Chapter V: Our Active Life (2)

But, my brother, why should you thus think of God, and so fear to think of the future? Read only what the Bible says of Him, and learn what true Christians know of Him, and listen honestly to how your own conscience responds to all you hear about Him, and then consider whether you can conceive of one more glorious in his character, or more worthy of your love. Peruse the history of Jesus Christ, and tell me anything He ever said or did calculated to fill your heart with fear or hate towards Him,--and remember, that he who sees Him sees the Father. Think of all Jesus suffered as our atoning Saviour, and all "to bring us to God." Think of all God has promised to those who will only trust Him through Jesus,--the pardon of all sin, and the gift of a new heart; with everything which can do them good, or make them happy; and say, How can this make you dislike God? Think of all He has given you since you were born,--friends and relations, health of body, powers of mind, much time, many happy days, innumerable mercies and sources of enjoyment; think how liberally, ungrudgingly, He has opened His hand; think what patience, forbearance, kindness, He has shewn, and what the eternal future has in store for all who love Him; and tell me, What has _He_ done to make you dislike Him? Reflect on what He _could_ have done and could do, if He disliked you as you dislike Him, and say, How can you continue in your enmity? O my brother, "Only believe!" Believe that "God _is_ love." Believe that "in this is manifested the love of God, that He gave His Son to be a propitiation for our sins." Believe that He willeth not that any should perish,--that He has no pleasure in the death of sinners,--that He is ready to forgive,--that this is the record, that "God hath given eternal life." Believe--trust in God for the good, the whole good, the most perfect good, that of a child's heart and sincere love towards Him, which He seeks in you--trust God for this through faith in Christ, and in the mighty power of that Spirit who is love; and depend upon it, when you _know God_, and see how excellent He is, and understand His love to you, and what He is willing to make you, and to give you, and, above all, when you know what _He himself will be to you_ for ever, you surely cannot choose but Him! and "_there is no fear in love; because fear hath torment!_"

MOMENTS IN LIFE.

By moments in life, I mean certain periods which occur more or less frequently in our history,--when the spirit in which we then live, the step we then take, the word we then utter, or what we at that moment think, resolve, accept, reject, do, or do not, may give a complexion to our whole future being both here and hereafter.

Let me notice one or two features which characterise those moments.

They may, for example, be very brief. Napoleon once remarked, that there was a crisis in every battle, when ten minutes generally determined the victory on one side or other. Yet on the transactions of those few minutes the fate of empires may hang, and on the single word of command, rapidly spoken amidst the roar of cannon and the crash of arms, the destinies of the human race be affected. Men in public life, who are compelled every day to decide on matters of importance, appreciate the value of minutes, and estimate the necessity of snatching them as they pass with promptness and decision;--of "taking advantage of the chance," as they say, knowing well that if that moment is allowed to pass, "the chance" it brings is gone for ever; that whatever their hand "finds to do" must be done then or never. The results to them of what they decide at that moment may be incalculable. What is then done may never be undone; yet not another second is added to the time given them for action. Within the germ of that brief moment of life is contained the future tree of many branches and of much fruit.

What a brief moment, indeed, in our endless life is the whole period even of the longest life on earth! It is compared to a vapour, which appeareth for a short time, and then vanisheth away; to "a watch in the night,"--"a tale that is told." And if we but consider how nearly a third portion of our threescore years and ten is necessarily spent in sleep; and add to this the years spent during infancy while preparing for labour; during old age, when our labours are well-nigh past; and many more consumed in adorning and supporting or giving rest to the body; and then if, after summing up those years, we deduct what remains of time at the disposal of the oldest man for the formation of active thought and the improvement of his spiritual being, oh! how brief is the whole period of our mortal life, when longest, though its transactions are to us fraught with endless and awful consequences!

Another characteristic of those moments in life is the silence with which they may come and pass away. No "sign" may be given to indicate their importance to us. They do not announce their approach with the sound of a trumpet, nor demand with a voice of thunder our immediate and solemn attention to their interests; but stealthily, quietly, with noiseless tread like spirits from another world, they come to us, put their question, speak the word, and vanish to heaven with our reply. In after years, possibly, with "the long results of time" to guide us upward as by a stream to the tiny threads of this fountain of life and action, we may be able in a greater degree to realise of what tremendous importance they were to us. "Had we only known this at the time!" we exclaim, as we revolve those memories, and think of all we would have said or done;--"had we only known!" But it is not God's will that we should know how much of the future is involved in the present, or how all we shall be is determined by what we may resolve to be or do at any particular moment. Such a revelation would paralyse all effort, and destroy the mainspring of all right action. Sight would thus be substituted for faith; the fear of evil consequences for the fear of evil; and the love of future benefits for the love of present duty. God will have us rather cultivate habitually a right spirit at each moment, so as to be able to act rightly when the all-important moment comes, whether we then discover its importance or not. Let us not be surprised, then, if God comes to us, not in the strong wind, the earthquake, or the fire, but only in the still small voice which speaks to the heart or to the conscience, demanding the conduct which becomes us as responsible beings and as obedient children.

