There may be some few extraordinary cases “where ignorance is bliss,” and where “’tis folly to be wise;” but, for the most part, ignorance is the mother of misery, and if we had more knowledge, we should find it a tower of strength against many fears and alarms which beget sadness and sorrows in dark untutored minds. True it is that the utmost diligence of the student cannot shield his body or his mind from fatigue and distress. In guarding against one class of ills, we may become exposed to another; as Solomon testifies that “much study is a weariness of the flesh,” and again, “in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.” Still, be it remembered that “wisdom is a defence, and money is a defence;” in the increase of either we may augment our cares, yet in the increase of both we think there is a remunerative profit.

But I would commend to you a wisdom which springs not up from earth, but comes down from heaven. He that is rich towards God knows that “the blessing of the Lord, it maketh rich, and he addeth no sorrow with it;” and he that is made wise unto salvation, hath received that wisdom which “giveth life to them that have it.” If we had more celestial wisdom, I believe we should have more of heavenly joy, and less of carnal sorrow. Many a doctrine of the gospel becomes the means of sadness and misery to the heart, simply because it is not understood. Ignorance of the Bible often troubles men’s hearts and consciences, and prevents them from finding that peace of God which a little more knowledge of it would be sure to give them. And I am certain that ignorance or forgetfulness of many of the exceedingly great and precious promises of God, and of the marvellous things he has engaged to do for his people, often causes our eyes to flow with tears and our hearts to be overwhelmed with suffering. The more a Christian knows of his religion, the better for his peace, and for his happiness. The apostle says, “I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren;” he knew that was an ill condition, and we may well shun it. Depend upon this: the more thoroughly you understand the gospel, the more you will find that the gospel blesses you and makes you happy. Each word that Eternal Wisdom speaks is pure. Give heed then to the sure word of Scripture; so shalt thou journey as with chart in hand, escaping a thousand dangers to which benighted travellers are exposed, and enjoying a thousand delights which they cannot discern. But alas for those who walk in darkness! They have nothing to cheer or enliven, but everything to frighten and terrify them.

Leaving this preliminary point, for I trust you seek to avoid all ignorance, and ask God to lead you into the knowledge of all truth I proceed now to the special application of my text, as the Holy Ghost hath designed to place a lamp in the sepulchre, where darkness was wont to hold an undisputed sway. And here we have, first, an affecting metaphor,-a metaphor for death: “them which are asleep.” Secondly, there is a solemn distinction. There are some that die without hope, and there are others for whom we sorrow not as for them that are without hope; and then, thirdly, there is a very gentle exhortation-not to sorrow for them which sleep in Jesus, “even as others which have no hope.”

Scripture continually uses the term “sleep” to express death. Our Saviour did so; he said, “Our friend Lazarus sleepeth;” and so well, with such an evident and appropriate truthfulness, did he describe death as being a sleep, that his disciples mistook the sense of his words, and said, “Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well.” But Jesus spake not of the transient sleep of the weary, but of the deep slumber of death; and very frequently, even in the Old Testament, you find it said that certain persons “slept with their fathers; and were buried in a sepulchre.” Nor did they count that sleep a hopeless end of life; but as David said “I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness,” they expected to awake from that slumber into which they believed death did cast their bodies. In the New Testament, the same emblem is continually used, and it is very pleasant to remember that, in the old catacombs of Rome, where the bodies of many saints were buried, it is continually found inscribed on their graves, “She sleeps;” “He sleeps in Jesus;” “He shall wake up one day;” and similar epitaphs, which mark the firm belief of Christians, that sleep was a very fine and beautiful picture of death.

Allow me to guard against an evil supposition that may spring up here. When death is called a sleep, it is not because the soul sleeps; that, we are told by Holy Scripture, rises at once to heaven. The soul of the saint is found at once before the throne of God. It is the body which is said to sleep. The soul sleepeth not; absent from the body, it is present with the Lord; it stretches its wings, and flies away up to yonder realm of joy; and there, revelling in delight, bathing itself in bliss, it finds a rest from the turmoil of earth infinitely better than any rest in sleep. It is the body, then, that sleeps, and the body only. I will try and tell you why we think the metaphor is used of the sleep of the body.

In the first place, because sleep is a suspension of the faculties, but not a destruction of the body. When we see anyone naturally asleep, we believe that body will wake up again. We do not suppose that those eyes will be sealed up in perpetual darkness, that those bones and that flesh will lie dormant, never more to feel the consciousness of being, or stir with the impulse of life. No, we expect to see the functions of life resumed, the eyelids open to admit the cheering rays of light, and the limbs to become again exercised with activity. So, when we bury our dead in our graves, we are taught to believe that they are asleep. Our faith (which is warranted by the Word of God,) discerns in the corruption of death a suspension of the powers of the body rather than an annihilation of the matter itself. The earthly house of this tabernacle must be dissolved, but it cannot be destroyed. Though the bones be scattered to the four winds of heaven, yet, at the call of the Lord God, they shall come together again, bone to his bone. Though the eyes be first glazed, and then devoured from their sockets, they shall be surely restored, that each saint in his own flesh may see God. In this confidence we deposit the body of each departed saint in the grave as in a bed. We doubt not that God will guard the dust of the precious sons and daughters of Zion. We believe that, in the resurrection, there shall be a perfect identity of the body. You may call it unphilosophical if you please, but you cannot show me that it is unbiblical. Science cannot demonstrate it, you say; but then science cannot disprove it. Reason stands abashed, while Revelation lifts her trumpet-tongue, and exclaims, “Behold, I shew you a mystery; We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible.”

Look not, then, on the corpse of thy brother or thy sister in Christ, beloved, to take an eternal farewell. Say rather, “When I stretch myself on my couch at night, I hope to wake at the first call of busy morn. But I not only hope, I am sure, that this sleeping heir of immortality shall awake from the sound slumbers of his sepulchral repose at the dawn of the heavenly Bridegroom’s appearing.” “Ah!” says one, “’twas but an hour or two ago I was in the closed chamber where my little baby is laid out; I lifted the coffin-lid, and looked at its dear little placid face, and I can quite believe what you say,-death is a sleep,-it seemed just like it.” “Nay,” says another, “it was only yesterday that I was in a London graveyard, appalled with the sight of skulls and bare, disjointed bones, and I can never look upon death in the way you represent.” Now then, my friends, mark this well, for I can give one reply to you both,-it is not by the exercise of your sense, but by the exercise of your faith, that you are to get this blessed hope. You might bitterly gaze on the face of the dead long enough before you would catch a symptom of returning life; you might grope about in the dark damp vault long enough before a ray of light would show you an avenue by which the captives can be liberated from their gloomy cells. No, no; you must visit the tomb o-Jesus, you must go and “see the place where the Lord lay,” then you will soon perceive how the stone is rolled away, and how to rise again is made possible and certain too.

