No one could be supposed to have seen the Alps, if he tells you that all he saw was some rocky ridges of hills which his eye felt no strain in looking to. The Alps are not such hills; they tower to the clouds. Equally true it is that no one can be considered as having really seen sin, who never saw it to be very great; or to have got real rest to his soul, who has not seen the Saviour to be very great. Indeed, very great salvation is needed in order to give any true peace to a soul truly awakened; such salvation as is discovered when the soul discovers the Person of the Saviour. Then it sings, "Jah Jehovah is my strength and song, and has become my salvation" (Isa. xii. 2). "In Jah Jehovah*
is the Rock of ages" (xxvi. 4).
Even one sin makes peace flee from
the soul, as we see in the case of Adam and Eve. Even one sin fills the soul
with suspicions of God and suggestions of fear. Of course, then, the conscience
of every sinner abounds in materials for fear before God. Achan may be secure
for a time, while his wedge of gold and his Babylonish garment remain hid in
the tent; but let a hurricane from the howling wilderness shake the cords and
canvas of his tent, threatening to blow aside the covering of his theft, and
then he is full of alarm! Now, to the conscience of the sinner, every sin is
like Achan's theft. There may be a present calm in the air, but who can promise
that there shall not arise a stormy wind? a hurricane threatening to tear up
the stakes of his earthly tabernacle? Who can engage that every sin shall not
be laid bare? Who can give security that the sinner shall not in the twinkling
of an eye be sisted at the bar of the Holy One? It is a small matter to say
that at present all is at rest within. A city may be wrapt in slumber, and
under the calm moon may seem as quiet as a cemetery; and yet the first beams of
the morning sun may awake sleeping rebels, and witness the burst of
revolutionary frenzy.
Every sin is secretly uttering to the man God's
sentence of death; insinuating uneasy forebodings regarding coming wrath. Every
sin mutters to the sinner something more or less distinct about having wronged
God, and about God being too holy and just to let it slip from remembrance. And
when the quickening Spirit is at work in the conscience, every sin cries loudly
to the Lord for vengeance against him in whose heart it has its abode.
For
such a state of soul only one thing can avail - namely the discovery which the
Spirit makes to the man in conversion, the discovery of Christ's full sacrifice
for sin. Therein may be seen a propitiation as full and efficacious as
conscience craves, because it was wrought out by Him who is God-man. Therein
may be seen the whole Person of the Saviour presented to the soul as the
object to be embraced, and that person associated with the merit of all He has
done and suffered. Nay more; every act and suffering of that glorious Person
confronts the case of every sinner. Not only does he remedy the case of every
individual sinner of all that "multitude which no man can number," but besides
He meets every individual sin, and applies out-poured life to each
stain, to blot it out. This is exactly what was needed. If I see Him who is the
atonement to be God-man, then I see an offering so vast, and so extensive in
its applications, that every crevice of the conscience must be reached.
He
is our peace, not by His death only, but by His life of obedience also, imputed
to us. The more, therefore, we go into details with His Person (the Person of
Him whose every act and agony has an infinite capability of application because
of His being the God-man), then the more shall we see good reason why our peace
through Him should be peace "passing understanding" (Phil. iv. 7). Let us
exhibit some details of the kind we refer to - viz., His personal acts and
sufferings meeting my personal disobedience and my personal desert of
wrath.*
I confess the sin of my nature, my original sin; "Behold! I was
shapen in iniquity, and in sin did my mother conceive me" (Ps. li. 5). But I
see in Christ one who, while He was "that Holy One," was born to be holiness to
others (Luke i. 25). His dying was fully sufficient to remove the guilt
of my conception, and my connection with Adam; while His doing was holy
from the womb. Behold! then, here am I in my substitute! My infancy without
iniquity, nay, with actual purity, in the eye of Him who is well pleased with
my Substitute.