But let me illustrate these remarks by a few examples of "moments in life," and such as must come to us all.

It is a solemn "moment in life" when the glad tidings of the love of God in Christ Jesus are heard and understood. Remember that we are saved by "the truth;" born again "of the Word;" sanctified "by the truth." To receive the truth of God, then, as a living power into the mind and conscience, is of infinite importance to us. Now, while God's truth comes to us "at various times and in diverse manners," there are moments in life when we cannot choose but feel as if it was addressing our inner spirit as it never did before, and earnestly knocking for admission. The circumstances in which this appeal is made may be what are called commonplace; such as when hearing a sermon preached from the pulpit, when reading a book by the fireside, or when conversing for a few minutes with an acquaintance; yet at such times truth expressed in a single sentence, or in a few words, may search our spirits, and gaze on us with a solemn look, saying, "Thou art the man I am in search of!" But, as it sometimes happens, the circumstances in which we are thus arrested by the truth, and are compelled to listen to it for weal or woe, may be peculiarly impressive; as when we are ourselves in sickness or danger, or when addressed by a parent or dear friend on their dying bed, or when in deep family distress, or when standing beside the grave that conceals our best earthly treasure from our sight. At such moments the voice of God's Spirit is awfully solemn as He cries, "Now is the day of salvation;" "To-day, if ye will hear His voice, harden not your hearts;" "Believe and live."

These moments may be very brief. The crisis of the battle between God and self, right and wrong, truth and falsehood, may be concentrated into a few minutes. But time sufficient is, nevertheless, given wherein to test our _truthfulness_, the soil in which truth grows, the mirror that reflects its beams; time sufficient is given to say Yes or No to that God who claims our faith and love. Truth comes with authority and majesty as an ambassador from the living God, and with clear voice, pure eye, and an arm omnipotent to save, offers to give light, life, and liberty to the captive spirit. But we may evade his bright glance, and close our ears to his voice, and refuse to consider his claims, and deal falsely with his arguments; we may reject his offers, and, shrinking back from his touch and his helping hand, retire into the gloom of self-satisfied pride, preferring the darkness to the light; or we may make merry with Heaven's ambassador, and mock him as they did the prophet of old; or cry out, "Away with him!" as the world cried to the Lord of light and life. And what if the second ambassador never comes again with such pressing earnestness, but passes by the door once so rudely closed against him, and will knock no more? Or, though he may in mercy return again and again, what if the eye gets blinded by the very light which it rejects? and the ear becomes so familiar with the voice, that it attracts attention no more than the winds that beat upon the wall; and the heart becomes so hardened as to be unimpressible, until the dread sentence is at last passed,--"Because I have called, and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand, and no man regarded; but ye have set at nought all my counsel, and would none of my reproof: I also will laugh at your calamity; I will mock when your fear cometh; when your fear cometh as desolation, and your destruction cometh as a whirlwind; when distress and anguish cometh upon you. Then shall they call upon me, but I will not answer; they shall seek me early, but they shall not find me: for that they _hated_ knowledge, and _did not choose_ the fear of the Lord: they would none of my counsel: they despised all my reproof. Therefore shall they eat of the fruit of their own way, and be filled with their own devices."

A young man came to Jesus seeking eternal life. "Jesus, looking on him, loved him," and answered his prayers by teaching him how eternal life could alone be attained. But the young man went away sorrowful, because he had much riches. What a history was contained in that brief moment of his life!