Moreover, the term “sleep” is beautifully used to express the quiet of the body. It rests from labour. Look on the sleeper. He has been weary; he has toiled all day long; but there is no weariness now. He breathes softly; sometimes a dream may disturb him, but he is not weary; he is resting in the unconsciousness of slumber. It is often pleasing to look upon the face of a weary sleeper. Have you never passed along a country lane, and there, by the roadside, seen the harvestman, as he is resting awhile from his toils, lying down upon the bank? What a heavy sleep he has, and what a blessed smile there is on his countenance while he is enjoying that rest! Such is the natural sleep of the body, whence comes the metaphor of my text; and is not this sleep of death a resting after toil? The poor limbs are weary; they are now stretched in the grave, and covered over with the green sod, that they may not hear the noise above their heads, nor be disturbed by the busy din. They are put in their quiet abodes, down deep there in the earth, that none may alarm them; and now let the cannon roar over their tomb, let the thunder shake the sky, let the lightning flash, no sight nor sound can startle them, or cause them dreams. In such still chambers of retirement, their troubles now are over: “There the wicked cease from troubling; and there the weary be at rest.” The body has gone through its battle; the warrior sleeps, the conqueror rests; his brow shall soon be decked with laurels; the very brow which now slumbers in the tomb awhile shall yet rise again to wear the crown of everlasting life; but now it rests awhile till the preparations are complete for the triumphant entry into the kingdom of God, when Christ shall come to receive body and soul into their everlasting resting-place.

Note again, sleep is used as a figure for death, to show us the entire unconcern which the dead feel concerning anything which is going on below. The sleeper knows nothing of what is doing. The thief may be in the house, but he knows it not; there is a storm, but he slumbers, and knows no terror; there may happen a thousand accidents abroad, or even in the chamber where he rests; but, so long as sleep can hold him fast, he shall be entirely unconcerned about them, and shall not notice them. And such, beloved, is the case with the dead. Their bodies, at least, are entirely free from concern. Empires may totter, kingdoms fall, and mighty revolutions shake the world, but none of these things will-

“Ever make their hearts to ache, or

Break the spell of their profound repose.”

There may be a falling away, a backsliding, in the church; but the minister in the grave wots it not; the tongue of Wickliffe shall not move with stern rebuke, the eye of Knox shall not flash with indignation. Yea, and each bodily organ through which the mind was wont to reveal itself is now closed: “So man lieth down, and riseth not: till the heavens be no more, they shall not awake, nor be raised out of their sleep.”

There is a yet sweeter view of this metaphor which I will now point out to you. Sleep, you know, is a means of refreshment, by the recruiting of our exhausted strength to fit us for a fresh exercise of our faculties when we awake. Such, too, is death. The sleep of death is requisite as a preparation for heaven, so far as the body is concerned. The soul must be prepared by a blessed change wrought upon it in this time-state; but the body awaits its full redemption until the resurrection. Though I may not follow the metaphor in the process by which the change is wrought, I can believe it will quite hold good in the result. The refreshing of the body is of course gradually brought about during the hours of sleep, just as changes are successively going on in the grain of wheat that falls into the ground and dies. The awaking of the one, and the sprouting of the other, in health and vigour, result from causes that take place in the interval. But I am not prepared to say that it is exactly so with the sleeping dust of man’s earthly tabernacle. The greedy worm that devours it, the general corruption that preys upon it, and the foul earth with which it mingles, may consume that which is corruptible; but these can have no power to refine the nature, or to produce the glorious likeness to be borne by the saints. You must always guard against straining a figure, especially when, by so doing, you would make it contradict the plain didactic teachings of the Scriptures. We do not look down into the grave as if it were a refining pot to purify our nature, or a bath in which the garments of mortality are to be cleansed; but we look upward to heaven, from whence the Saviour shall come, “our Lord Jesus Christ, who shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like unto his glorious body, according to the working whereby he is able even to subdue all things unto himself.”

Once more, there is a very precious word in connection with this sleep which we must not overlook. At the fourteenth verse it says that they “sleep in Jesus.” Sweet thought! This teaches us that death does not dissolve the union which subsists between the believer and Christ. When the body dies, it does not cease to be a part of Christ. “Know ye not that your bodies are the members of Christ?” said the apostle to those who were still living in the world; and now, as to those whose earthly course is done, our departed friends “sleep in Jesus,” they are as much in Christ now as they were when upon earth; and their bodies, which were precious to the Lord, and preserved as the apple of his eye, are as precious to him now as ever they were. It was once their delight to have communion with Jesus in his death and resurrection, as knowing themselves one with him when he died, and rose again; and not less surely did Jesus hold fellowship with them in their death, making himself known to them when they endured their last struggle. How often have we seen the eye brighten up with an almost supernatural brilliance just before it was closed on all beneath the skies! How often have we seen the hand raised with the parting expression of triumph, and then laid motionless by the side! How often has the presence of the Beloved sustained the frail tenement of the expiring Christian till he hath defied death “to quench his immortality, or shake his trust in God!”

And mark how the saints in Jesus, when their bodies sleep in peace, have perpetual fellowship with him-ay, better fellowship than we can enjoy. We have but the transitory glimpse of his face; they gaze upon it every moment. We see him “through a glass, darkly;” they behold him “face to face.” We sip of the brook by the way; they plunge into the very ocean of unbounded love. We look up sometimes, and see our Father smile; look whenever they may, his face is always full of smiles for them. We get some drops of comfort; but they get the honeycomb itself. They have their cup filled with new wine, running over with perennial, unalloyed delights. They are full of peace and joy for ever. They “sleep in Jesus.”

Beloved, such a description of death makes us wish to sleep too. O Lord, let us go to sleep with the departed! O happy hour when a clod of the valley shall be our pillow! Though it be so hard, we shall not be affected by it. Happy hour, when earth shall be our bed! Cold shall be the clay, but we shall not know it; we shall slumber, and we shall rest. The worm shall hold carnival within our bones, and corruption shall riot o’er our frame; but we shall not feel it. Corruption can but feed on the corruptible; mortality can but prey upon the mortal.

Oh, let me rest! Come, night, and let me slumber! Come, my last hour! Let me bow myself upon the bed! Come, death, oh, come lightly to my couch! Ay, strike if thou wilt, but thy stroke is the loving touch that makes my body slumber. Happy, happy, they who die in the Lord!

All men die, but all men die not alike. There are two sorts of death. I speak not now of the inferior animals; of them we never read in Scripture that they sleep; but I speak of Man, concerning whom it is certain that “there shall be a resurrection of the dead, both of the just and unjust.” There is the death of the righteous, which is peaceful, happy, and joyous beyond expression! in its future consequences; there is, moreover, the death of the wicked, sad in itself, but doleful indeed in its inevitable results throughout a dread eternity. Come, then, beloved, let us consider this distinction. There are some, we must infer from this text, for whom we can sorrow as those for whom we have no hope; while there are others, for whom we are told we may not thus sorrow; concerning their death we have every hope and every joy.

Turning for a moment to the heathen nations, we do not wonder that there is a great deal of grief expressed at their funerals, that they hire women who pluck their hair, make hideous noises, and distress their bodies with all kinds of unnatural contortions in order to express the utmost agony, while the relatives and friends cover themselves with sackcloth and ashes, and spend their time in weeping and wailing and lamentations. We do not wonder that such customs should prevail, and be handed down among those who have no knowledge of a resurrection. They suppose that, when the body is consigned to the tomb, they shall never see it again, so we do not marvel that they should cry,-

“Weep for the dead, and bewail her;

Weep for the dead, and bewail her:

She is gone; she is gone;

We shall see her no more;-

Weep for the dead, and bewail her!”

