By Horatius Bonar, 1867
"If (or--since), then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on
things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your
minds on things above, not on earthly things. For you died, and your life is
now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then
you also will appear with him in glory." Colossians 3:1-4
The word "if" is not, in this place, expressive of doubt.
It does not imply that those "saints at Colosse" were uncertain as to
whether they were risen with Christ. Rather, it is the apostle's way of
denoting the surest of all certainties. Thus he uses it in Romans 5:10,
"If when we were enemies we were reconciled to God;" and in verse 15,
"If through the offence of one many be dead." So that more truly it
might be rendered "since," as assuming the fact, and setting it down
as beyond all doubt.
No countenance is here given to uncertainty or
non-assurance on the part of a saint, as if he were one not entitled to say
more for himself than "If I be a saint." The gospel does in no way,
and by no word, directly or indirectly spoken, encourage uncertainty, or
give us leave to call it humility. The result of a believed gospel is not
uncertainty—but certainty; not trouble—but peace; not the continuance—but
the expulsion of all anxiety. The gospel presents me with that, in believing
which I am entitled to say, "I am a child; forgiven, saved, risen."
Such is its nature that, in receiving it, so far from being brought into
uncertainty, or kept in uncertainty, I am relieved from all uncertainty; my
soul is set at rest. I am not only warranted—but commanded to claim my
sonship. My not claiming it, my standing still in doubt as to reconciliation
between me and God, shows that I have not yet fully understood the freeness
and fitness of the grace which the gospel makes known. For God here presents
to us such a gospel as to shut each hearer of it up to this
alternative—either to doubt the good news, or enter into conscious
friendship with himself.
Sad it is that uncertainty such as this should be so
common among us, as if there were no sin in it, no blame attaching to those
in whom it exists; as if God's sovereignty would account for it entirely,
and as if man's rooted self-righteousness, his evil heart of unbelief, were
not the true and real cause.
Yet sadder still, that man should be contented with
this uncertainty; soothing his conscience to sleep with the idea that he
may be a Christian though he has no assurance; no, that his very doubtings
are the best evidences of his faith; as if unbelief could be the fruit of
faith, or distrust the offspring of confidence! Surely matters have come to
a low ebb indeed, when such is the case with us; not in rare examples—but in
instances innumerable; when assurance is the exception, and doubting the
rule; when peace with God is strange in the Church, and uncertainty tinges
with gloom, the religion and the life of so many who name the name of
Christ.
May we not ask, What is there about this uncertainty,
which is so attractive and loveable, that we should fondle it so tenderly,
and cling to it so desperately? Does it bring peace? That it cannot do—for
its very nature is to distract and trouble us. Does it console us under the
pressure of life's sore calamities? It cannot; for it is itself our heaviest
burden. Does it heal our wounds? No; it is daily inflicting wounds—but
healing none. Does it sweep off the clouds that overshadow us in our
pilgrimage, or brush aside the entangling thorns and briars of the
wilderness? No; it is itself the thickest cloud, the sharpest thorn that can
wound us. Does it raise us above the world, or make us holier men? That it
cannot do. It drags us down, and hinders all holy walking. Does it enable us
to serve the Lord more truly or fervently? No; it keeps us in dark bondage;
so that thus chained and imprisoned, we cannot serve him. Does it conform us
to the image of God's Son? Ah, no; in him we see the true filial spirit and
the devoted life; and how can these exist in us so long as we know not in
what relationship we stand to God; so long as we are uncertain whose we are,
and whom we serve.
If, then, uncertainty be such a thoroughly unprofitable
thing; if it be such a hindrance, such a sore evil, such an enemy to our
souls, why nourish it as many seem to do? Why cling to it, instead of
casting it away? Why not abhor it, and ourselves because of it?
The condition, then, of a saint, is one of certainty.
That certainty is this—he is risen with Christ. It is not that he ought
to be risen, or that he hopes to be risen—but that he has risen. This
is the blessed fact that forms the commencement of his history as a saint.
This event stands at the very threshold of his career; no, constitutes its
outset. His life is the life of a risen one. His story is that of one who
has risen. He cannot tell of his change without telling of resurrection. He
cannot speak of his new course and conversation, without referring to
resurrection. He cannot account for the high level on which he stands, or
the privileges which encompass him, or the hopes that rise before him, save
by tracing all these back to this one fountain-head, RESURRECTION.
What, then, is the meaning of this fact or event in the
life of a saint, which forms the commencement of his history? It cannot in
any way be understood of the resurrection of the body, which is the Church's
hope. For that is altogether future; and is, besides, connected with
the second coming of the Lord, whereas this is connected with His first.
The privilege or blessing, pointed at by the apostle here, is something
past, something which had commenced when they believed; whereas the
resurrection of the body is still a thing for which we wait and long.