Again, young King Agrippa, along with the young Bernice, hear a sermon from Paul the prisoner. The outward picture presented to the eye on that day had nothing more remarkable or peculiar about it than has been witnessed a thousand times before and since. Those royal personages entered "the place of hearing" with "great pomp," accompanied by "the chief captains and principal men of the city." And before them appeared an almost unknown prisoner, upon whom his own nation, including "the chief priests and elders from Jerusalem," demanded the judgment of death to be passed. That prisoner, "in bodily presence weak and contemptible," was however "permitted to speak for himself;" and verily he did speak! He spoke of God and Christ; of repentance and the new life; and of his own glorious commission to "open the eyes" of men, "to turn them from darkness to light, from the power of Satan unto God, that they might receive the forgiveness of sins, and inheritance among them that are sanctified through faith in Jesus." What a revelation was this from God to man! The voice which spoke from Sinai and through the prophets, the voice of Him who is truth and love, spoke at that moment of life through Paul to those royal hearers, and to the captains and principal men. But Agrippa, with a sneer or with some conviction of the truth, replied, "Almost thou persuadest me to be a Christian." Unlike St Paul himself, when the Lord spoke to him on his way to Damascus, Agrippa was disobedient to the heavenly vision. And so the sermon ended; the gay multitude dispersed; the place of hearing was left in silence, and echoed only the midnight winds or the beat of the sea-wave on the neighbouring shore. St Paul retired to his cell; Agrippa, Festus, and Bernice, to their chambers of rest, to sleep and dream by night, as they slept and dreamt by day. But they never heard the apostle preach again! It was their first and last sermon; that moment in their life came and passed, but never returned. Like two ships which meet at midnight on a moonlit sea, those two persons, the prisoner and the king, spoke, then each passed into the darkness, and onward on their voyage to their several ports, but never met again! Oh, how awful are such moments when truth reveals herself to the responsible spirit of man! And so, my reader, does it ofttimes happen between thee and God's Spirit. Let me beseech of thee to "redeem the time," to know this "the day of _thy_ visitation," and to hear and believe "the word of the Lord."

Another "moment in life" which may be specially noticed, is that in which we are tempted to evil. Temptations are no doubt "common to man." Our whole life in a sense is a temptation, for whatever makes a demand upon our choice as moral beings, involves a trial of character, and tests the "spirit we are of." But nevertheless there do occur periods in our lives when such trials are peculiarly testing; when large bribes are offered to the sin that doth so easily beset us, tempting us to betray conscience, give up principle, lose faith in the right and in God, and to serve the devil, the world, or the flesh. Such moments may be very brief, yet decisive of our future life. They may come suddenly upon us, though possibly many notes of warning have announced their approach. For they are often but the apex of the pyramid to which many previous steps have gradually and almost imperceptibly led; the beginning of a battle, which must at last be fought, and very shortly decided, but yet the ending of many previous skirmishings. Be this as it may, that moment of life does come to us all, when evil like the enemy appears to concentrate against us its whole force, and when we must fight, conquer, or die; when like a thief it resolves to break into our home and take possession; when as a deceiver it promises happiness, and demands immediate acceptance or rejection of the splendid offer,--"All these will I give thee, if thou wilt fall down and worship me!"

What a moment is this in the life of many a young person. How unutterably solemn is the first deliberate act which opposes conscience, rebels against the authority of God and of His law, shuts out the light, and prefers darkness. Future character, and the life and happiness of years, may be determined by it. The step taken in that brief moment, the lie uttered, the dishonesty perpetrated, the drunkenness or debauchery indulged in, the prayers for the first time given up, and the father's home left for the far country. Who can realise the consequences of those first acts, or estimate the many links of evil, and the endless chain itself, that may connect themselves with the one link of sin fashioned in that moment of life! Who can foresee the streams ever increasing in breadth and depth which may flow from this letting in of water! Would God that my readers, young men especially, would but believe in the possibility even of the choice they make at such a time determining their future destiny. The thought of this might at least make them pause and consider.

There is no exaggeration in this language. To realise the danger, all we need assume is the law of habit; for, according to that law, we know that any act of the will, good or bad, has a tendency to repeat itself with increasing ease and decreasing consciousness, until it becomes a "second nature." Hence the first resistance of evil is much less difficult than any subsequent attempt; and he who in one moment of life could by a manly effort become a conqueror, and enter on a life of principle and peace, may, by yielding, very soon sink down into a degraded slave, who is held fast by the iron chain of habit, each link of which he has himself forged by his own self-will.

What a moment was that in the life of Herod when he permitted evil desire for Herodias to enter his soul. That desire conceived sin, and sin when finished brought forth death. Acts passed into habits, and habits into a life of abandoned passion. Then came the festive birthday, and the dancing before him of the daughter of his paramour; and then the foul murder, with the spectacle of the bloody head, closed eyes, and sealed lips of the greatest and noblest man of his time; and then followed the hour when Jesus Himself was brought before the murderer, when the Lord spoke not one word of warning, rebuke, or mercy to him, but smote the wretch with the terrible wrath and righteous judgment of silence!