I confess the sin of my childhood. My childhood and
youth were vanity. But I find in Christ, God-man and my Substitute, deliverance
from all this guilt. "The child grew and waxed strong in spirit, filled
with wisdom; and the grace of God was upon him" (Luke ii. 40). I get all the
positive merit of this childhood of my surety, full as it was of holy wisdom,
and free from every taint of folly and thoughtlessness; and along with this I
get the atoning merit of His death. And thus I present to God both satisfaction
for the trespasses I have done in my childhood, and also obedience equivalent
in full to what the law had right even then to expect or claim from me.
I
confess more particularly the sin of my thoughts, "Every imagination of
the thoughts of my heart has been only evil continually" (Gen. vi. 5). But I
discover Him who not only by death perfected the atonement for me, but who also
obeyed my obedience in the thoughts of the heart, saying, "Thy law is within my
heart" (in midst of my bowels) (Ps. xl. 8).
I confess the sin of my
words, my idle words, my evil words. For it is written (Matt. xii. 36),
"Every idle word that men shall speak, they shall give account thereof in the
day of judgment." But I find in this great atonement the penalty paid for my
every idle word. I find, at the same time, the rendering of the obedience due
by me, inasmuch as his mouth was a well of life, "grace was poured into his
lips" (Ps. xlv. 2), and men never heard him utter aught but words of holiness.
I confess the sin of my duties; for example, the sin of my careless
worship in the sanctuary. But I find my glorious Substitute worshipping
for me in the synagogue. (Luke iv. 16), "He came to Nazareth, and as His custom
was He went into the synagogue." I find Him vindicating the honour of His
Father in the temple-service. (John ii. 17), "Make not My Father's house an
house of merchandise. And His disciples remembered that it was written, The
zeal of thine house hath eaten me up." His songs of praise, His deep attention
to the written Word there read, His joining in the public prayers, all this He
puts to my account, as if I had done it acceptably and done so always, - while
in the same moment, by His shed blood, He blots out every accusation against me
for omissions and guilty acts.
I confess my prayerlessness in
secret. It has grieved the Lord to the heart. But I find my Surety "rising a
great while before day, and departing to a solitary place to pray" (Mark i.
35); or, "continuing all night in prayer to God" (Luke vi. 12). This He will
impute to me, as if I had so prayed every day and night; at the same time
plunging my sins of omission into the depths of the sea.
I confess and
deplore heart-sins of various kinds. I lament instability of soul; my
goodness is like the early dew. But He was "the same yesterday, to-day, and for
ever," both God-ward and man-ward (Heb. xiii. 8). I feel hardness of
heart. But He imputes to me His own tenderness, and reckons to my account His
own yearnings of soul for the glory of His Father. I am stubborn; but He
can say, "The Lord God opened mine ear, and, I was not rebellious, neither
turned away backwards" (Isa. 1. 5). In me is guile; but "in His mouth
was no guile found" (1 Pet. ii. 22). And thus there is ready not only the warp
of satisfaction for transgression, but also the woof of rendered obedience.
Let me still go on a little in this application of my Lord's active and
passive righteousness. Do I feel my soul in anguish, because of indulging
ambitious projects, seeking to be somewhat? I find Him "not seeking His
own glory" (John viii. 50): and this fold of His robe He will cast over me,
while by His blood He washes me from all my self-seeking.
I have
pleased myself. But of Him it is testified, "He pleased not Himself"
(Rom. xiv. 2). I have sought my own will. But He could declare before
the Father and to men, "I seek not mine own will, but the will of the Father
which hath sent me" (John v. 30). And thus has He fully given the very form of
obedience that I have omitted to render. He gave what I withheld; and He will
give it for me, at the same time that my guilt in withholding it is hidden in
His blood.
I have been worldly. I have loved "the world and the
things that are in the world" (1 John ii. 15); not only the objects it
presents, but the very place itself, in preference to place and things wherein
the direct presence of God might be enjoyed. But He did not. "He was not of the
world" (John xvii. 14). He never had any of its treasure; it is doubtful if He
ever possessed or handled any of its money; we are sure He had nowhere to lay
His head.. The world hated Him, "because He testified that the works thereof
were evil" (John vii. 7). And all this He has at hand to impute to me, while He
washes me from guilt.