Nor does the apostle's statement simply mean that the
resurrection of Christ has secured to us certain blessings, or opened a door
for us into the participation of certain privileges, or made sure to us the
title or right to certain future glories. All this is true; but it is much
below the whole truth, and only very partially expresses the apostle's great
idea regarding the standing and privilege of a saint.
He is telling us in what light God looks upon the soul
that has believed on his Son, and therefore in what light we are to look
upon ourselves. He is showing us under what special character God is dealing
with us; on what footing he has set us; to what extent he is placing to our
credit the work of his Son; in what way he regards him as our complete
substitute--and us as doing, suffering, passing through, and deserving--all
that he did, suffered, passed through, and deserved.
Hence, pointing to the cross of Christ, he says, that
cross was your cross—"You were crucified with Christ," and on that
cross you endured the wrath which you had incurred; you paid
the whole penalty, so that there is not a farthing of it remaining unpaid.
Pointing to the death of Christ, he says, that death was your
death—"You died with Christ;" it was you who then died, and in dying
met the full demand of the inexorable sentence; "The soul that sins, it
shall die." Pointing to the grave of Christ, he says, that grave was your
grave—"You were buried with Christ;" there you lay, victims to the law's
righteous requirements, and the Lawgiver's righteous execution of these in
full; there you lay, during the three days in which your Substitute was
lying there, just as those who have refused the Substitute shall lie
eternally, bearing the penalty which no time call cancel or exhaust.
Pointing to the resurrection of Christ, he says—That
resurrection was your resurrection; "You rose with Christ;" having
exhausted every claim against you, and paid to the full each farthing of the
righteous penalty, so that law has nothing now to insist upon against you.
Yes; it was you that rose eighteen hundred years ago, when your
Substitute arose. In rising, you left behind you in the grave all the guilt
that laid you there. It was the prisoner's dungeon in which you were laid;
but you have come forth from it, because the reasons why you entered it no
longer exist. It was law that chained you there, and it is the same law that
now unchains you; because it has nothing now to say against you. It was
righteousness that cast you into that prison, and barred its gates against
your return from it; and it is the same righteousness that has brought you
forth in triumph, having found far more and stronger reasons for your
deliverance than for your imprisonment.
You have thus come forth from the cell to which your
transgressions had consigned you; and not as one that has evaded justice—but
as one who has satisfied it to the full, having given it far more than it
sought. You have come forth, not with the felon's brand upon you, not with
the shame and stigma of your former life, to darken and disgrace you—but as
one risen to a new life altogether; a new life in the eye of righteousness,
in the eye of the law, and in the eye of God; as one entirely severed from
his former self; between whose present and former self there is such a great
gulf fixed that he is entitled to say, I am no longer the same individual, I
have acquired a new personality, a new legal identity.
The mighty truth here taught is, in fact, just this—Being
identified with our Substitute in death, we, that is, our former
self, perished. That death destroyed our identity; it cut the legal link
forever between our present and our former selves, so that law cannot
identify us as the individuals against whom it thought to urge its
overwhelming claims. It is baffled; it is brought to a stand; and to every
one of its charges we can confidently plead "not guilty," on the score of
not being the same individuals against whom the charges are laid. Again;
being identified with our Substitute in resurrection, a new personality has
been formed; a new individuality has been established in law; and it is on
the footing of that new personality, that new individuality, that we stand,
and bid defiance to every accusation that the law without, or conscience
within, can press against us.
In believing, this identification between us and
our Surety took place. In believing, we became legally one with Him,
in death and resurrection; that is, we died and rose again. In believing,
the mighty legal spell was wrought, the mighty legal miracle was
accomplished, whereby our former self passed entirely away, and a new self
came up into glorious being.
Nor is this new personality a mere figure, or fiction, or
romance. Those who never realized the momentousness of that central doctrine
of the Word of God--the substitution of the righteous for the unrighteous,
nor tasted the peace which comes from the knowledge of that
substitution--may say that this is but a figure of speech. But they who feel
that this legal transference of guilt from themselves to their Surety lies
at the root of all their peace and hope, will neither be stumbled at the
apostle's statement in our text, nor look upon it as the mere boldness of
figure. For whatever difficulty there may be in understanding the nature
of the transaction, or the very manner in which it is accomplished,
still the thing itself is sure, and its results, in so far as God and we are
concerned, are of the most real and blessed kind.
It is on this new legal personality that God acts in his
treatment of us. It is on this ground that he confers his favor, and pours
out his blessings. He deals with us, not according to what we were—but
according to what we have now become, in consequence of our oneness
with him in whom his soul delights. This oneness is our claim for blessing.
This is the plea which we present, and which we know God rejoices to accept.