What a moment in life was that, too, when Judas welcomed covetousness into his heart as a most profitable guest. Then one day Covetousness offered him thirty pieces of silver if he would betray his Lord; and Judas agreed to the proposal. A whole eternity of misery was involved in that moment of his life: for the night soon arrived when the bargain was to be kept. A few moments more, and the history will end here to begin elsewhere. Yet there is not a sign on earth or heaven to indicate the importance of that brief hour to Judas! He forms one among the most distinguished company that ever sat at the same table since the earth began; and never did mortal ears listen to such words uttered by human lips, nor did mortal eyes ever contemplate such a scene of peace and love as was witnessed in that upper room in Jerusalem. But the hour has struck, and Judas rises to depart. The deed of darkness must now be done. It is late, and he has made a most important appointment; unless he keeps it, he may lose his money; and what a loss to the poor follower of a man who had nowhere to lay His head! Judas leaves that company; and what was there in things visible to make him suspect even that an awful moment of life--his last--had come? All was calm within that upper room,--all was peace in the world without. The naked heavens shone in the calm brilliancy of an Eastern night The streets of Jerusalem, along which the traitor passed on his dreadful errand, echoed his footsteps in their silence. Yet Judas, "the son of perdition," was at that moment on his way "to his own place!"

And thus it is with many a man in the hour of temptation. The voice of sin speaks not loudly, but whispers to his inner spirit. He pursues his path of evil without alarm being given by sight or sound from heaven or earth. There is nothing in the world without to disturb the thoughts and purposes of the world within his false and unprincipled soul. The moment of his life brings the temptation, and he yields his soul to its power, and the moment passes with as noiseless a step; and soon the last moment comes, and passes away; but he too has noiselessly passed away with it "to his own place!"

The "moment in life" when we are called upon to perform some positive duty, is one which is often very critical and full of solemn consequences to us. The duty may _appear_ to be a very trifling one,--such as writing a letter, visiting a friend, warning some brother against evil, aiding another, or sympathising with a sufferer in his sorrow. But whatever the work may be, and in whatever way it is to be performed, whether by word or deed, by silence or by speech, yet there is a time given us for doing it, very brief perhaps, and unaccompanied by any sign to mark its significance,--a time, nevertheless, when whatever has to be done must be done quickly, "now or never."

Such a moment in life was that in the history of the three apostles who accompanied our Lord, at His own request, in order to watch with Him in His last agony. As a man, He deserved their thoughtful presence, their watchful sympathy, when enduring the dread sorrow which filled His cup, from realising by anticipation all that was before Him. Thrice He came to them from the spot, not far off, where He wrestled in prayer with His terrible agony.

Thrice He found them asleep. "What!" he asked, "could ye not watch with me one hour?" Ah! they knew not what an hour that was!--what it was to Him--what it was and might have been to them! They might have had the joy, the exalted privilege, which for ever would have been as a very heaven of glory in their memory, of sharing, through the power of sympathising love, the burden of their Lord's anguish. But they yielded to the flesh, and permitted that moment of time to pass; and when they at last roused themselves from their slumber, it was too late. That moment in life had come and gone, and could return no more. "Sleep on, and take your rest; behold, he who betrayeth me is at hand!"

And thus it often happens in the life of us all. An hour is given us when something may be done for our Lord or our brethren, which cannot possibly be done if that hour is permitted to pass away unimproved. Then we may teach an ignorant soul, or rouse a slothful one to action; we may alarm one who is lethargic, worldly, sensual, "without God or Christ in the world," so as to win him to both; or we may comfort the feeble-minded, and support the weak. Circumstances may give us the opportunity, and the "moment in life," when such works may be done. The persons to be helped are perhaps inmates of our dwelling; they are our relations: they are sick or dying; or they have cast themselves upon our aid. But we let the moment pass. The work given us is not done. We have neglected it from sloth, procrastination, thoughtlessness, or selfishness. And we may become awake to our culpable negligence, and rouse ourselves to duty. But, alas! those whom we could have aided are past help. They are dead, or are removed from our influence, or in some way "past remedy." And so the moment in life given us is gone, and gone for ever, except to meet us and to accuse us before the bar of God. And thus it is with duty in countless forms. What our hands find to do must be done quickly, if done at all, and in the time given us. If not, a night comes, and may come soon and come suddenly, in which either we ourselves cannot work, or in which, though at last willing to do it, it is no longer given us to do.