You see, there is no hope in their case to mitigate their woe, but, in a nominally Christian land, although we are persuaded that all men will have a resurrection, yet how many die of whom we have no hope! I mean to say, we have, in the first place, no hope of ever meeting them again. We frequently sing in our Sunday-school,-our little children sing,-

“Oh, that will be joyful,

Joyful, joyful!

When we meet to part no more!”

But there is another side to that truth,-

“Oh, that will be doleful,

Doleful, doleful!

When we part to meet no more!”

When our wicked friends die, if we are righteous, we must remember that we shall never meet them again. We may behold them, but it will be a hideous sight; we may see them as Lazarus saw the rich man in hell; we may behold them with the great gulf fixed between us: but remember that the last shake of the hand with an ungodly relative is an everlasting farewell, that last whisper of sympathy on the dying bed is indeed final; we shall never address them with another soft word of comfort, never again shall we call them friends; we are sundered now for ever. Death, like some mighty earthquake, shakes two hearts apart, which seemed to be indissolubly united, and a great gulf of fire and wrath shall separate them. One in heaven, and the other in hell,-they shall never meet again; there is no hope of it.

Some of you we could not bear to lose, yet, if you fall asleep, we shall with holy assurance consign you to your grave, and say, “Lord, we thank thee that it hath pleased thee to take to thyself our beloved brother;” yet, alas, there are many here-oh! we pray God that they may not die, for we know we should never see them again in peace, and joy, and happiness. There are some of you, now within the reach of my voice,-judge ye of whom I speak,-concerning whom, if ye were now to depart, we might say, as David did, “O my son, my son, Absalom! would God I had died for thee, O Absalom, Absalom, my son, my son!” If ye were now to depart, we might indeed take up a very bitter cry; we might ask the owl and the bittern, with their dismal hootings, to assist our lamentations; we should have need to weep for you, not because your bodies were dead, but because your souls were cast away into unutterable torment. O sirs, if some of you were to die, it would be your mother’s grief, for she would bitterly reflect that you were gnashing your teeth in fell despair; she would recollect that you were beyond the reach of prayer, cast away from all hope and from all refuge; that she could never see you more,-her destiny to be for ever with her Lord in heaven, but your doom to be for ever shut out! Young men and women, ay, and all of you who have had pious friends who have gone before, would you not like to meet them before the eternal throne? Can you bear the dread thought, that you are separated from some of them for ever, because you are not the Lord’s children, neither do you seek the things that belong to your peace? Methinks ye wish to meet them there; do ye not? But ye never shall, except ye tread the steps they trod, and walk the road they loved. If your hearts are not towards Jesus, if your souls are not given to him, how can ye?-for if your way be not the same, your ends must differ. You shall not meet at the goal of heaven, unless you meet at the wicket-gate on earth, enter in by the strait gate, and go along the strait and narrow road. Oh, if some of you were about to die, your minister would have to go to your bedside, and say, “Adieu, I shall never see you more;” and were you to look up, and say, “What, sir,-no more?” he might answer, “I have seen you many a time in God’s house; we have sung together, we have prayed together, we have worshipped together, in the same sanctuary; but it is all over now; I shall never see you more!” “What, never, minister? Never hear your voice again?” “No, never; unless thou art in Christ now, farewell for ever!” O poor soul, what a sorrowful thing to shake hands for ever, to bid good-bye for ever,-one to descend to endless flames, and the other to mount to realms of everlasting bliss! We may, indeed, sorrow for them, if we have no hope of ever meeting them again.

But we should not grieve so much about not meeting them again, if we knew that they were happy, even though we should never see them; but, then, for those who die without Christ, we sorrow because we have no hope that they have any happiness. Or even if they were now in misery, and we might cherish the thought that they would one day escape, we should not then sorrow for them, as those that have no hope. But, alas! we recollect that our lost friends are lost for ever; we recollect that there is no shadow of a hope for them; when the iron gate of hell is once closed upon them, it shall never be unbarred again, to give them free exit; when once shut up within those walls of sweltering flame which girdle the fiery gulf, there is no possibility of flight; we recollect that they have “for ever” stamped upon their chains, “for ever” carved in deep lines of despair upon their hearts. It is the hell of hell that everything there lasts for ever. Here, time wears away our griefs, and blunts the keen edge of sorrow; but there, time never mitigates the woe. Here, the sympathy of loving kindred, in the midst of sickness or suffering, can alleviate our pain; but there, the mutual upbraidings and reproaches of fellow-sinners give fresh stings to torment too dreadful to be endured. Here, too, when nature’s last palliative shall fail, to die may be a happy release; a man can count the weary hours till death shall give him rest; but, oh! remember, there is no death in hell; death, which is a monster on earth, would be an angel in hell. But the terrible reality is this, “Their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.”

Must we go one step further? It is terrible work to deliver these warnings, but it would be more terrible still to hide any truth, however bitter. When we have uttered a pitiful lament for heathen nations, and when we have spoken with deeper emotion of the profane, the profligate, and the despisers of God, we have not done. These have not the semblance of peace in their own breasts. But alas! alas! there are many who die in the delusion of a false peace. What availeth it that they uttered pious sentiments with their lips if their hearts were not changed? What though they received “the bread and wine” in nature’s extremity? Will the sacramental opiate serve them, instead of the inward witness of reconciliation to God? Oh, hear this, ye that are at ease; listen, all ye whose religion stands in outward forms: “Like sheep they are laid in the grave; death shall feed on them; and the upright shall have dominion over them in the morning.” I confess to you that the metaphor which charms me in the one case appals me in the other, so great is the distinction among the sleepers. Look at the man who has sought to be justified by the works of the law, or in some way perverted the gospel of Christ. With a fatal lull of conscience he nestles down securely, “as when a hungry man dreameth, and, behold, he eateth; but he awaketh, and his soul is empty: or as when a thirsty man dreameth, and, behold, he drinketh; but he awaketh, and, behold, he is faint, and his soul hath appetite.” He sleeps the deep sleep of death, prepared, as he supposes, to meet the Judge. When he awakes, the spell shall be dissolved. The terrible sentence, “Depart,” awaits him. O beloved, I tremble to think that a man may go up with jaunty step to the threshold of heaven only to be cast down to the nethermost pit! As you stand among the graves of your departed friends, I beseech you to examine yourselves. Only as you can say, “To me to live is Christ,” have you a right to add, “and to die is gain.”

But now there is the case of the Christian. Is it not matter for consolation and holy joy, with some of us, that, concerning beloved friends of ours who now sleep quietly in their graves, we have not to sorrow as those who have no hope? The death of the saints is precious in the sight of the Lord. On their account we have cause rather to rejoice than to weep. And why? Because we hope that they are safely housed in heaven; yea, more, we have the firm persuasion that already their redeemed spirits have flown up to the eternal throne. We do believe that they are at this moment joining in the hallelujahs of paradise, feasting on the fruits of the tree of life, and walking by the side of the river, the streams whereof make glad the heavenly city of our God. We know they are supremely blest; we think of them as glorified spirits above, who are “for ever with the Lord.”

