepherd’s voice, and can distinguish it from all others.

So is it with Christ’s sheep; they are not deceived by the voice of strangers, though others are deceived. I venture to prophesy that, within ten years from this date, the whole of this country will be permeated by Popery. The advance that Romanism has made, during the last ten years, is so terrible that, if it continues to increase at only half that rate, my prophecy will prove to be a true one. The very name of Protestantism will die out unless God sends us a revival of Evangelical religion; for the fashion of the age is so set towards that which is gaudy, and sensuous, and sensational, and the whole trend of ecclesiasticism is so directly towards ceremonialism, that, if we, who love the old faith, do not bestir ourselves, we and our fellow-countrymen will plunge into the Stygian bog of Popish superstition. Some of you will hardly believe what I am saying; but if you will only turn your mind’s eye in the direction to which I am pointing, you will see that the advance of Romanism and Ritualism in this land is quite extraordinary. The only people, who will not be swept away by this tidal wave of ceremonialism, are those who have heard the voice of Christ, and so have the first mark of his sheep. If you have ever been justified by faith in Jesus, you will not be cajoled by a so-called “priest.” If you have ever spiritually eaten the flesh of Christ, you will never degrade your Christian manhood by munching the man-made wafer-god. If you have ever really known Jesus Christ as your Saviour, what will you care for the so-called “sacrifice of the mass”? You will know that it is only a Satanic invention to delude souls. If you have ever been regenerated by the Holy Ghost, the fiction of “baptismal regeneration” will be an abomination to you. If you have ever been vitally united to Christ, the living Vine, all the false and foolish talk about being saved by the power of sacramental efficacy will be as a stench in your nostrils which you cannot endure. So I come back to the question I asked just now,-Have you heard the voice of Christ? Do you know the meaning of the whispering of his Spirit? Have you passed from death unto life? Have you been transformed from a wolf into a sheep? Have you been translated out of the kingdom of darkness into the kingdom of God’s dear Son? If so, relying upon the Lord Jesus Christ, whose precious blood has redeemed every one of his chosen flock, you can say, “The Lord is my Shepherd.” But if not, and you continue to follow your own devices, they will lead you to destruction. God grant that this may not be the lot of any one of us, but may we all come, with childlike confidence, and put our trust in Jesus Christ, the Son of God, the one and only Saviour of sinners, and then shall each one of us be able to say, with David, “The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.”

May God bless each one of you, for Jesus Christ’s sake! Amen.

GADDING ABOUT

A Sermon

Published on Thursday, September 27th, 1906, delivered by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington.

“Why gaddest thou about to much so change thy way?”-Jeremiah 2:36.

God’s ancient people were very prone to forget him, and to worship the false deities of the neighbouring heathen. Other nations were faithful to their blocks of wood and of stone, and adhered as closely to their graven images as though they really had helped them, or could in future deliver them. Only the nation which avowed its belief in the true God forsook its God, and left the fountain of living waters to hew out for itself broken cisterns which could hold no water.

There seems to have been, speaking after the manner of men, astonishment in the divine mind concerning this, for the Lord says, in verses 10 and 11 of this chapter, “Pass over the isles of Chittim, and see; and send unto Kedar, and consider diligently, and see if there be such a thing. Hath a nation changed their gods, which are yet no gods? but my people have changed their glory for that which doth not profit. Be astonished, O ye heavens, at this, and be horribly afraid, be ye very desolate.” In the 32nd verse of this same chapter, the Lord addresses his people thus, “Can a maid forget her ornaments, or a bride her attire? yet my people have forgotten me days without number.” And here, in our text, the same astonishment appears, “Why gaddest thou about so much to change thy way?” It certainly was a most unreasonable thing that a people with such a God, who had dealt out to them so graciously the riches of his love, and had wrought such wonders on their behalf, should turn from him to the worship of Baal or Ashtaroth, mimic gods which had ears but heard not, eyes but saw not, and did but mock the worshippers who were deluded by them.