But there is one moment in life--and I conclude by suggesting it to your thoughts--which must come to every man, and which generally comes with signs sufficiently significant of its importance,--I mean the last moment which closes our life on earth. Come it must. And, as an old writer remarks, "the day we die, though of no importance to the world, is to ourselves of more importance than is all the world." That moment in life ends time to us, and begins eternity; it ends our day of grace and begins the day of judgment; it separates us from the world in which we have lived since we were born, and introduces us to the unseen, unknown world of things and persons in which we must live for ever during the life of God. What a moment is this! It may come in the quiet of our own chamber, or amidst the confusion and excitement of some dread accident by land or sea; it may be heralded by long sickness or old age, and accompanied by much weakness and bodily suffering. But if that moment, when it comes, is to bring us peace, let our present moments, as they come, find us watchful, conscientious, believing, and prayerful. And should these words of mine be read by chance by one who has begun his last moment without having begun the work for which he was created, preserved, and redeemed, let me beseech of him to improve it by repentance towards God, and faith in Jesus Christ, who will pardon his sins, give him a new heart, and save him as he did the thief on the cross. If every hour of his day of grace has been misimproved, let not this last be added to the number. If he has stood all the day idle, let him in the eleventh hour accept his Master's work of faith alone in his own soul, and do what he can for the good of others. But let this moment in life pass, then shall the next moment after death bring only fear and anguish; for, be warned and also encouraged by the words of the truthful and loving Jesus, uttered with many tears, over lost souls,--"If thou hadst known, even thou, at least _in this thy day_, the things that belong unto thy peace; but now they are for ever hid from thine eyes!"

"LABOURERS TOGETHER WITH GOD."

These words seem to me to express the idea of true labour, such as God calls us to, and _in_ the doing of which there is a great reward. They imply that the living God has a work to do on earth, in men and by men; that in this work He has--if I may so express it--a deep personal interest, because it is one worthy of Himself, and for the advancement of His own glory, and the good and happiness of man.

Now, God wishes us to know this work, and to sympathise with Him in it. He does not conceal from us what He wishes done, or what He himself is doing; nor obliges us to remain for ever blind as to His will and purposes regarding ourselves or others; so that, if we work at all, we must work according to our own wills only, and for our own purposes. Instead of this, He reveals in His Word, by His Son, through His Spirit, and in the conscience, what His will is--what He wishes us to be and do. Nor does He say to us, "Learn my commands, and obey them; but seek not to know why I have so commanded." Were it impossible, indeed, to know _why_ any command was given, the mere fact of its injunction would itself demand instant compliance; "but," says our Lord, "I have not called you servants, but friends, for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth." The servant or slave does not occupy the place which the friend does. The one hears only what is commanded; but the other, through personal acquaintance with the master, is enabled to sympathise with the righteousness and love in the command. The friend not only knows what, as a servant, he _must_ do, but sees how right and beautiful it is that he should be commanded so to do. In like manner, we read that God made known His "ways" to Moses, but only His "acts" to the children of Israel. This revelation, of principle and plan to His servant was indeed a speaking with him "face to face;" and thus does God speak to us now in these latter days by the grace and truth revealed in His Son. And it is only when we thus know God's work on earth, and when, from a will and character brought into harmony with His, we see how excellent the work is, that we can be, not labourers only, but "_fellow_-labourers" with God;--not workers only, but "workers _together_ with Him."

Consider, for instance, _the work of God in our own souls_. This is, as far as we ourselves are concerned, the most important work in the universe. Upon it depends whether the universe shall be to us a heaven or a hell. "What will a man give in exchange for his soul?" is a question which assumes that to the man himself nothing can be so valuable. But has God any work to do in our souls? Has He ever expressed any wish as to what He would have us believe, become, or enjoy, or revealed for what end or purpose He made our spirits? Is there no wrong state or condition in us with which He is "angry" and "grieved," and no right state with which He is "delighted," and over which He "rejoices?" Has He laid no command upon us to "work out our own salvation with fear and trembling?" and has He given no intimation of His "working in us to will and do?" Or is it to Him the same whether we are wrong or right? Surely we can have no difficulty in replying to such all-important questions! If a man loses faith in the reality and sincerity of God's wish, that he personally should have his guilty soul freely pardoned, and his unholy soul sanctified, and his whole being renewed after God's own image,--that he himself should be a good, a great, a happy man, by knowing and loving his God; and if a man brings himself to such a state of practical atheism as to doubt whether God knows or cares anything about him;--then it is impossible for such a man to be "a fellow-labourer," a "worker together" with God in his own soul; for he does not know and has never heard of any work of God required _there_. But if he believes that God is indeed his "Father in heaven;"--that He has goodwill to him, and therefore desires his good by desiring him to _be_ good;--that, for the accomplishment of this end, all has been done which is recorded in the Bible, from Genesis to Revelation;--that God has been working in him, through agencies innumerable, since his childhood, by parents and friends, by tender mercies and bitter chastisements, by Sabbath ordinances and pulpit ministrations, by the constant witness of conscience and the Word of God, in order that he should know and love God his Father,--then, seeing this, will he see also how he may be a "fellow-labourer with God." _And have not you, my reader, been conscious of this work?_ You cannot get quit of the conviction that there is One higher than yourself with whom you have to do,--One who is ever with you, seeking to deliver you from evil, from your own evil self,--One whose voice is never silent, and who is righteously judging your daily life. And have you never been conscious, too, of fighting against what you certainly knew was not self, but a holy, winning, mysterious power or Person, who opposed self, and for that very reason was resisted by self? And therefore your sin has not been the ignorance of good, but opposing the good,--not the absence, but the resisting of a good work in you. It is on this very principle men will be condemned, for "This _is_ the condemnation, that light hath come into the world, and men _prefer_ darkness to light, because their deeds are evil." And if this has been your sin, so has it been your misery. In exact proportion as you thus "hated knowledge, and did not choose the fear of the Lord," you become wretched and unsatisfied. No wonder! for with whom does the man work when he works in opposition to the will of God? In refusing to serve God, he serves Satan, and becomes a "worker together" with "the spirit who now worketh in the children of disobedience!"