We have that hope; and then we have another hope concerning them,-we hope that, though we have buried them, they shall rise again. In the verse following our text it is written, “Them also which sleep in Jesus will God bring with him.” We rejoice that not only do “they rest from their labours, and their works do follow them;” but that, after they have rested a little while, their bodies shall rise again. We know that their Redeemer liveth; and we are certain that he will, at the latter day, stand upon the earth, and that they shall stand on the earth with him. We rejoice that the dead in Christ shall rise first,-that they shall come on that day when, “with clouds descending,” “he shall come to be glorified in his saints, and to be admired in all them that believe.” We look for a day when buried bodies shall be living frames once more; we expect that glazed eyes shall again be radiant with light; we believe that dumb lips shall yet sing, that deaf ears shall yet hear, and that lame feet shall yet leap like the hart.

We are looking for the time when we shall meet the saints in their very bodies, and shall know them too. It is our hope that they shall rise again, and that we shall meet them, and shall know them. I trust you all firmly believe that you will recognize your friends in heaven. I consider the doctrine of the non-recognition of our friends in heaven a marvellously absurd one; I cannot conceive how there can be any communion of saints in heaven unless there be mutual recognition. We could not hold communion with unknown beings; if we knew not who they were, how should we be able to join their company? Moreover, we are told that we shall “sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” I suppose we shall know those blessed patriarchs when we sit down with them; and if we know them, there is but one step to the supposition that we shall know all the general assembly. Moreover, there will be but very little difficulty in discovering them, because every seed has its own body; by which we are taught that every body, being different from any other body when sown, will, when it rises in a spiritual fashion, be in like manner different from any other; and although the spiritual body may have none of the lineaments upon its face like we have, and no marks as we have, because it will be far more glorious and splendid, yet it will have so much identity that we being instructed, shall be able to say of it, “This is the body that sprang from such a seed,” just as we recognize the different kinds of corn or flowers that spring from the different kinds of seed that are sown. Take away recognition, and you have taken away, I think, one of the joys of heaven. There seems to me a great deal of heaven’s sweetness in the little verse (to quote another of the children’s hymns),-

“Teachers, too, shall meet above,

And our pastors whom we love

Shall meet to part no more,”

And now, in the third place, we have a gentle exhortation.

The exhortation here is delicately hinted at,-that the sorrow of bereaved Christians for their Christian friends ought not to be at all like the sorrow of unconverted persons for their ungodly relatives. We are not forbidden to sorrow: “Jesus wept.” The gospel does not teach us to be Stoics; we ought to weep, for it was intended that the rod should be felt, otherwise we could not “hear the rod, and who hath appointed it.” If we did not feel the stroke when our friends were taken away, we should prove ourselves worse than heathen men and publicans. God’s grace does not take away our sensibilities, it only refines them, and in some degree restrains the violence of their expression. Still, there ought to be some difference between the sorrow of the righteous and the sorrow of the wicked.

First, there should be a difference in its vehemence. It may be natural to the unbridled passions of an ungodly man, who has lost his wife, to tear his hair, to throw himself upon the bed, to clutch the body, to declare it shall not be buried, to rave through the house, cursing God, and saying all manner of hard things of his dispensations; but that would not do for a Christian. He must not murmur. A Christian man may stand and weep; he may kiss the dear, cold hand for the last time, and rain showers of tears on the lifeless body, while “pity swells the tide of love;” but God and his religion demand that he should say, after doing this, “The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.” He may weep,-he ought to; he may sorrow,-he ought to; he may wear the habiliments of mourning,-God forbid that we should ever believe in any religion which should proscribe our showing some outward signs of sorrow for our friends!-yet we may not, and we must not, weep as others weep: we must not always carry the red and tearful eye; we must not always take with us the face that is downcast and distressed; if we do, the world will say of us that our conduct belies our profession, and our feelings are at variance with our faith.

Again, there is another thing we must never allow to enter into our grief,-the least degree of repining. A wicked man, when he sorrows for those who are gone without hope, not unfrequently murmurs against God; but it is far otherwise with the Christian: he meekly bows his head, and says, “Thy will, O God, be done.” The Christian must still acknowledge the same gracious hand of God, whether it be stretched forth to give or to take away. The language of his faith is, “Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him; though he should take all away, yet will I not repine.” I do not say that all Christian persons are able to maintain such a cheerful submission of spirit. I only say that they ought, and that such is the tendency of the Christian religion; and if they had more of the Spirit of God within their hearts, that would be their habitual disposition. We may sorrow, beloved, but not with repining. There must be resignation mixed with the regret. There must be the yielding up, even with grateful acquiescence, that which God asks for, seeing we believe that he doth but take what is his own.

And now, there is just one further observation. I do believe that, when the Christian sorrows, he ought to be as glad as he is sorrowful. Put thy sadness in one scale, and thy gladness in the other scale; then see if the reasons for praise be not as weighty as the reasons for grief. Then thou wilt say, “She is gone; there is a tear for her. She is in heaven; there is a smile for her. Her body is with the worms; weep, eyes. Her soul is with Jesus; shout, ye lips, ay, shout for joy. The cold sod hath covered her, she is gone from my sight, she sleeps in the sad, sad grave; bring me the habiliments of mourning. No, she is before the throne of God and the Lamb, blest for aye; lend me a harp, and let me thank my God she hath joined the white-robed host on yonder blessed plains. O hearse and funeral, O shroud and garments of woe, ye are most fitting for her! I have lost her, and she herself, with many a pang and struggle, hath passed through the valley of the shadow of death; but O joyous face! O songs of gladness! O shouts of rapture! ye are equally becoming! for when she passed through the valley of the shadow of death, she feared no evil, for thy rod and thy staff did comfort her. Now, beyond the reach of death’s alarms, she doth bathe her soul in seas of bliss; she is with her Lord.” It is well to have a little singing as well as weeping at a funeral; it well becomes the burial of the saints. Angels never weep when saints die; they sing. You never heard a saint say, when he was dying, “There are angels in the room; hark! you can hear them sobbing, because I am dying.” No; but we have often heard a saint say, “There are angels in the room, and I can hear them singing.” That is because angels are wiser than we are. We judge by the sight of our eyes, and the hearing of our ears; but angels judge after another fashion. They “see and hear and know” the joys of the blest, and therefore they have no tears; but they have songs for them, and they sing loudly when the Christian is carried home, like a shock of corn fully ripe.

And now, beloved, we shall soon all of us die. In a few more years, I shall have a gravestone above my grave. Some of you, I hope, will say, “There lies our minister, who once gathered us together in the house of God, and led us to the mercy-seat, and joined in our song. There lies one who was often despised and rejected of men, but whom God did nevertheless bless to the salvation of our souls, and sealed his testimony in our hearts and consciences by the operation of the Holy Ghost.” Perhaps some of you will visit my tomb, and will bring a few flowers to scatter on it, in glad and grateful remembrance of the happy hours we spent together. It is quite as probable that your tombs will be built as soon as mine. Ah, dear friends! should we have to write on your tombstones, “She sleeps in Jesus,” “He rests in the bosom of his Master,” or should we have to speak the honest truth, “He has gone to his own place”? Which shall it be? Ask yourselves, each one of you, where will your soul be? Shall it mount up there,-

“Where our best friends, our kindred, dwell,

Where God our Saviour reigns;”-

or,-

“Shall devils plunge you down to hell,

In infinite despair?”