As in a glass, I see myself in these people. The spiritual people of God are well imaged in the typical nation; for, alas! waywardness and wandering of heart are the diseases, not only of the Israelites of old, but also of the true Israel now. The same expostulations may be addressed to us as to that erring nation of old, for we as perpetually backslide, and as constantly forget the almighty One, and put our trust in an arm of flesh. He saith to us also, “Why gaddest thou about so much?” For we are, alas! too often false to him, forgetting him, and wandering hither and thither, rather than abiding in close and constant fellowship with God our exceeding joy.

I desire to put this question first to believers, and then to the unconverted. May the Holy Spirit bless it to each class!

If you read this question, taking it in its connection, you will see, in the first place, that there is a relationship mentioned. The question is asked, “Why gaddest thou about so much?”

The enquiry is not made of a traveller, nor of one whose business it is to journey from pole to pole, and to investigate distant lands. It is not asked of a wayfarer lodging for a night, nor of a homeless vagrant who finds a poor shelter beneath every bush; but it is asked by God of his people Israel, describing them under the character of a married wife. He represents the nation of Israel as being married unto him, himself the Husband of Israel, and Israel his bride. To persons bearing that character, the question comes with great force, “Why gaddest thou about so much?” Let others wander who have no central object of attraction, who have no house and no “house-band” to bind them to the spot; but thou, a married wife, how canst thou wander? What hast thou to do in traversing strange ways? How canst thou excuse thyself? If thou wert not false to thy relationship, thou couldst not do so! No, beloved, we strain no metaphor when we say that there exists, between the soul of every believer and Jesus Christ, a relationship admirably imaged in the conjugal tie. We are married unto Christ. He has betrothed our souls unto himself. He paid our dowry on the cross. He espoused himself unto us in righteousness, in the covenant of grace. We have accepted him as our Lord and Husband. We have given ourselves up to him, and under the sweet law of his love we ought to dwell evermore in his house. He is the Bridegroom of our souls, and he has arrayed us in the wedding dress of his own righteousness. Now it is to us who own this marriage union, and who are allied to the Lord Jesus by ties so tender, that the Well-beloved says, “Why gaddest thou about so much?”

Observe, that the wife’s place may be described as a threefold one. In the first place, she should abide in dependence upon her husband’s care. It would be looked upon as a very strange thing if a wife should be overheard to speak to another man, and say, “Come and assist in providing for me.” If she should cross the street to another’s house, and say to a stranger, “I have a difficulty and a trouble; will you relieve me from it? I feel myself in great need; but I shall not ask my husband to help me, though he is rich enough to give me anything I require, and wise enough to direct me; but I come to you, a stranger, in whom I have no right to confide, and from whom I have no right to look for love, and I trust myself with you, and confide in you rather than in my husband.” This would be a very wicked violation of the chastity of the wife’s heart: her dependence, as a married woman with a worthy husband, must be solely fixed on him to whom she is bound in wedlock.

Transfer the figure, for it is even so with us and the Lord Jesus. It is a tender topic; let it tenderly touch your heart and mine. What right have I, when I am in trouble, to seek an arm of flesh to lean upon, or to pour my grief into an earthborn ear in preference to casting my care on God, and telling Jesus all my sorrows? If a human friend hath the best intentions, yet he is not like my Lord, he never died for me, he never shed his blood for me; and even if he loves me, he cannot love me as the Husband of my soul loves me. My Lord’s love is ancient as eternity, deeper than the sea, firmer than the hills, changeless as his own Deity; how can I seek another friend in preference to him? What a slight I put upon the affection of my Saviour! What a slur upon his condescending sympathy towards me! How I impugn his generosity and mistrust his power if, in my hour of need, I cry out, “Alas! I have no friend.” No friend while Jesus lives! Dare I say I have no helper? No helper while the almighty One, upon whom God has laid help, still exists with arm unparalyzed and heart unchanged? Can I murmur and lament that there is no escape for me from my tribulations? No escape while my almighty Saviour lives, and feels my every grief?