Well, then, what are you to do? I reply: "Yield yourselves to God;" "be subject to the Father of your spirit, and live." "Wherefore do you spend money for that which is not bread? and your labour for that which satisfieth not? Hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let your soul delight itself in fatness. Incline your ear, and come unto me: hear, and your soul shall live." Instead of being workers against, seek to be "workers _together_" with God in your own souls; to have His "work of faith and love," and everything beautiful and holy, perfected in you. Believe in Jesus Christ as the living Person who alone can and will save you, by pardoning your sins, and giving you His Spirit to make you like Himself. Begin your work by assuming that God _is_ working in you to will and do; and _because_ you have Him, through His omnipotent Spirit, working in you, do not be as one who beats the air in aimless and profitless warfare, nor strive against nor grieve that Spirit, but through Him "work out your own salvation." In thus pleading with you, I feel that I myself am but working with God; for I can say with the apostle, "Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. We then, as _workers together with Him_, beseech you also that ye receive not the grace of God in vain."

Put this question in another way: Suppose you had met Jesus Christ when He was on earth; that you had listened to one of His appeals when He preached the gospel from city to city, and felt His eye looking at you as He spoke in His own name, and in the name of His Father, saying, "Come unto me, all ye who are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest"--"The Son of man hath come to seek that which is lost," and the like; that you had witnessed the delight it gave Him to do good, and to find any one willing to receive His overflowing love, and the sorrow He endured when men would not believe in Him or trust Him, but preferred remaining without the blessing; and that you had accompanied Him during His ministry on earth, and studied His character from all you saw and heard,--could the impression made upon you in such circumstances be thus expressed, "I believe that Thou carest not for me; that my well-doing or ill-doing are equally matters of indifference to Thee; and that there is no faith or love that Thou desirest to see accomplished in my soul?" Would you have _dared_ to speak in anything like this strain of blasphemy to the holy Saviour had you met Him? Or would you not have been overwhelmed by the conviction, that whether you yielded to His wishes or not, these wishes were clear and unquestionable--that from His character as a man having fellowship with God, His work as the Saviour of sinners, His revealed will as Lord, nothing could be more certain than that He wished you _personally_ to be holy and happy through faith in His name; and accordingly, that if you accepted His call, and His offer of power to be so, you were but working _with_ Him; and that if you neglected both, you were certainly working _against_ Him?

But with this personal Saviour you have to do just as really and truly now as any of His disciples who had followed Him when on earth; and so I beseech you to be fellow-labourers with Him in His own holy and living work within your own soul. Let your prayer then be: "Thy will be done! Let Thy holy and loving will, my Father, be done in me! I believe in Thy forgiveness, and am at peace with Thee, according to that will, through the redemption that is in Christ Jesus. And as this is also Thy will, even my sanctification, and Thy revealed purpose, that I should be made conformable to the image of Thy Son, so let Thy grace, which is sufficient for the chief of sinners, daily bring this salvation into me, by teaching me to deny ungodliness and worldly lusts, and to live soberly, righteously, and godly in this present world; that so learning Christ, taking up His cross daily, following Him and being disciplined by Him, I may be taught to put off the old man, which is corrupt according to the deceitful lusts, and to be renewed in the spirit of my mind; and, as Thine own workmanship, be created anew in Christ Jesus unto good works. Amen!"