You can ascertain which it will be; you can tell it by this: Do you believe on the Lord Jesus Christ? Do you love the Lord Jesus? Do you stand on Christ, the solid rock? Have you built your hope of heaven alone on him? Have you, as a guilty sinner, cast yourself at his mercy-seat, looking to his blood and righteousness, to be saved by them, and by them alone? If so, fear not to die; ye shall be safe, whene’er the summons comes to you. But if not, tremble, tremble! ye may die to-morrow,-ye must die one day; it will be a sad thing so to die as to be lost beyond recovery. May God Almighty grant that we may be all saved at last, for Jesus’ sake! Amen.

GOD-GUIDED MEN

A Sermon

Published on Thursday, February 6th, 1908,

delivered by

C. H. SPURGEON,

at the metropolitan tabernacle, newington,

On Lord’s-day Evening, March 15th, 1874.

“I conferred not with flesh and blood.”-Galatians 1:16.

The conversion of Paul is one of the evidences of the truth of our holy religion. So far as this life was concerned, he had nothing to gain, but everything to lose by becoming a Christian. From being a great Rabbi he came to be the companion of poor fishermen who themselves were the followers of One who was poorer even than they. It is clear that he was no fanatic, and not at all likely to be carried away by any sudden impulse. He was clear-headed, thoughtful, logical, and his conversion must have been wrought by some very extraordinary power; there must have been, to him at least, overwhelming evidence of the truth of what he believed, and of that form of faith to which he devoted his whole after life.

In addition to supplying us with valuable evidence of the truth of Christianity, Paul has left to us a most remarkable example of its force in his own person. Never was there a man more fully possessed with the spirit of Christ than he was. He was no feeble saint with just enough grace to enable him to go limping into heaven, but he was a spiritual athlete, wrestling with the powers of darkness, running with endurance the race set before him, and “filled with all the fulness of God;” one who was indeed “strong in the Lord, and in the power of his might.” He threw himself, with all his natural zeal, into the cause of Christ, that natural zeal being so sanctified by the Spirit of God as to make him a mighty and valiant servant of the Lord. I pray that we also, beloved, may be what Paul was; I will not even except his bonds. He did so when he said to King Agrippa, “I would to God, that not only thou, but also all that hear me this day, were both almost, and altogether such as I am, except these bonds.” But we might be willing even to wear his bonds if we might but have such a character as his fully developed within us.

Paul-being converted through Christ appearing to him out of heaven, and speaking personally to him, being deeply repentant for the past, and believing fully in Jesus as his Lord and Saviour,-had no sooner been baptized than he struck out at once an independent path for himself. He did not need to receive any commission from men, for he had received his commission direct from heaven; and, therefore, “straightway he preached Christ in the synagogues, that he is the Son of God.”

In our text Paul says, “I conferred not with flesh and blood.” He did not even consult with good men as to what he ought to do. Why should he? Why should he ask them to countersign his commission when he had Christ’s name at the bottom of it? He did not consult his relatives, for he knew very well what they would say. They would think him ten thousand fools in one to throw up all his prospects of advancement to become the follower of what they thought to be the meanest of all superstitions. He did not consult even with his own flesh and blood, with himself. As I have already reminded you, he had everything to lose and nothing to gain by becoming a Christian; but he willingly descended from being a student of Gamaliel, and a member of the Sanhedrim, to earn his living as a tent-maker, and to be a simple itinerant preacher of the gospel of Jesus Christ. He descended from comparative ease and luxury to poverty and stern toil,-from safety and peace to bitter persecution, and at last to death by martyrdom; and while knowing that he could never be a gainer as to temporal things, he nevertheless calmly and deliberately gave himself up to be the bond-servant of that Christ who had spoken to him out of heaven, and called him into his service.

I want to show you, first, that faith needs no warrant for its action but the command of God; if it gets that, it need not consult with flesh and blood. I shall try to show you, in the second place, the range of application of this principle to ourselves practically; and then I shall show you, in the last place, that the principle is a grand one, and commends itself to our best judgment.

First, faith needs no warrant for its action but the command of God.

Believers have no need to consult with flesh and blood. I may refer you in illustration of this truth, to good men in all ages. There is Noah, for instance. He is commanded by God to build an ark of gopher wood,-an ark large enough to hold himself and his family and some of all beasts, and birds, and creeping things that were upon the face of the earth. Was it not an absurd idea to build so huge an ark upon dry land? Yet Noah did not consult with any of the people who were then living; but we read, “Thus did Noah: according to all that God commanded him, so did he.”

Then, think of Abraham. He was commanded by God to leave his country, and his kindred, and his father’s house, and to go unto a land that God would show him;” and we read, “So Abraham departed as the Lord had spoken unto him.” Further on in his life there was that very memorable occasion when God commanded him to offer up his son Isaac as a burnt offering. Abraham did not consult with Sarah. He knew the mother’s feelings far too well to wish to lacerate them, and she might have said, “No, my husband, such a deed as that must not be done.” So he did not ask her, but he rose up early in the morning, saddled his ass, prepared the wood, and set out on the three days’ journey to the place of which God had told him. He did not even consult Isaac, who was, apparently, thus to die; and when Isaac said to him, “Behold the fire and the wood: but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” his father significantly replied,-almost choking, I think, as he said it,-“My son, God will provide himself a lamb for a burnt offering.” He consulted not with his own flesh and blood, else had the father been too strong for the believer; but as God had commanded him to offer his son as a sacrifice, he unsheathed the knife to slay his beloved Isaac,-a glorious instance of what faith can dare to do without asking the advice or the approval of men.

Remember, too, how Moses obeyed the divine command to lead Israel out of the house of bondage. He certainly did not consult with his own flesh and blood, for the riches of Egypt were at his feet. Perhaps Pharaoh’s throne would have been occupied by him ere long, had he not counted “the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt,” and he gave up glittering prospects to go forth into the wilderness with the despised people of God.

Remember David, too. He had those who wished to give him counsel, when he twice stood over his sleeping foe, the despot Saul. On the second occasion, Abishai said to David, “Let me smite him, I pray thee, with the spear even to the earth at once, and I will not smite him the second time.” But David said to him, “Destroy him not; for who can stretch forth his hand against the Lord’s anointed, and be guiltless?” He knew right well that it is not for good men to do ill actions, even though they think the best results might follow from them; so he consulted not with flesh and blood, and he would not let the son of Zerniah lead him into sin. Think, too, of Daniel. When the royal edict was signed that none should ask a petition of anyone except King Darius for thirty days, did he confer with flesh and blood as to what he should do under the circumstances? Did he consult with himself or with others as to how he might satisfy his conscience, and yet at the same time save his life? Not he; he went into his house, where his windows were open towards Jerusalem, and there he prayed to God, three times a day, as he had done aforetime, although the lions’ den awaited him. And think, also, of those three brave young men, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abed-nego. When Nebuchadnezzar told them that they must worship his golden image or be cast into the burning fiery furnace, they replied, “We are not careful to answer thee in this matter.” Their only care was to do as God bade them regardless of all consequences. They did not consult with flesh and blood, but obeyed the command of their God.