I have been often double-minded. His eye was
always single. "I have glorified Thee" (John xvii. 4) was always true of Him. I
have been inconsistent; but even Satan could find "nothing in Him" (John xvi.
30). And He could challenge His foes, "which of you convinceth me of sin?"
(John viii. 46).
My pride and haughtiness have need of One
who was "meek and lowly." And such I find in Him; and I find Him calling me to
come to Him as such, and use Him (Matt. xi. 29).
If I have
backslidden, yet my Surety's course was truly like "the shining light,
that shineth more and more unto the perfect day" (Prov. iv. 18). "He increased
in wisdom and stature, and in favour with God and man" (Luke ii. 52). Instead
of lukewarmness ever on any occasion appearing in Him , such was His
zeal for men's salvation that at one time friends stood by and said, "He is
beside Himself" (Mark iii. 21); and at another, His disciples were irresistibly
led back to the words of the Psalmist, "The zeal of thine house hath eaten me
up" (John ii. 17). Now, all this active righteousness in Him is for my use. He
will throw over me this other fold of His robe, as well as apply His infinitely
precious death, - and thus no one shall ever be able to accuse me of
backsliding, God accepting my Surety's work for me.
I have grieved the
Spirit. But oh, how Christ honoured Him! Such blessed things He said of
Him! "The Comforter," "the Spirit of truth," "the Holy Spirit," were names
which He applied to Him; and Himself had been led by Him in delighted
acquiescence. "Jesus being full of the Holy Ghost, returned from Jordan, and
was led by the Spirit into the wilderness" (Luke iv. 1). He has something here
to present instead of my provocations; and what He has, He will use for me.
Only let me know the treasures hid in His Person, and my consolation must
abound.
I have been unthankful; but oh! how my Surety abounded in
thanksgivings, - thanksgivings for food, - thanksgivings for the Gospel
revealed to babes, - thanksgivings for the communion table, because it
proclaimed His dying for us. Herein I find obedience to a law I broke, the law
of gratitude - while in the sacrifice of Calvary I find expiation for my guilty
ingratitude.
I think upon my unconcern for souls. And I find the
remedy for that iniquity in Him whose heart burned "to seek and save that which
was lost," and who plunged into the sea of wrath in order to redeem - for every
step in His atonement has in it something of obedience as well as satisfaction.
Oh, inconceivable fulness for us in Him! whatever be the special sin which
our conscience at any moment is feeling. Only let us ever keep Christ
Himself in view, Christ clothed to the foot in that garment of active and
passive righteousness.
It is thus we get the sea, with all its multitudinous waves*
(Isa. xlviii. 18, "righteousness like the waves of the sea"), to flow up
every creek and sweep round every bay. His Person being such, His work
completely fits into the soul's necessities. And all this is so great, that not
only does it affect us negatively, - not only does this full view of Christ
remove every tremor from the soul, - it works besides into the heart a positive
bestowal of bliss.
It is as sometimes in nature when every breath of wind
is so lulled asleep that not a leaf moves on the bough of any tree; the sun is
shedding his parting ray on the still foliage; and the sea rests as if it had
become a pavement of crystal. This is peace in nature. Your heart feels, amid
such a scene, not only the absence of whatever might create alarm or disquiet,
but the presence also of some elements of positive enjoyment, as if there were
an infusion of bliss in the scene. Now, infinitely more is this the case in the
kingdom of grace. The presence of Christ in the heart (the Spirit there
testifying of Christ) lulls fear to sleep; and while He makes disquiet almost
an impossibility, never fails to bring in positive delight and bliss. There is
something in it to "keep the heart and mind" (garrison, and so
preserve secure) (Phil. iv. 7). And what is this positive element but the real
outbreathing of direct friendship and love for Him whose heart we now know? He
removes the barriers out of the way and out of sight, in order to bring in
Himself with all His love, - Himself rich in all affections and bowels of
mercy. And is not this the true "healing" of the "hurt"? Was not the "hurt,"
our separation from the Holy One, caused by sin? Is not this the "healing,"
then, our return to fellowship with Him?