Do you see my point? Put it in that shape, and the question, “Why gaddest thou about so much to look after creatures as grounds of dependence?” becomes a very deep and searching one. Why, O believer, dost thou look after things which are seen, and heard, and handled, and recognized by the senses, instead of trusting in thine unseen but not unknown Redeemer? Oh! why, why, thou spouse of the Lord Jesus, why gaddest thou about so much?

Have we not even fallen into this evil with regard to our own salvation? After a time of spiritual enjoyment it sometimes happens that our graces decline, and we lose our joy; and as we are very apt to depend upon our own experience, our faith also droops. Is not this unfaithfulness to the finished work and perfect merit of our great Substitute? We knew, at the first, when we were under conviction of sin, that we could not rest on anything within ourselves; yet that truth is always slipping away from our memories, and we try to build upon past experiences, or to rely upon present enjoyments, or some form or other of personal attainment. Do we really wish to exchange the sure rock of our salvation for the unstable sand of our own feelings? Can it be that, having once walked by faith, we now choose to walk by sight? Are graces, and frames, and feelings, and enjoyments, to be preferred to the tried foundation of the Redeemer’s atonement? Be it remembered that even the work of the Holy Spirit, if it be depended upon as a ground of acceptance with God, becomes as much an antichrist as though it were not the work of the Holy Spirit at all. Dare we so blaspheme the Holy Ghost as to make his work in us a rival to the Saviour’s work for us? Shame on us that we should thus doubly sin! The best things are michievous when put in the wrong place. Good works have “necessary uses”, but they must not be joined to the work of Christ as the groundwork of our hope. Even precious gold may be made into an idol-calf; and that which the Lord himself bestows may be made to be a polluted thing, like that brazen serpent which once availed to heal, but when it was idolized, came to be styled by no better name than “a piece of brass,” and was broken and put away. Do not continually harp upon what thou art, and what thou art not; thy salvation does not rest in these things, but in thy Lord. Go thou, and stand at the foot of the cross, still an empty-handed sinner to be filled with the riches of Christ;-a sinner black as the tents of Kedar in thyself, and comely only through thy Lord.

Again, the wife’s position is not only one of sole dependence upon her husband’s care, but it should be, and is, a position of sole delight in her husband’s love. To be suspected of desiring aught of man’s affection beyond that, would be the most serious imputation that could be cast upon a wife’s character. We are again upon very tender ground, and I beseech each of you, who are now thinking of your Lord, to consider yourselves to be on very tender ground too, for you know what our God has said, “I the Lord thy God am a jealous God.” That is a very wonderful and suggestive expression,-“a jealous God.” See that it be engraven on your hearts. Jesus will not endure it that those of us who love him should divide our hearts between him and something else. The love which is strong as death is linked with a jealousy which is cruel as the grave, “the coals thereof are coals of fire, which hath a most vehement flame.” The royal word to the spouse is, “Forget also thine own people, and thy father’s house; so shall the King greatly desire thy beauty: for he is thy Lord; and worship thou him.”

Of course, beloved, the Master never condemns that proper natural affection which we are bound to give, and which it is a part of our sanctification to give, in its due and proper proportion, to those who are related to us. Besides, we are bound to love all the saints, and all mankind in their proper place and measure. But there is a love which is for the Master alone. Inside the heart there must be a sanctum sanctorum, within the veil, where he himself alone must shine like the Shekinah, and reign on the mercy-seat. There must be a glorious high throne within our spirits, where the true Solomon alone must sit; the lions of watchful zeal must guard each step of it. There must he, the King in his beauty, sit enthroned, sole Monarch of the heart’s affections. But, alas! alas! how often have we gone far to provoke his anger! We have set up the altars of strange gods hard by the holy place. Sometimes, a favourite child has been idolized; another time, perhaps our own persons have been admired and pampered. We have been unwilling to suffer though we know it to be the Lord’s will; we were determined to make provision for the flesh. We have not been willing to hazard our substance for Christ, thus making our worldly comfort our chief delight, instead of feeling that wealth to be well lost which is lost as the result of Jehovah’s will. Oh, how soon we make idols! Idol-making was not only the trade of Ephesus, but it is a trade all the world over. Making shrines for Diana, nay, shrines for self, we are all master-craftsmen at this work in some form or another. Images of jealousy, which become abominations of desolation, we have set up.