Why, then, should there be such unwillingness to identify
ourselves with the Son of God? Is oneness with him a thing so shameful, or
so terrible? Is our own identity so precious a thing that we are unwilling
to part with it, and to sink it in his? Surely this cannot be. What can be
more blessed than to lose ourselves in him; to be so completely identified
with him that the law and the Lawgiver should treat us as entirely one! What
can give our souls a surer resting-place than the knowledge that this
treatment of us is the very thing that magnifies the righteousness of
Jehovah, and enhances the glory of his incarnate Son!
This new identity or new self is not a
thing gradually formed; wrought out step by step as we advance in likeness
to Christ; it is not a thing dependent upon our graces, a thing which is
more or less complete, as we are more or less holy men; it is a thing of
state, not of character; a thing of law, not of moral
fitness; it is therefore formed at once—the moment that we believe. Then we
become one with a dying and rising Savior; as truly and thoroughly one with
him as we shall ever be during a whole long life of holy doings. In
believing, we are crucified with Christ; we die, and are buried with him.
Thus our former self is gone. It perishes. Twice over it is declared to be
gone; once on the cross, and a second time in the grave of Christ. Then we
rise to a new life, and acquire a new self—a new personality. We come forth
out of the grave, where we had been buried with Christ, new men; not
the same individuals in the eye of the law—but others altogether. We obtain
a new life, a risen life, a life corresponding to that of him who rose
as well as died, who was not only delivered for our offences—but
raised again for our justification.
We are risen with Christ. He is the risen Head,
and we the risen members. "We are risen with Christ!" It is not merely that
we are forgiven, reconciled, justified—but we have entered on a new and more
elevated condition of being, a resurrection-life, a life which is truly the
pledge and anticipation of the glorious state of being which is finally to
be ours in the day when this mortal shall put on immortality, and death be
swallowed up in victory. This resurrection-life let us realize as already
ours; ours in right and title now, soon to be ours in reality, when
He who is our life shall appear.
The expression "with Christ," which the apostle uses
here, is one which applies to much more than to resurrection. All
that we receive we receive with Christ; in conjunction with him; as
sharers with him in what he has received from the Father. We are not simply
said to receive blessings from Christ or from the Father for Christ's
sake—but to receive them from the Father as joint-possessors,
joint-claimants, joint-heirs with the Son. "We are made partakers of
Christ," that is, made fellow-sharers, fellow-partners with him in all that
he is and has. He is ours, and all that he has is ours. The love with which
the Father loves him, the blessedness with which the Father has blessed him,
the honor with which the Father has honored him—all this he shares with us
as being one with him; the members of his body; the bride in whose love he
rejoices.
And as it is on this oneness between us and Christ
that God acts in his treatment of us, so it is upon this that we are to act
continually in our communion with him, and in our whole life on earth. Our
life is to be the life of risen ones. Our whole walk and conversation are to
be those of men who feel that they have died and risen, and that in this
sense also they have become new creatures in Christ Jesus; old things having
passed away, and all things having become new.
It is to this that the apostle refers in the words of our
text, when he says, "Since, then, you have been raised with Christ, set your
hearts on things above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God," as
if he would remind us that they who have died with Christ have died
to all things beneath; and that they who have risen with Christ
have, by their new life, been brought into connection with things above.
Their death with Christ severed forever the tie to earthly things; their
resurrection with Christ fastened at once and forever a new tie which links
them to what is heavenly; their former connection with what is earthly has
ceased, and a new connection has begun with heavenly things; they are to be
not so much dwellers upon the earth as inhabitants in heaven, like angels
come down to visit earth on some gracious errand, yet still mindful of their
own proper home, their true descent, and rank, and character. "Our
citizenship is in heaven. And we eagerly await a Savior from there, the Lord
Jesus Christ." And if our citizenship is in heaven, should not everything
about us, everything said or done by us, correspond to this dignity?
What have Christ's risen ones to do with the vanities, or
pomps, or pleasures of earth? The world has its own followers, and these
things are for them! But for us who are risen with Christ, there are
other things provided. We have other company, other joys, other hopes. Earth
has too long detained us; heaven is now the home of our hearts. Set your
hearts on things above!
Do we not need this counsel? Are not our eyes ever
turning downwards? Are we not, like Lot's wife, too often looking back,
remembering that Sodom out of which we have been taken? And what attraction
do we find there--so fascinating, so irresistible--that we experience such
difficulty in looking upwards? Is the bleak desert fairer than the blue
starry heavens? Is the society of the world better than the companionship of
God and Christ and the eternal Comforter? Strange that we should need a
command to do what seems so natural, so unavoidable, so blessed! Yet we
do require the command; and that not once in a lifetime, when some sore
temptation besets us—but each day and hour!
Set your hearts on things above! Heaven and the things of
heaven; God and Christ, the kingdom, the city, the glory, the crown—these
are all above, and these are our treasures; why then should we still
cling to earth and mind the things below?