This has been faith’s rule all through the ages. It was the rule of the martyrs in the old days of the Roman persecution. They knew that they might be put to death in the Colosseum,-“butchered to make a Roman holiday,”-yet, knowing that, they dared to confess that they were Christians. This was the glory of our Protestant ancestors in the days of Queen Mary. They went joyfully to Smithfield to be burnt for the sake of Christ; and, as one of the pastors significantly said, “the young people went to see the others burn, and to learn the way when it should come to their turn.” They did learn the way, too, to stand there, not consulting with flesh and blood, but being ready to be burned to ashes rather than worship the beast, or receive his mark in their foreheads. This is still the spirit that animates true faith. God’s command is her sufficient warrant. She consults not with flesh and blood.

I would have you also recollect that, if we do ask for something over and above God’s plain command, we are virtually casting the command itself behind our backs. God tells you to do a certain thing, but you say that you must first consult your advisers and friends. Then has it come to this,-that a mortal man is to tell you whether you are to obey God or no? That would be making man your god, and rejecting the living and true God. Suppose that, in such a consultation, you should be advised not to do the right thing, and that you should obey than advice, would you be relieved of your responsibility? Certainly not; it would still rest upon you. To you comes the divine command, and it is for you to obey it, whether you are advised by others to do so or not. Even to ask for such advice is to trifle with the authority of God. To hesitate to do right because of self-interest is rebellion against God. Suppose you say, “That is plainly my duty, but it would involve me in loss,”-well, then, which shall it be,-will you suffer the loss or will you commit the sin? If you choose to commit the sin, you do distinctly make your own gain to be your god, for that which has the highest place in your soul is, after all, your god. What right have you to ask, “Will such a course pay me? Will it answer my purpose? What will be the good of it to me?” Such questions contain the very essence of rebellion against the Most High. What if thou art no gainer by obeying thy God? He who bids thee do it is thy Maker and Preserver; what if thou shouldst lose everything through obeying him? Would it not be better to lose the whole world than to lose thine own soul, for what wilt thou give in exchange for thy soul? The very thought of weighing self-interest against the authority of God should be revolting to all right-minded men.

Further, to consult with flesh and blood is diametrically opposed to the character of Christ. Flesh and blood, in the person of Peter, rebuked him when he talked of suffering and being killed; but the Lord said to him, “Get thee behind me, Satan: thou art an offence unto me, for thou savourest not the things that be of God, but those that be of men.” When Jesus said to his disciples, on one occasion, “Let us go into Judæa again,” they said to him, “Master, the Jews of late sought to stone thee; and goest thou thither again?” Yet bravely did he go where he felt that he had a commission to go. His life was one of self-denial and self-sacrifice; his rule was not, “Spare thyself,” but this was his rule, “Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.” He knew that, without the sacrifice of himself, he could not glorify God; so, if you would be like him, you must not be making provision for the flesh, to gratify the ease and the lusts thereof; but you must be willing, like him, to suffer; like him, to be reproached; and even, like him, to die, if so it must be for the glory of God.

I have generally found that, when men do consult with flesh and blood, the consultation usually leads to the neglect of duty, and the forsaking of the Lord. Had Paul conferred with flesh and blood he would probably never have been an apostle. I pray that you, beloved, may have the grace to say, “My Master’s command is my only law. My Master bids me do so-and-so; this is my excuse if men say that I play the fool by doing it, if they charge me with throwing prudence to the winds, and even if they thrust me into prison and lead me forth to death. Sooner let the sun refuse to shine at the Almighty’s bidding, sooner let the earth refuse to revolve upon her axis, or any longer to traverse her orbit, sooner let all nature revolt against the laws of its Maker, than ever a man of God, redeemed by the blood of Christ, should dare to refuse to obey him, let him command whatsoever he may.”

There I leave the grand and searching principle that faith needs no warrant for its action but the command of God.

Now, secondly I am going to show you the range of its application to ourselves practically.

I judge that, first of all, it applies to all our known duties. I am not now speaking to unconverted people, I am speaking to you who profess to be converted. You say that you are saved, and that you do not trust in your own works. That is well. I have preached to you the Scriptural doctrine of salvation by grace, but now I am going to give you a practical principle that is inseparably associated with that doctrine. It is this,-It is the duty of every Christian to forsake every known sin, whatever it may be; and, in doing so, he is not to consult with flesh and blood. Many professors say, “This course is wrong, judging by the Scriptural standard; but then, society has long tolerated it; nay, it has even decreed it to be right.” But will society judge thee at the last great day? If thou art cast into hell as a deceitful professor, will society fetch thee out of the bottomless pit? If thou art found at last outside the gates of heaven, will society recompense thee for thine eternal loss? What hast thou, O man of God, to do with society? Christians are to come out from among the ungodly, to take up their cross daily, and follow Christ, to go without the camp, bearing his reproach. The friend of the world is the enemy of Christ. What have you to do with doing as the world does?

The same principle applies to the duty of consecration to Christ. Every Christian should live for Christ alone. All that we are and have belongs to Christ. Even Paul wrote, “Ye are not your own, for ye are bought with a price: therefore, glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.” Well then, do not consult with flesh and blood to find out how far other Christians obey that command, for the pulse of the professing Christian is in a sickly state at this time, and Christianity is sadly adulterated. But what have I to do with what my fellow-Christians do? If they are not what they should be, is not that rather a reason why I should be the more consecrated to Christ? If I see others put into the scales of the sanctuary, and found wanting, is that a reason why I, too, should be found wanting? I charge you people of God who are here present, to try how near you can get to complete consecration to the Lord Jesus Christ. Never say, “I am as good as my minister.” You had need be much better than I am. Never say, “I am as good as such-and-such a Christian.” O sirs, if ye compare yourselves among yourselves, ye are not wise; the only model for Christians is Christ himself.

This principle of not consulting flesh and blood also applies to our service for Christ. We have known ministers whose “call” to a place always depended upon the size of the salary. We have heard of others whose work for Christ depends upon whether it is to be done in respectable society, and whether it is a tolerably light and easy task. If they find that it is Ragged-school work, or if they will have to labour amongst very poor people, and get no credit for it, they do not care for that kind of service; and if it involves a great deal of toil, they do not feel that they could manage it. The real difficulty is that it is not pleasing to flesh and blood. O soldiers of the cross, has it come to this, that you must have an easy place, or you will not fight for your King? Soldiers of the Queen do not wait to ask whether it will be hot or cold in the lands to which they are ordered to go; but away they go at the royal command. And so it must be with Christians; we must not be such feather-bed soldiers that we can only go where we shall be easy and comfortable. Nay, but in the name of him who bought us with his blood, let us ask, “Is this my proper sphere of service for Christ? Then I will occupy it, cost what it may.”

Perhaps I am addressing some brother or sister here who says, “I feel that I am called to service for Christ, but I am going to consult my friends to see whether they agree with me or not.” That will probably put an end to your service before it begins. Nothing good will be done by a man who will not attempt it until everybody thinks it is wise. If God has called you to any work for him, go at it at once with all your might; for if you stop to consult even good people, it is very likely that they have not the faith that you have; or if they have, they will frankly tell you that they are not judges of your call. I cannot decide whether it is a call from God to you; you must yourself be the judge as to that; and if you feel that God has called you to any work, go and do it.