We may even exalt some good pursuit into an idol; even work for the Master may sometimes take his place, as was the case with Martha. We are cumbered with much serving, and often think more about the serving than of him who is to be served; the secret being that we are too mindful of how we may look in the serving, and not enough considerate of him, and of how he may be honoured by our service. It is so very easy for our busy spirits to gad about, and so very difficult to sit at the Master’s feet. Now, Christian, if thou hast been looking after this and after that secondary matter, if thy mind has been set too much upon worldly business, or upon any form of earthly love, the Master says to thee, “My spouse, my beloved, why gaddest thou about so much?” Let us confess our fault, and return unto our rest. Let each one sing plaintively, in the chamber of his heart, some such song as this,-

“Why should my foolish passions rove?

Where can such sweetness be

As I have tasted in thy love,

As I have found in thee?

“Wretch that I am, to wander thus

In chase of false delight;

Let me be fasten’d to thy cross,

Rather than lose thy sight.”

But a third position, which I think will be recognized by every wife as being correct, is not simply dependence upon her husband’s care and delight in her husband’s love, but also diligence in her husband’s house. The good housewife, as Solomon tells us, “looketh well to the ways of her household, and eateth not the bread of idleness.” She is not a servant, her position is very different from that; but, for that very reason, she uses the more diligence. A servant’s work may sometimes be finished, but a wife’s never is. “She riseth also while it is yet night, and giveth meat to her household, and a portion to her maidens.” She rejoices willingly to labour as no servant could be expected to do. “She seeketh wool, and flax, and worketh willingly with her hands.” “She girdeth her loins with strength, and strengtheneth her arms. She perceiveth that her merchandise is good: her candle goeth not out by night. She layeth her hands to the spindle, and her hands hold the distaff.” All through the live-long night, she watches her sick child, and then through the weary day as well the child is still tended, and the household cares are still heavy upon her. She never relaxes; she counts that her house is her kingdom, and she cares for it with incessant care. The making of her husband happy, and the training up of her children in the fear of God, that is her business. The good housewife is like Sarah, of whom it is written that, when the angels asked Abraham, “Where is Sarah thy wife?” he answered, “Behold, in the tent.” It would have been well for some of her descendants had they been “in the tent,” too, for Dinah’s going forth “to see the daughters of the land” cost her dear.

Now, this is the position, the exact position of the chaste lover of Jesus, he dwells at home with Jesus, among his own people. The Christian’s place with regard to Christ is to be diligently engaged in Christ’s house. Some of us can say, I trust, that we do naturally care for the souls of men. We were born, by God’s grace, to care for them, and could not be happy, any more than some nurses can be happy without the care of children, unless we have converts to look after, and weaklings to cherish. It is well for the church when there are many of her members, beside her pastors and deacons, who care for the souls of those who are born in the church. The church is Christ’s family mansion. It should be the home of newborn souls, where they are fed with food convenient for them, nourished, comforted, and educated for the better land. You have all something to do; you who are married to Christ have all a part assigned you in the household of God. He has given you each a happy task. It may be that you have to suffer in secret for him, or you have to talk to two or three, or perhaps in a little village station, or at the corner of a street you have to preach, or possibly it is the distribution of a handful of tracts, or it is looking after the souls of a few women in your district, or teaching a class of children.

