IMPUTED RIGHTEOUSNESS
    
    "This is the resting place, let the weary rest; and this 
    is the place of repose"—
    
    "What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to 
    the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I 
    have lost all things. I consider them rubbish, that I may gain Christ." 
    Philippians 3:8
    The "loss of all things" bringing with it 
    rest—tranquility! This seems a contradiction in terms. Worldly loss 
    generally, and as an almost necessary consequence, leads to unrest, unquiet, 
    trouble. Yet in Paul's case it was sublimely true—the surrender of former 
    grounds and subjects for exultation and boasting led him to the truest, to 
    the only stable rest. We are reminded of another of his seeming paradoxes: 
    "Having nothing, yet possessing all things."
    We may readily believe, indeed, that it would be no small 
    effort for him to discard what he once so fondly loved and prized, and to 
    which he so proudly clung. Sad to go to that gallery of pleasant pictures 
    which he himself had hung in the chambers of his soul, and with his own hand 
    to wrench one by one from its place—to tear sculpture by sculpture from 
    niche and pedestal, and to write upon these walls, so lately gleaming with 
    fancied righteousness, "All loss for Christ!"
    
    In the words of the entire passage, he has undoubtedly 
    reference to that wild night in the Adriatic Sea, to which in former pages 
    we have incidentally referred, when pursuing his voyage to Rome in the 
    Alexandrian ship. The tempest was threatening; the safety of the ship seemed 
    to demand a lightening of the cargo. But that precious corn! must it be 
    sacrificed for the safety of the vessel? It was "gain;" but must it come to 
    be counted as "loss," and tossed overboard? Yes, the tempest decides the 
    question. It must be consigned to the waves, otherwise the vessel will sink. 
    There is no room for debate; the crew make up their minds to "suffer the 
    loss of all." No, more, when the tempest howls with greater fury, and danger 
    and death stare them full in the face, they go a step further. The "loss" is 
    never thought of. They do not now pause in uncertainty and indecision, 
    saying, 'Cannot we save these precious barrels of merchandise?' Imminent 
    danger makes them glad to plunge them into the roaring sea. When the 
    question is between the loss of the wheat, and the loss of the ship, there 
    can be no hesitation. They account them as absolutely worthless—of no value. 
    They are glad to see them pitching against one another in the dark abyss. 
    They look upon them now, not as gain or treasure, but as having proved an 
    absolute hindrance, endangering their safety.
    And this was the process in Paul's mind. First, there was 
    a clinging to all these birthright gains and self-righteous confidences. He 
    was unwilling to part with them. Secondly, he underwent the "loss," but it 
    was accompanied with "suffering." It was an intense effort for him to 
    renounce that which he had once so fondly treasured and trusted in. But the 
    third stage of feeling was when he was brought to say, 'I hate them 
    all! they are as rubbish—they are worthless: they are endangering the 
    vessel's safety; they are endangering my soul's interest; let them go, every 
    one of them! They were once "gain to me;" once I endured "suffering" at the 
    thought of losing them; but now, heave them into the raging sea. I count 
    them as refuse, sweepings, husks, that I may win Christ, and be found in 
    Him.'
    Is this our case? Can we, as voyagers on the sea of life, 
    make such a declaration, that all in which we once trusted and gloried, as a 
    ground of justification in the sight of God, we toss overboard, in order 
    that the giant deed of Christ's doing and dying may stand out alone in 
    solitary grandeur? "Not having my own righteousness, which is of the law, 
    but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of 
    God by faith."
    "Accepted in the Beloved," says Hedley Vicars, "What a 
    healing balm is there here, for a weary, heavy-laden sinner!"
    And if being clothed in the imputed righteousness of 
    Immanuel is a blessed truth to live on, what a blessed truth to 
    die on! What a joyous garment this, with which to wrap around us when 
    the billows are high, and we are plunging into Jordan! We can imagine, when 
    that solemn hour arrives; when, perhaps suddenly, we are laid on the pillow 
    from which we are to rise no more; and when, despite our well-grounded 
    confidence in the Gospel, gloomy visions and memories of former guilt 
    will gather around, filling us with trembling and dismay—oh! in the 
    midst of the thick darkness, to feel clothed with a garment, which the rush 
    of waters cannot penetrate, and of which the King of terrors cannot 
    rob us—the robe which we received at the cross, and which we are to wear 
    before the throne!
    Yes, children of God, of every age and rank and 
    experience, tune your hearts and lips for the joyous strain. Aged 
    believers, sing it! you whose earthly pilgrim-garments are soiled and 
    travel-worn, but whose robe of righteousness is fresh as in the day of your 
    betrothals with the Heavenly Bridegroom. Young believers, sing it! 
    you who may have but recently stood at the marriage-altar with your Lord, 
    and received at His hands the glistering apparel; who may have a long 
    journey, it may be, still to travel, before you reach the King's Palace. 
    Sorrowing believers, sing it! take down your harps from the willows of 
    sadness. You are in mourning attire; but through your garments there shines 
    this "clothing of wrought gold," which the shadows of death and the grave 
    cannot dim or alloy. Let the whole Church of the living God, divided on 
    other themes—mute with other songs—kindle into holy rapture with this—
    "Jesus, Your blood and righteousness
    My beauty are, my glorious dress;
    'Mid flaming worlds, in these array'd,
    With joy I shall lift up my head.
    "This spotless robe the same appears
    When ruined nature sinks in years;
    No age can change its glorious hue—
    The robe of Christ is ever new.
    "And when the dead shall hear Your voice,
    And all Your banish'd ones rejoice,
    Their beauty this, their glorious dress—
    JESUS THE LORD OUR RIGHTEOUSNESS!"
    "To the praise of His glorious grace, which He has freely 
    given us in the One He loves."