"Do not love the world or the things that belong to the
world. If anyone loves the world, love for the Father is not in him." (1
John 2:15) You adulterers! Don't you realize that friendship with this world
makes you an enemy of God? I say it again, that if your aim is to enjoy this
world, you can't be a friend of God. (James 4:4)
Do not love the world! for if we love this world we
cannot love the world to come; if we love the world, we cannot love the
Father; if we love the world, we cannot seek the things above. The
friendship of the world is enmity with God, and therefore companionship with
the things of the world cannot fail to hinder us from setting our affection
on the things above. There must be no compromise, no lingering, no
half-heartedness. All must be decided; for what can be more expressive of
decision and unwavering consistency than the idea of our being actually
risen men! This sets aside all vain excuses, all idle pleas for mingling
with the world. Either you are risen, or you are not risen. If you are not
risen, then, of course, there can be no appeal of this kind to the
conscience at all. Go on in your worldliness; fling yourselves headlong into
the torrent of earth's vanities; but know that the end of these things is
death! But if you are risen, then there is an end of all debate. The point
is settled. The Christian cannot take part with the world in its follies,
and gaieties, and sins! What, risen with Christ and yet a worldling!
Impossible. Risen with Christ, yet singing its idle songs, hurrying through
its mazy dance, partaking in its mirth and revelry! Impossible. If you are
risen with Christ there is no alternative; you must seek the things
above.
The apostle evidently takes this for granted; that there
is no alternative in such a case. The unrisen may seek the things below—but
the risen must seek the things above. The unrisen may linger amid the
vanities of earth—but the risen must set their affection on the things of
heaven!
The things that are above, are those on which our eye,
our heart, our hopes, are resting; we are seated with Christ in heavenly
places, and hence our delight in the things connected with these heavenly
places; we have come to mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the
heavenly Jerusalem, to an innumerable company of angels, to the general
assembly and church of the first-born, which are written in heaven, and to
God the Judge of all, and to the spirits of just men made perfect, and to
Jesus the Mediator of the New Covenant. And having come to these, we are
conversant with these; we live among these; we realize these more truly than
the things around, which we hear, and see, and handle. These are the scenes,
and sights, and sounds, which occupy our souls! We have ceased to be
citizens of earth's polluted cities; we are citizens of the New Jerusalem
which comes down out of heaven from God. We have ceased to be inhabitants of
earth; we have become the inhabitants of heaven. We have ceased to call
anything on earth our own, for we are heirs of God and joint-heirs with
Christ, so that all things are our heritage; as it is written, "He
who overcomes shall inherit all things." We have a home—but not in the
palaces or haunts of the world; a house not made with hands, eternal in the
heavens.
The things that are above are the real and the
enduring; therefore we seek them, for all below is shadowy and
transient; passing away like the morning cloud. The things that are above,
are the things congenial to our risen natures, therefore we seek them. All
other things are repulsive, unattractive--because unsuitable and uncongenial
with our taste and nature; they have nothing in common with us, nor we with
them. The things that are above are the satisfying and gladdening--and
therefore we seek them. Nothing here on this polluted earth, can fill
us, nor impart one hour's real enjoyment. But the things above both fill and
gladden; we feel, even in the anticipation of them, far more of rest
and peace diffusing themselves through our souls than in the full
possession of what the world calls joy.
The things that are above are the infinite and
eternal. All else are narrow and limited; they have at the most but a
life-time's duration; no more. But the things above have no limit either as
to space or time. All connected with them is illimitable; so
that we can look forward to an enjoyment of that which fades not, and
changes not, and shall never end! Of this we have the pledge already,
and the reality will not be long behind. It only awaits the coming of
Him who is to shake the things that can be shaken, in order that those
things which cannot be shaken may remain.
The things that are above are thus those around which all
our hopes and joys are daily gathering. They are our portion, our heritage,
our treasure. What have we upon earth to compare with them, or to desire
beside them? Day by day they are gathering more of our hopes and joys. One
by one the affections are loosening from the things of earth, and fastening
themselves to the kingdom that is to come. One by one the objects of
endearment here are detached from us and pass upwards, becoming part of the
things above. We begin to feel as if heaven contained far more of our
heart's affections than earth; and as if the command to seek the things
above were becoming easier and more natural, seeing we have so many fewer
objects now to love on earth, so many more to love in heaven. And as flower
after flower is transplanted from the wilderness below, to the paradise
above--we feel as if that paradise were assuming more and more truly the
aspect of our real and proper home; the home of our kindred, and the home of
our hearts; the home into which no foe shall enter, and out of which no
friend departs; the home where the shadow never falls—but where the sunshine
ever rests. "Because the Lamb who is at the center of the throne will
shepherd them; He will guide them to springs of living waters, and God will
wipe away every tear from their eyes!" Revelation 7:17