Whatever it is, if we have been growing at all negligent, if we have not thrown our full strength into his work, and have been expending our vigour somewhere else, may not the question come very pertinently home to us, “Why gaddest thou about so much?” Why that party of pleasure, that political meeting, that late rising, that waste of time? Hast thou nothing better to do? Thou hast enough to do for thy Husband and his Church, if thou doest it well. Thou hast not a minute to spare, the King’s business requireth haste. Our charge is too weighty and too dear to our hearts to admit of sloth. The Lord has given us as much to do as we shall have strength and time to accomplish by his grace, and we have no energies to spare, no talents to wrap up in napkins, no hours to idle away in the market-place. One thing we have to do, and that one thing should absorb all our powers. To neglect our holy life-work is to wrong our heavenly Bridegroom. Put this matter in a clear light, my brethren, and do not shut your eyes to it. Have you any right to mind earthly things? Can you serve two masters? What, think you, would any kind husband here think if, when he came home, the children had been neglected all day, if there was no meal for him after his day’s work, and no care taken of his house whatever? Might he not well give a gentle rebuke, or turn away with a tear in his eye? And if it were long continued, might he not almost be justified if he should say, “My house yields me no comfort; this woman acts not as a wife to me”? And yet, bethink thee, soul, is not this what thou hast done with thy Lord? When he has come into his house, has he not found it in sad disorder, the morning prayer neglected, the evening supplication but poorly offered, those little children but badly taught, and many other works of love forgotten? It is thy business as well as his, for thou art one with him, and yet thou hast failed in it. Might he not justly say to thee, “I have little comfort in thy fellowship; I will get me gone until thou treatest me better; and when thou longest for me, and art willing to treat me as I should be treated, then I will return to thee; but thou shalt see my face no more till thou hast a truer heart towards me”?

Thus, in personal sadness, have I put this question; the Lord give us tender hearts while answering it!

Painful as the enquiry is, let us turn to it again. A reason is requested; what shall we give? “Why gaddest thou about so much?”

I am at a loss to give any answer. I can suppose that, without beating about the bush, an honest heart, convinced of its ingratitude to Christ, would say, “My Lord, all I can say for myself is to make a confession of the wrong; and if I might make any excuse, which after all is no excuse, it is this, I find myself so fickle at heart, so frail, so changeable; I am like Reuben, unstable as water, and therefore I do not excel.” But I can well conceive that the Master, without being severe, would not allow even of such an extenuation as that, because there are many of us who could not fairly urge it. We are not fickle in other things. We are not unstable in minor matters. Where we love, we love most firmly, and a resolve once taken by us is determinedly carried out. Some of us know what it is to put our foot down, and declare that, having taken a right step, we will not retrace it; and, then, no mortal power can move us. Now, if we possess this resolute character in other things, it can never be allowable for us to use the excuse of instability. Resolved elsewhere, how canst thou be fickle here? Firm everywhere else, and yet frail here! O soul, what art thou at? This is gratuitous sin, wanton fickleness. Surely thou hast wrought folly in Israel if thou givest the world thy best, and Christ thy worst! The world thy decision, and Christ thy wavering! This is but to make thy sin the worse. The excuse becomes an aggravation. It is not true that thou art thus unavoidably fickle. Thou art not a feather blown with every wind, but a man of purpose and will; oh, why then art thou so soon removed from thy best-beloved One?

I will ask thee a few questions, not so much by way of answering the enquiry, as to show how difficult it is to answer it. “Why gaddest thou about so much?” Has thy Lord given thee any cause of offence? Has he been unkind to thee? Has the Lord Jesus spoken to thee like a tyrant, and played the despot over thee? Must thou not confess that, in all his dealings with thee in the past, love, unmingled love has been his rule? He has borne patiently with thine ill-manners; when thou hast been foolish, he has given thee wisdom, and he has not upbraided thee, though he might have availed himself of the opportunity of that gift, as men so often do, to give a word of upbraiding at the same time. He has not turned against thee, or been thine enemy; why, then, art thou so cold to him? Is this the way to deal with One so tender and so good? Let me ask thee, has thy Saviour changed? Wilt thou dare to think he is untrue to thee? Is he not “the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever”? That cannot, then, be an apology for thine unfaithfulness. Has he been unmindful of his promise? He has told thee to call upon him in the day of trouble, and he will deliver thee; has he failed to do so? It is written, “No good thing will he withhold from them that walk uprightly.” Has he withheld a really good thing from thee when thou hast walked uprightly? If, indeed, he had played thee false, thine excuse for deserting him might claim a hearing, but thou darest not say this; thou knowest that he is faithful and true.