“Oh, but Christian people throw cold water over my plans!” Yes, that is a common practice, but it ought not to stop you from doing the Lord’s work. Remember how David’s brother, Eliab, said to him, “I know thy pride, and the naughtiness of thine heart; for thou art come down that thou mightest see the battle.” I have always admired the modesty of David’s reply, “What have I now done? Is there not a cause?” He had been sent down to the camp by his father, and he had a further justification, a little later, when he stood before Saul with the giant’s gory head in his hand. If God bids you do any work for him, go and do it in his strength without consulting with flesh and blood. Many a noble purpose has been strangled by a committee, many a glorious project, that might have been the means of carrying the gospel to the utmost ends of the earth, has been crushed by timid counsellors, who said that it was not practicable; whereas, had it been attempted, God would have wrought with the worker, and great would have been the result. So you go, O man of God, to the work he has called you to do, and consult not with flesh and blood!

In the next place, this principle applies to all needful sacrifices. There are sacrifices which we must make for Christ and his cause. For instance, there are persons, who, if they are converted to God, must make sacrifices in their business. There are here to-night one or two men who used to be publicans; but when they became converted, they took the very first opportunity of getting out of that business, although it meant a considerable sacrifice. They have cheerfully borne the loss, and they are now sitting here with clear consciences as they could not have been if they had not done what they believed to be right. There are others here, who used to get a living by their Sunday trade, but they willingly gave it up for Christ’s sake when they became his. I do not think they have ever got back as much money as they gave up, but they have great peace of mind, and they feel perfect satisfaction at the loss, because they believe it to be right. Every Christian is bound to act thus, not considering for a moment the profit or loss of the matter. As God is God, he is to be served at all costs.

Sometimes, however, the following of Christ involves the loss of more than money,-the loss of friendships. There are separations still made in the world because of devotion to Christ. Ungodly parents drive away from them their converted children. Close friendships have been snapped, and situations of influence and usefulness have had to be given up for Christ’s sake and the gospel’s. “What am I to do?” asks one who is threatened with grievous loss if he will not give up Christ. Be willing to let father, and mother, and husband or wife, and all else go, rather than let him go upon whom your eternal interest depends. Remember that he said, “If any man come to me, and hate not his father, and mother, and wife, and children, and brethren, and sisters, yea, and his own life also, he cannot be my disciple.” Some persons feel that, if they become followers of Christ, they will lose prestige and position; and that is more than they can endure. There have been some who, when they had joined this church, have henceforth had the cold shoulder in the aristocratic circles to which they belonged; and they have come to me, and said, “Our former friends no longer call upon us, nor ask us to their houses.” And I have replied, “Thank God! Then you will be out of the way of the temptation to which you might be exposed from their idle chat.” They have said, by-and-by, that it was even so, and that it was well. But at the first it was hard to bear. Dear brethren and sisters in Christ, ever do what is right; whatever may come of it, be out-and-out for Christ. Verily I say unto you, there is no man who shall be a loser by Christ at the last. Great shall be his gain who, for Christ’s sake, can give up even all that he has.

I want you further to notice that this principle also applies to the confession of your faith, if you have been converted to Christ. Very often, some of those who really do believe in Jesus neglect to avow their faith in the Lord’s appointed way. Nothing is more plainly taught in the New Testament than that it is the duty of every believer in Christ to be baptized. It is the duty of every Christian, having first given himself to Christ, afterwards to give himself to Christ’s Church, according to the will of God. Now, my dear friend, do your Master’s will, and consult not with flesh and blood.

Do not consult with yourself about this matter, for if you do, self will say, “Why need you take that trouble? You will bring a great deal of unnecessary notice upon yourself if you do. Perhaps you will not be able to hold out to the end; you may fall into sin, and bring disgrace upon the name of Christ.” Self will reason in that way; but what have you to do with such reasoning? Is it not your bounden duty to do as your Master bids you? If soldiers, in the day of battle, are commanded to charge the enemy at the point of the bayonet, they must not stop to consider the danger of such a course, or to ask why their commander gave such an order; and so it must be with all the soldiers of King Jesus; and so surely it will be with every true Christian. Are you a Christian, and does your Lord bid you confess your faith in him? Then come forward and say, “According to his will, I do with my mouth confess, because with my heart I have believed in his name.” Possibly someone says, “If I were to do that, I should grieve my parents.” Do not needlessly grieve anybody; but if it be needful for Christ’s sake, grieve everybody, and yourself grieve most that they should be grieved because you do what is right. Another says, “My position would become very uncomfortable if I were to be baptized.” Then find your comfort in the presence of Christ with you in uncomfortable circumstances. “But,” says one, “I don’t see how I could be baptized at present.” Is it your duty? Then remember that the apostle says, “Immediately I conferred not with flesh and blood.” When I preached in the country, before I came to London, I used to have a hearer who professed to have been a Christian for many years. Whenever I spoke to him about joining the church, he always said, “He that believeth shall not make haste;” to which I replied, “Well, if you come at once, you certainly will not have made haste.” Then I tried to explain to him that the haste referred to there was the haste of fear and cowardice, and I said that a much more appropriate text was this one, “I made haste, and delayed not to keep thy commandments.”

“Well,” says one, “I dont wish to put off joining the church; at the same time, I cannot quite give up the world.” Then, do not join the church. We do not want in the church those whose hearts are still in the world, so injurious both to the world and to the church are those who try to join the two together. If you are Christ’s you must give up the world; but why should you hesitate about doing that? What is there in the world but vanity and vexation of spirit? You will find Christ to be infinitely preferable to the world, for in him you will have-

“Solid joys and lasting treasure.”

I see that my time has gone, but I need not dwell upon the last point,-that this principle commends itself to our best judgment.

It is the judgment we exercise upon others. We do not like to see half-and-half people, do we? And if we see people who are willing to suffer for their principles, we respect and honour them. Well, then, let us so act that others may be able, in their inmost hearts, to respect and honour us.

This principle will commend itself to us when we come to die. I never heard of a Nonconformist father saying to his son, when he was dying, “My boy, you know that I was a Dissenter, and I lost my farm for that reason. I advise you to go to church, and get into the good books of the parson and the squire.” I never heard of a Christian man, when dying, saying to his wife, “My dear, the shutting up of our shop on the Sabbath has meant a great loss to us, and I have all the less to leave you; and I regret now that we were so unwise.” No, no; I never heard and never dreamed of hearing of anyone saying such a thing as that. I never heard a dying Christian saying, “I gave too much to the Lord’s cause; I worked too hard in Christ’s service; I really did not exercise sufficient prudence, and look out for myself as I ought to have done.” Oh, no! Their regrets always are all the other way; those who have denied themselves most always wish that they had done more, and given more, and been privileged even to suffer more for Christ’s sake.