Let us consider for a little longer God's work in us, by His providential dealings towards us. A moment's reflection will suffice to remind you that God, in His providence, is constantly working with you. He is, for instance, a wonderful Giver. "He gives us all things richly to enjoy." "He openeth His hand liberally." His mercies are more than can be numbered; though as a father He also chastises His children. "The Lord gives, and the Lord takes away." Now, in whatever way God deals with us, whether He gives or takes, there is a purpose which He wishes accomplished. He has a work to do in us by every joy and every sorrow. There is a voice for us in the rod of darkness, and in the ray of sunshine; and it is our duty, our strength, our peace, to hear that voice, and to know that work of providence so as to be fellow-labourers with God in it. Perhaps you are disposed to excuse yourselves for want of sober inquiry into God's dealings with you, by saying, that it is very hard to know, and often impossible to discover, what object or purpose He has in view when sending to us this gift or that grief. In some cases it may be so; but it is much to know and to remember what God's purpose is _not_, and what He can never wish to have accomplished, either by what He gives to us or takes from us. Never can it be the purpose of God, in any case, to advance the work of Satan in our souls, or to retard within us the coming of His own glorious kingdom of righteousness, peace, and joy in the Holy Ghost. Never can He send us a gift to make us proud, vain, indolent, covetous, earthly-minded, sensual, devilish, or in any degree to alienate us from Himself as our chief good. For whatever purpose He fashioned our body with such exquisite care, providing so rich a supply for all its senses, it was not, assuredly, that we should make that body the instrument of degrading and ruining the immortal soul, and of sinking our whole being down to a level with the beasts that perish! He never gave beauty of form to make us vain or sensuous; nor poured wine into our cup that we should become drunkards; nor spread food on our table merely to pamper our self-indulgence and feed our passions. He never gave us dominion over the earth that we should be Satan's slaves. He never awoke from silence the glorious harmonies of music for our ear, nor revealed to our eye the beauties of nature and of art, nor fired our soul with the magnificent creations of poetry, that we might be so enraptured by these as to forget and despise Himself. He never gifted us with a high intellect, refined taste, or brilliant wit, to nourish ambition, worship genius, and to become profane, irreverent, and devil-like, by turning those godlike powers against their Maker and Sustainer. We cannot think, that if money has been poured at our feet, He thereby intended to infect us with the curse of selfishness, or to tempt us to become cruel or covetous men, who would let the beggar stand at our gate, and ourselves remain so poor as to have no inheritance in the kingdom of God; or to make us such "fools" as to survey our broad acres and teeming barns with self-love and worldliness, exclaiming, "Soul, take thine ease; thou hast much goods laid up for many years; eat, drink, and be merry;" or to tempt us to refuse the cross, and to depart sorrowful from Christ, because we had great possessions; or to choke the seed of the Word as with thorns, so that it should bring forth no fruit to perfection! Can it be possible that He has spared our family, and enriched us with so many friends, in order that, being "so happy" with them, we should never wish to know God as our Father, Christ as our Brother, or have any desire to become members of the family of God? Has He given us so much pleasant, useful, or necessary labour in the world, that we should forget the one thing needful, and leave undone _the_ work for which we were created? Has He given us the Church, the ministry, the Sabbath, the sacrament, that we should make these ends instead of means--instruments for concealing, rather than revealing our God and Saviour? And if the Lord has taken away, and visited us with sharp sorrows and sore bereavements, was this "strange work" done by Him who does not "willingly afflict" His children, in order that we should have the pain without the "profit," "faint under" or "despise" the chastisement, or become more set upon the world and the creature, more shut up in heart against our Father, more dead to eternal things, or fall into despair, and curse God and die?

Without prolonging such inquiries, enough has been said, I hope, to enable you to apprehend what I mean by our being fellow-workers with God in all His works of providence that concern ourselves. We believe that these things, whether of joy or sorrow, do not come by chance, nor through the agency of dead mechanical laws, but that a living Person is dealing with us wisely, lovingly, righteously,--that, in truth, "_the Lord_ giveth, and the _Lord_ taketh away," and that, accordingly, there must be a design or purpose to serve in what He gives or withholds,--that this never can be an evil purpose, but must, in every case, be good, and that we may derive good and a blessing from it. Let us, then, be fellow-workers with Him in seeking, through faith and love, to have this purpose realised, and to have the end designed by God fulfilled in us or by us, so that every joy and sorrow may bring us nearer the glorious God, and make us know Him better, and love Him more, and thus possess "life more abundantly," even "life eternal!"

But not only is there a work to be done _in_ us, but also _by_ us, in the doing of which we are to be "labourers together with God."