“Why gaddest thou about so much?” Hast thou found any happiness in gadding about? I confess, sorrowfully, to wandering often, and wandering much, but I am ready enough to acknowledge that I get no peace, no comfort by my wanderings, but, like a forlorn spirit, I traverse dry places, seeking rest and finding none. If, for a day, or a part of a day, my thoughts are not upon my Lord, the hour is dreary, and my time hangs heavily; and if my thought is spent upon other topics even connected with my work in the Church of God, if I do not soon come back to him, if I have no dealings with him in prayer and praise, I find the wheels of my chariot taken off, and it drags along heavily, while I cry to my Lord,-

“The day is dark, the night is long,

Unblest with thoughts of thee,

And dull to me the sweetest song,

Unless its theme thou be.”

The soul, that has once learned to swim in the river of Christ, will, when his presence is withdrawn, be like a fish laid by the fisherman on the sandy shore, it begins to palpitate in dire distress, and ere long it will die, if not again restored to its vital element. You cannot get the flavour of the bread of heaven in your mouth, and afterwards contentedly feed on ashes. He, who has never tasted anything but the brown, gritty cakes of this world, may be very well satisfied with them; but he who has once tasted the pure white bread of heaven can never be content with the old diet. It spoils a man for satisfaction with this world to have had heart-ravishing dealings with the world to come. I mean not that it spoils him for practical activity in it, for the heavenly life is the truest life even for earth, but it spoils him for the sinful pleasures of this world; it prevents his feeding his soul upon anything save the Lord Jesus Christ’s sweet love. Jesus is the chief ingredient of all his joy, and he finds that no other enjoyment beneath the sky is worth a moment’s comparison with the King’s wines on the lees, well refined.

“Why then gaddest thou about so much?” For what, oh! for what reason dost thou wander? When a child runs away from its home, because it has a brutal parent, it is excused; but when the child leaves a tender mother and an affectionate father, what shall we say? If the sheep quits a barren field to seek after needed pasturage, who shall blame it? But if it leaves the green pastures, and forsakes the still waters to roam over the arid sand, or to go bleating in the forest among the wolves, in the midst of danger, how foolish a creature it proves itself! Such has been our folly. We have left gold for dross! We have forsaken a throne for a dunghill! We have quitted scarlet and fine linen for rags and beggary! We have left a palace for a hovel! We have turned from sunlight into darkness! We have forsaken the shining of the Sun of righteousness, the sweet summer weather of communion, the singing of the birds of promise, and the turtle voice of the Divine Spirit, and the blossoming of the roses and the fair lilies of divine love, to shiver in frozen regions among the ice caves and snow of absence from the Lord’s presence. God forgive us, for we have no excuse for this folly.

“Why gaddest thou about so much?” Hast thou not always had to pay for thy gaddings, aforetime? O pilgrim, it is hard getting back again to the right road. Every believer knows how wise John Bunyan was when he depicted Christian as bemoaning himself bitterly when he had to go back to the arbour where he had slept and lost his roll. He had to do a triple journey; first to go on, and then to go back, and then to go on again. The back step is weary marching. Remember, also, Bypath Meadow, and Doubting Castle, and Giant Despair. ’Twas an ill day when the pilgrims left the narrow way. No gain, but untold loss, comes of forsaking the way of holiness and fellowship. What is there in such a prospect to attract you from the happy way of communion with Christ? Perhaps, the last time you wandered, you fell into sin, or you met with a grief which overwhelmed you: ought not these mishaps to teach you? Having been already burned, will you not dread the fire? Having aforetime been assaulted when in forbidden paths, will you not now keep to the King’s highway, wherein no lion or any other ravenous beast shall be found?