And, finally, this will be our judgment at the last great day. We shall account that, to have followed Christ, and to have suffered loss for Christ, was the right thing; but for anyone to have got off cheaply through consulting with flesh and blood will then seem to us to have been the meanest thing that was ever heard of, treason against the King of love, treachery against the Christ that died. Those who have been faithful to Christ on earth shall share his glory in heaven, and dwell with him there for ever and ever. So, if you do believe in him, come out boldly, and confess that you do.

If you love not the Lord Jesus Christ, take heed lest he should come against you with his rod of iron, and utterly destroy you. May he, by his gracious Spirit, give to all of us faith in him, and loyalty to him, for his dear name’s sake!-Amen.

Exposition by C. H. Spurgeon

JOHN 14

Verse 1. Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in me*

Here is a troubled company of disciples, very much cast down, so their Divine Master, full of infinite tenderness, talks to them in this gentle manner, “Let not your heart be troubled.” He does not like to see them troubled; and when they are, he is troubled also.

Our Lord here prescribes faith as the only remedy for heart trouble. If you, poor troubled soul, can believe, you will leave off fretting. Twice our Lord uses the word “believe.” He seems to say to his disciples, “Take another dose of faith; it will take away from you this faintness of heart from which you are suffering: ‘Ye believe in God, believe also in me.’ ” And then he seeks to make them forget their heart trouble by talking most sweetly to them about his Father, and his Father’s dwellingplace. It is a great thing to divert the mind, when it is troubled, from that which bores into it, and threatens to destroy it.

2. In my Father’s house are many mansions: if it were not so, I would have told you.

“You have all my heart, so I have no secrets from you. ‘If it were not so, I would have told you;’ even in going away from you, I am going away for your good.”

2. I go to prepare a place for you.†

“I am all yours, and always yours, and everywhere yours; and I am doing everything for you.”

3. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself;

“I will not send an angel to fetch you, but I will myself come for you. If you die, I will come for you in that way; but if you live on until my Second Advent, ‘I will come again, and receive you unto myself.’ ”

3. That where I am, there ye may be also.

“So do not be troubled because I am going away from you. I am going first in order that you may follow afterwards; I am going as the Pioneer into that blessed state where you shall dwell with me for ever; so do not be troubled at my departure.” How tenderly and lovingly this is all put!

4. And whither I go ye know, and the way ye know.

“I am not going to take a leap into the dark; you know where I am going, and you also know the road along which I am going.” Ah! but sometimes sorrow forgets what it knows, and thus creates a cloud of unnecessary ignorance which darkens and increases the sorrow.

5. Thomas saith unto him, Lord, we know not whither thou goest; and how can we know the way?

It was a pity that Thomas had such a thought as this in his mind; but as it was there, it is a great mercy that he told his Lord of it. Sometimes, to put your trouble down in black and white is a quick way to get rid of it; but to bring it to your Lord in prayer is a still better plan.

6. Jesus saith unto him, I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.*

How impossible it is fully to describe our Lord in human language! He is going away, yet he is himself the way; and he is himself the beginning and the end, he is everything to his people: “the way, the truth, and the life.” We are obliged to have mixed metaphors when we talk of Christ, for he is the mixture of everything that is delightful and precious. All over glorious is our Lord; there is no way of setting him forth to the full in our poor halting speech.

7. If ye had known me, ye should have known my Father also: and from henceforth ye know him, and have seen him.

It cheers the children of God to talk to them about their Father, and about their Father’s house, so that is what the Elder Brother did in his great kindness to his disciples, he talked to them about their Father and his heaven.

8-10. Philip saith unto him, Lord, shew us the Father, and it sufficeth us. Jesus saith unto him, Have I been so long time with you, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? he that hath seen me hath seen the Father; and how sayest thou then, Shew us the Father? Believest thou not that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? the words that I speak unto you I speak not of myself: but the Father that dwelleth in me, he doeth the works.

Christ and the Father are indissolubly one. Even when he was here in his humiliation, he was not separated from his Father, except in that dread hour when he was bearing his people’s sins upon the cross. Now he is visibly one with his Father on the throne of glory.

11, 12. Believe me that I am in the Father, and the Father in me: or else believe me for the very works’ sake. Verily, verily, I say unto you, He that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also;

“I am going away from you; but be not dismayed, for I shall not take away my power from you; that will still remain with you.”

12. And greater works than these shall he do; because I go unto my Father.

“My very absence will let loose a greater power than you could have experienced while I was here. You will need more power when I am gone from you, and you shall have more. Therefore, ‘let not your heart be troubled.’ Besides, you will be able still to pray, and prayer will bring you greater blessings than any that I ever gave you.”

13, 14. And whatsoever ye shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son. If ye shall ask any thing in my name, I will do it.

Every word in this address of Christ was full of comfort to his disciples.

15, 16. If ye love me, keep my commandments. And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;-

There was the One who would enable the disciples to meet every trial,-that other Comforter† whom Christ promised to them. Their trouble was that their Lord was going away from them; that other Comforter made amends for that, and he will make amends to you, believer, for every form of trial to which you may be exposed. Is it bodily weakness? Is it the infirmity of old age? Is it depression of spirit? Is it losses and crosses at home? It is crooked things that cannot be made straight? Well Christ’s promise still stands good, “I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter, that he may abide with you for ever;”-

17. Even the Spirit of truth: whom the world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him: but ye know him;-

“You are on familiar terms with him, you are intimate with him, you know him;”-

17-20. For he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you. I will not leave you comfortless, I will come to you. Yet a little while, and the world seeth me no more; but ye see me: because I live, ye shall live also. At that day ye shall know that I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.

These are the three wonderful mysteries of the union between God, and Christ, and his people: “I am in my Father, and ye in me, and I in you.”

21, 22. He that hath my commandments, and keepeth them, he it is that loveth me: and he that loveth me shall be loved of my Father, and I will love him, and will manifest myself to him. Judas saith unto him, not Iscariot, Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?

“Peradventure, if thou didst manifest thyself to the world, the world would bow down before thee, and worship thee.” But Christ’s plan was to manifest himself to the inner circle of his own chosen ones.

23-27. Jesus answered and said unto him, If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him. He that loveth me not keepeth not my sayings: and the word which ye hear is not mine, but the Father’s which sent me. These things have I spoken unto you, being yet present with you. But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things, and bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you. Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you:*

He had given them peace while he was with them. His divine presence had been their continual comfort; but now, although he was going away from them, he would leave his peace behind him as the most precious legacy that he could bequeath to them: “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.”

27, 28. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid. Ye have heard how I said unto you, I go away, and come again unto you. If ye loved me, ye would rejoice,-

“I know that you do love me; but if you really acted as if you loved me, you would rejoice,”-

28. Because I said, I go unto the Father: for my Father is greater than I.

The Lord Jesus, though equal with the Father, had voluntarily laid aside his glory, and taken the form and place of a man, making himself of no reputation, so his disciples ought to have rejoiced that he was going back to his primitive glory.

29, 30. And now I have told you before it come to pass, that, when it is come to pass, ye might believe. Hereafter I will not talk much with you: for the prince of this world cometh, and hath nothing in me.

Still, Christ would have enough to do to meet that arch-enemy, and to endure all that would come upon him during that dread encounter.

31. But that the world may know that I love the Father; and as the Father gave me commandment, even so I do. Arise, let us go hence.