This kind of labouring with others is illustrated by Saint Paul when he says, what I have already quoted, "Now then we are ambassadors for Christ, as though God did beseech you by us: we pray you in Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God. For He hath made Him to be sin for us, who knew no sin; that we might be made the righteousness of God in Him. We then, as _workers together with Him_, beseech you also that ye receive not the grace of God in vain." He is here, you perceive, addressing those who were enemies to God, and beseeching such to be "reconciled." But in what spirit does he plead with them? In labouring to bring them into reconciliation with their Father, and to save their souls, he does not feel himself alone and solitary in his work and labour of love; as one prompted by his own goodwill to lost sinners, and his own wishes to redeem them from evil, yet in doubt or in ignorance as to what God's wishes or feelings were in regard to them. He does not proclaim the gospel to one or to many sinners with such thoughts as these: "It is no doubt my duty to preach to them, and to plead with them, and from my heart I pity them, love them, and could die to save them; but whether God pities them or not, or truly wishes to save them, I do not know, for I am totally ignorant of His will or purpose." Surely such were not the apostle's convictions! Did he not rather engage in this work of seeking to save souls with intense earnestness, because he knew that however great his love, it was but a reflection, however dim, of the infinite love of God to them, and his desire to save them but a feeble expression of the desire of God? Was he not persuaded, that in "beseeching" them to be reconciled, he could speak "as though God did beseech" them by him, as one "in Christ's stead;" and that "in beseeching" them "not to receive the grace of God in vain," he was but "a worker together with God?"

In this same spirit may we, and must we seek to do good to others. We dare not look upon our brother as one belonging exclusively to ourselves, or one dear to ourselves only, but as one belonging to God his Creator, and dear to God his Father. We must ever keep before us the fact, that there is a work which God wishes to have accomplished in his soul, as well as in our own; and that our brother is given to us in order that we should be workers _together_ with God in helping on that good work. And if so, this will very clearly teach us at least what we ought _not_ to do to our brother. We should never, by word or by example, by silence or by speech, strengthen in his spirit the work of evil: for that is not God's work. For when we flatter his vanity, feed his pride, shake his convictions of the truth, or when, in any way whatever, we lay stumbling blocks in his path, or tempt him to evil, we are surely not workers together with God. In our conduct to our brother, let us ask ourselves, Is this how Christ would have acted to any one with whom He came in contact when on earth? Is this helping on His work now? But, on the other hand, when our brother's soul is dear to us,--when, at all hazards, we seek first, and above all, his _good_,--when our love is such that we are willing to have its existence suspected, and ourselves despised and rejected by him, even as our loving Lord was by His "own whom He loved," rather than that we should selfishly save ourselves, and lose our brother; then indeed we are labourers together with God, and possess the spirit of Jesus! Oh, little does the world understand the deep working of this kind of love, which, however imperfect it may be, yet burns in the heart of Christians only, because they only partake of that love which is possessed in perfection by Him who loved us, and gave Himself for us!

Let us, then, remember that we are not to concern ourselves about another's good as if we were alone in our labours, our wishes, and our sympathies; as if we really cared more than God does about the well-being of this relation or of that friend. Let our love flow out with all its force, and express itself with holiest longings and tenderest sympathies; yet infinitely above all this love is the love of our God and their God! In our truest and holiest working be assured that we are but a worker _together_ with Him, the true and holy One, otherwise our labours could not be _right_; for they would not be in harmony with God's will, or such as He could command or bless.

The same principle applies to our more extensive labours for the good of the whole world, and is the very life and soul of home and foreign missions. We can enter the abodes of ignorance and crime at home, and ply with offers of mercy the inhabitants of the foulest den, and plead with every prodigal to return to his Father, because we believe that in all this we are in Christ's stead, and are warranted to beseech in God's name, and with the full assurance that we are not working alone, but "together with God." We can visit any spot in heathendom, cheered and borne up by the same assurance amidst every difficulty, discouragement, and danger. Whatever else is doubtful, this, at least, is certain, that in every endeavour to save sinners, we are but expressing our sympathy with Jesus in His love to them, in His longing to see of the travail of His soul, and to be satisfied in their salvation; and that when experiencing the deepest sorrow because men will not believe, we are only sharing the sufferings of Him who mourned on account of unbelief, and wept over lost Jerusalem because it would not know the things of its peace. All this is as certain as that there is such a living person as the Saviour, unchanged in character, everywhere present, seeing the evil and the good, hating the one and loving the other, whose labour and whose joy is that God's name should be hallowed, His kingdom come, and His will be done on earth as it is done in heaven.

Oh, how depressing, how deadening, to have any doubts as to this reality of the interest which our God and Saviour takes in the good of human souls! How must the dread thought silence the tongue, wither the heart, and paralyse the hand, that however ardent the wish influencing us to be good ourselves, or to do good to others, God is indifferent to both, and has no real interest in either--as if we had more love, more holiness, and more desire that the kingdom of righteousness should advance, than the loving and holy God! Nay, how is it possible for us to have any true love at all to human friends unless it is first kindled by Him, and is in sympathy with Him, who loved His neighbour as Himself?