“Why gaddest thou about so much?” Dost thou not even now feel the drawings of his love attracting thee to himself? This heavenly impulse should make the question altogether unanswerable. You feel sometimes a holy impulse to pray, and yet do not pray; you feel, even now, as if you wished to behold the face of your Beloved, and yet you will go forth into the world without him; is this as it should be? The Holy Ghost is saying in your soul, “Arise from the bed of thy sloth, and seek him whom thy soul loveth.” If your sloth prevents your rising, how will you excuse yourself? Even now, I hear the Beloved knocking at your door. Will you not hasten to admit him? Are you too idle? Dare you say to him, “I have put off my coat; how shall I put it on? I have washed my feet; how shall I defile them?” If you keep him without, in the cold and darkness, while his head is wet with dew, and his locks with the drops of the night, what cruelty is this? Is this thy kindness to thy Friend? Can you hear him say, “Open to me, my love, my dove, my undefiled;” and yet be deaf to his appeals? Oh, that he may gently make for himself an entrance! May he put in his hand by the hole of the door, and may your bowels be moved towards him! May you rise up and open to him, and then your hands will drop with myrrh, and your fingers with smeet-smelling myrrh upon the handles of the lock. But, remember, if you neglect him now, it will cost you much to find him when you do arise, for he will make you traverse the streets after him, and the watchmen will smite you, and take away your veil; so rise, and admit him now.

“Behold! your Bridegroom’s at the door!

He gently knocks, has knock’d before:

Has waited long; is waiting still:

You treat no other friend so ill.

“Oh lovely attitude! he stands

With melting heart and laden hands;

Delay no more, lest he depart,

Admit him to your inmost heart.”

He calls you yet again, even now. Run after him, for he draws you. Approach him, for he invites you. God grant that it may be so!

I wish I had the power to handle a topic like this as Rutherford, or Herbert, or Hawker would have done, so as to touch all your hearts, if you are at this hour without enjoyment of fellowship with Jesus. But, indeed, I am so much one of yourselves, so much one who has to seek the Master’s face myself, that I can scarcely press the question upon you, but must rather press it upon myself: “Why gaddest thou about so much to change thy way?” Blessed shall be the time when our wanderings shall cease, when we shall see him face to face, and rest in his bosom! Till then, if we are to know anything of heaven here below, it must be by living close to Jesus, abiding at the foot of the cross, depending on his atonement, looking for his coming,-that glorious hope, preparing to meet him with lamps well trimmed, watching for the midnight cry, “Behold, the Bridegroom cometh;” standing ever in his presence; looking up to him as we see him pleading before the throne, and believing that he is ever with us, even unto the end of the world. May we be, in future, so fixed in heart that the question need not again be asked of us, “Why gaddest thou about so much?”

And now I have to use the text, for a few minutes, in addressing those who are not converted.

I trust that some of you, who are not yet saved, nevertheless have a degree of desire towards Christ. It is well when, like the climbing plant, the heart throws out tendrils, trying to grasp something by the help of which it may mount higher. I hope that desire of yours after better things, and after Jesus, is something more than nature could have imparted. Grace is the source of gracious desires. But that is not the point. Your desires may be right, and yet your method of action mistaken. You have been trying after peace, but you have been gadding about to find it. The context says that the Israelites would soon be as weary of Egypt as they had been of Assyria. Read the whole passage, “Why gaddest thou about so much to change thy way? thou also shalt be ashamed of Egypt, as thou wast ashamed of Assyria. Yea, thou shalt go forth from him, and thine hands upon thine head: for the Lord hath rejected thy confidences, and thou shalt not prosper in them.” (Jeremiah 2:36, 37.) Their gadding about would end in their being confounded at last as they were at first. Once they trusted in Assyria, and the Assyrians carried them away captive; that was the end of their former false confidence. Then they trusted in Egypt, and met with equal disappointment.

When a man is first alarmed about his soul, he will do anything rather than come to Christ. Christ is a harbour that no ship ever enters except under stress of weather. Mariners on the sea of life steer for any port except the fair haven of free grace. When a man first finds comfort in his own good works, he thinks he has done well. “Why,” says he, “this must be the way of salvation; I am not a drunkard now, I have taken the pledge; I am not a Sabbath-breaker now, I have taken a seat at a place of worship. Go in, and look at my house, sir; you will see that it is as different as possible from what it was before; there is a moral change in me of a most wonderful kind, and surely this will suffice!” Now, if God be dealing with that man in a way of grace, he will soon be ashamed of his false confidence. He will be thankful, of course, that he has been led to morality, but he will find that bed too short to stretch himself upon it. He will discover that the past still lives; that his old sins are buried only in imagination,-the ghosts of them will haunt him, they will alarm his conscience. He will be compelled to feel that sin is a scarlet stain, not to be so readily washed out as he fondly dreamed. His self-righteous refuge will prove to be a bowing wall and a tottering fence. Driven to extremities by the fall of his tower of Babel, the top of which was to reach to heaven, he grows weary of his former hopes. He finds that all the outward religion he can muster will not suffice, that even the purest morality is not enough; for, over and above the thunderings of conscience, there comes clear and shrill as the voice of a trumpet, “Ye must be born again;” “Except a man be born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God;” “Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.”