It is worth while asking,
in every case of apparent peace, whether or not this positive element
exists. Is there not only the absence of dread and a calmness in looking
towards the Holy One, but, in addition to this, is there direct enjoyment of
Him who gives the peace? The work of Christ, if seen apart from His Person, may
give freedom from dread of wrath, but it can scarcely impart that positive
delight in His restored friendship, which alone "keepeth the heart and mind."
"HE is our Peace," says Paul, in Eph. ii. 14. And when, in Phil.
iv. 7 he spoke of His peace keeping the heart and mind (" the thoughts"- in the
original), he said it was "by Christ Jesus." Was not Paul here directed
by the Spirit to insert this clause in order to fix our eye on the
Person who is our peace - the true "Jehovah-shalom?" (Judges vi. 24). And
is not the reason of this to be found in the fact that in proportion as we see
the Person, our soul's peace spreads and deepens? Certainly, all who
have tried it find this to be the case. The more they know of Him, the more
complete is their souls' rest. It is shallow peace (if it be indeed the "peace
of God" at all), when the Person of the Peacemaker is not directly
realised.
And now, seeing we have such advantages above Old Testament
saints, who saw the Person so dimly, are there not duties and
responsibilities resulting? "The darkness is past and the true light now
shineth" (l John ii. 8). Therefore (says John) there is for you "A new
commandment." He seems to mean that the increase of light has given force
to every demand for obedience; and especially that the appearing of this
Light, the Person Jesus, has brought with it peculiar motives to obedience.
May we not say that if we get such peace in Jesus Christ, and have Himself to
calm our souls, the Lord may well expect at our hands a higher style of
obedience than in former days?
Peace has its responsibilities - such peace
through such a Redeemer, has no common responsibilities. We are freed from
burdens in order to work for God - we are fully justified in order to be the
more fully sanctified. Carry this kind of peace with you everywhere, and you
cannot fail ever. where to show that you are with Jesus; for it is Himself
realised that gives it. Your claim to real peace implies your seeing
Christ Himself, and enjoying His fellowship. If so, then you may well be
expected to show likeness to Jesus; for "he that walketh with the wise men
shall be wise ‘ (Prov. xiii. 20). Your peace will be characterised by
purity, as all ever is that comes from God (Jas. iii. 17), and as all must be
that is the direct effect of an eye fixed on "God manifest in the flesh." Your
peace "in Jesus Christ" will keep you daily at His side, engaged in His work,
guided by His look, satisfied with His smile, living to do His will. Who could
have his eye on that Saviour continually, and there see "peace in heaven"
toward himself, and yet at the same time turn his feet into the by-paths of
unholiness?
Were your peace gotten or maintained by looking at an act
of your own - viz., your having once believed, or having done the thing
called believing, then possibly you might be at peace, and yet after all not
walk with God. But in as much as true Scriptural peace is gotten and maintained
by the sinner's eye resting at the moment on the Person of Him who is
our peace - on the person of Jehovah-shalom*
- it is not possible to be at peace and yet at the same time willingly
wander from fellowship with the Holy One. Christ, our Peace-maker, walks among
us wherever is to be found anything "true, or honest, or just, or lovely, or of
good report " - wherever is to be seen "any virtue or any praise" (Phil. iv.
8).
And he who has peace by having his eye on Christ cannot enjoy this
peace without being led at the same moment to these walks of Christ. Hence it
is that Paul writes to the Philippian Church - to Lydia, and the Jailor, and
Euodias, and Syntyche, and Clement - that "the God of peace would be with them"
while they pursued these objects (Phil. iv. 8, 9). If they were found at any
time wandering from these holy paths, it would be a sufficient sign to them (as
it will be to us also), that they had for the time taken off their eyes from
Him who was their peace - and so, ere they were aware, had lost the
enjoyment of that deep, profound peace, which "keepeth the heart and mind."
Transcribed from The Person of Christ by Andrew A.Bonar
D.D.,
first published
EDINBURGH, ANDREW STEVENSON,
9 NORTH BANK
STREET,
1888
HTML transcription files copyright © 2001-2006.
Jane Newble
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