Well, then, what does he do? He resolves to find another shelter, to exchange Assyria for Egypt. That is to say, as works will not do, he will try feelings; and the poor soul will labour to pump up repentance out of a rocky heart, and, failing to do so, will mistake despair for contrition. He will try as much as possible to feel legal convictions. He will sit down, and read the books of Job and Jeremiah, till he half hopes that, by becoming a companion of dragons, and an associate of owls, he may find rest. He seeks the living among the dead, comfort from the law, healing from a sword. He conceives that, if he can feel up to a certain point, he can be saved; if he can repent to a certain degree, if he can be alarmed with fears of hell up to fever heat, then he may be saved. But, ere long, if God is dealing with him, he gets to be as much ashamed of his feelings as of his works. He is thankful for them as far as they are good, but he feels that he could not depend upon them; and he recollects that, if feeling were the way of salvation, he deserves to feel hell itself, and that to feel anything short of eternal wrath would not meet the law’s demands. The question may fitly be put to one who thus goes the round of works, and feelings, and perhaps of ceremonies, and mortifications, “Why gaddest thou about so much?’It will all end in nothing.

You may gad about as long as you will, but you will never gain peace, except by simple faith in Jesus. All the while you are roaming so far, the gospel is nigh you, where you now are, in your present state, available to you in your present condition now, for “now is the accepted time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” O sinner, thou art thinking to bring something to the Most High God, and yet he bids thee come “without money and without price.” Thy Father saith to thee, “Come now, and let us reason together: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool.” He declares to you the way of salvation, “Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.” He calls to you in his gracious Word, and says, “Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely.” He bids you trust in his Son, who is the appointed Saviour, for he hath laid help upon One that is mighty. He thus addresses you, “Incline your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live; and I will make an everlasting covenant with you, even the sure mercies of David.” You want pardon, and Jesus cries from the cross, “Look unto me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth.” You want justification, and the Father points you to his Son, and says, “By his knowledge shall my righteous Servant justify many, for he shall bear their iniquities.” You want salvation, and he directs you to him who is exalted on high to give repentance and remission of sins. The God of heaven bids you look to his dear Son, and trust him.

Though I preach this gospel almost every day of the week,-and scarcely a day passes without my telling the old, old story,-yet it is ever new. If you, who hear me so often, grow weary of it, it is the fault of my style of putting it, for, to myself, it seems fresher every day! To think that the tender Father should say to the prodigal son, “I ask nothing of thee; I am willing to receive thee, sinful, guilty, vile as thou art; though thou hast injured me, and spent my substance with harlots; though thou hast fed swine, and though thou art fit to be nothing but a swine-feeder all thy days; yet come, just as thou art, to my loving bosom; I will rejoice over thee, and kiss thee, and say, ‘Bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet!’ ” Sinner, God grant thee grace to end all thy roamings in thy Father’s bosom! “Why gaddest thou about so much?” Renounce all other hopes, and fly away to the wounds of Jesus. “Why gaddest thou about so much to change thy way?” Listen and obey these closing lines:-

“Weary souls who wander wide

From the central point of bliss,

Turn to Jesus crucified,

Fly to those dear wounds of his:

Sink into the purple flood,

Rise into the life of God.

“Find in Christ the way of peace,

Peace, unspeakable unknown;

By his pain he gives you ease,

Life by his expiring groan:

Rise, exalted by his fall;

Find in Christ your all in all.”