The Course of Faith, or
The Practical Believer Delineated
By John Angell James, 1852
FAITH IN ITS RELATION TO HEAVEN
There are three questions which every considerate man will propose to
himself in reference to his present state of being. What am I? Where
did I come? What is my purpose here on earth? And there are three more which
he cannot help sometimes asking concerning the future. Where am I
going? What will I be there? How shall I prepare for eternity? There, before
us, at no great distance, is the grave—into the solemn and mysterious
obscurity of which, neither sense nor reason can dart one illuminating ray;
nor can either of them extort from its sullen silence one whisper of
information. Oh, that dreadful future! Into what will that one first step
from the ‘stage of earthly existence’ plunge us? To unaided human reason,
the future is an unbounded, mystifying, starless, midnight darkness—without
one luminous point through infinite space.
What shall we be in eternity? How easy is the
question asked. But who shall reply? Think how profoundly this question,
this mystery, concerns us—and in comparison with this, what are to us all
questions of all sciences? What to us, are all the researches into the
constitution and laws of material nature? What to us, are all the
investigation into the history of past ages? What to us, are all the future
career of events in the progress of states and empires? What to us, what
shall become of this globe itself, or of all the systems of the universe?
What, where, shall WE be ourselves—is the matter of surpassing, infinite
interest. There is in the contemplation a magnitude, a solemnity, which
transcends and overwhelms our utmost faculty of thought!
But where shall we gain information about this mysterious
future? All men, except a few tribes of the lowest savages, have desired
immortality. Man is in existence, loves life, and covets it forever; he
cannot endure the thought of throwing it off, and wants to know whether he
shall die out at last, or live forever. He is a creature capable of
happiness or misery, and tastes much of each on earth, and is anxious to
know which, or whether either, will be his lot beyond the grave. He is
conscious of sin, and feels solicitous to be informed whether the
consequences of transgression will pursue him into an invisible state. He is
capable of indefinite growth in intelligence, virtue, bliss; and he would be
informed if he is to be cut off in the infancy of his being, his faculties,
and his acquisitions—or is to enter upon an endless career of improvement.
How is he to be satisfied on these momentous points?
The world by wisdom knew not God—nor immortality—nor
heaven. Unaided human reason, we repeat, never did, never can, assure us
that there is a future state at all. If it could ascertain this, it could
not tell us whether it is a limited or an endless duration. If this
could be proved, and it were certain that there is to be everlasting
consciousness, it would be at a loss to tell us whether it were a state of
unmixed bliss, or misery, or a mixture of both. This ascertained, it would
still be unable to inform us how eternal felicity is to be obtained, and
eternal misery avoided, through our eternity of being. And even if all this
were demonstrated, it could not tell us whether immortality were a gift
bestowed on the nobler spirits of our race, or were the common endowment of
all humanity.
Unaided human reason fails at every step! Neither Plato,
Cicero, Socrates—nor Aristotle, could settle these questions. The sages,
after uttering their speculations and their hopes, followed them with their
gloomy doubts and fearful misgivings. "The earnest expectation of the
creature waits for the manifestation of the sons of God." The whole heathen
world "groans and travails in pain together until now," longing for an
immortality to relieve them from the burden of their sufferings, their
cares, and their labors.
When Edwin, the Saxon monarch, embraced Christianity, he
convoked the heads of the nation and laid before the assembly the motive of
his change of religion, and asked them what they thought of this, to them,
new doctrine. After others had given their opinion, a chief of the warriors
rose and spoke in these terms—
"You may recollect, O king, a thing which sometimes
happens in the days of winter, when you are seated at the table, with your
captains and your men-at-arms, when a good fire is blazing, when it is warm
in your hall—but rain, snow, and storms are without. Then comes a little
bird and darts across the hall, flying in at one door and out at the other.
The instant of this transit is sweet to him, for then he feels neither rain
nor hurricane. But that instant is short; the bird is gone in the twinkling
of an eye; and from winter he passes forth to the winter again. Such to me
seems the life of man on this earth; such is the momentary course compared
with the length of time that precedes and follows it. That eternity is dark
and comfortless to us; tormenting us by the impossibility of comprehending
it. If then this new doctrine can teach us anything respecting it, it is fit
that we should follow it."
Such was the beautiful and picturesque confession of
Paganism through the lips of this aged warrior, all up to that point, its
devoted votary. Yes, the soul of man, apart from the discovery made to us by
the revelation of God, like this little bird, seems to flit from darkness
across the abodes of the living in this world into darkness again, and to
wander, nobody knows where, without shelter, in the regions of wintry
storms, snows, and hurricanes.
What oracle then is to settle this tremendous question,
and to tell us what we shall be, where, and how—when we die? What is to
relieve the conscious heart, brooding in solemn silence over the darkness of
the sepulcher? Hearken to the music—the heavenly music of those thrilling
words– "And now he has made all of this plain to us by the coming of Christ
Jesus, our Savior, who broke the power of death and showed us the way to
everlasting life through the GOSPEL!" 2 Tim 1:10. What are all the volumes
which philosophy ever wrote, compared for value to these few golden
sentences. By the cross of Christ, the dark screen that blocked our view,
and hid the realms of glory from our sight, is rent asunder, and the vista
of heaven and eternal ages is laid open to the eye of faith! Immortality,
seen only as a dim object of hope, amid the midnight darkness of
Paganism, and only as a dim object of faith amid the twilight of
Judaism, is beheld amid the noontide splendor of Christianity in its
magnitude and grandeur, as at once the object of a strong and steady faith
and a lively and a saving hope.
The immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the
body, and a future state of rewards and punishment beyond the grave, all are
matters of pure revelation. We do not say there are no presumptive
evidences, or rather we should say, suggestions of these things, apart from
revelation—but they are only suggestions, which never did, and never
could satisfy any anxious mind. Immortality itself is so vast, so wondrous a
thing, as to seem applicable, when we come to reflect upon it, only to the
Great Eternal himself. To conceive that I, or any human being, born after
the manner of the brute creation; and like them sustained by the earth; a
poor, frail, feeble creature of yesterday, and crushed before the moth—who,
after a few fleeting years at most, shall return to the earth from which I
sprang, and seem to be utterly blotted out from existence—shall continue to
exist in some mode, and in some scene of existence, for millions of ages,
and that these will be as nothing in comparison with what will yet
follow! That a duration, passing away beyond all reach of the stupendous
power of numbers, will be as nothing! and that it will still be myself—my
very same being! And that it will be a perfectly specific manner of
being—with a full consciousness of what it is—an internal world of thought
and emotion—a perfect sense of relations to the system in which I shall find
myself placed—and this a continual succession of distinct sentiments and
experiences, and with the constant certainty of the train going on
forever! How utterly surpassing all this to reason, and almost
incredible to faith, when it contrasts this wondrous—all but deified
man—with the present little, insignificant, momentary creature, who flutters
out his tiny being in this temporal, earthly—and as compared with the
universe, little world!
Yes, and this immortality too, is the destiny and the
portion of all that swarm of ignorant, debased, and to all appearance,
utterly insignificant, useless, sinful creatures—which populate a large
portion of our earth. Could anything short of a Divine revelation establish
such a fact? Could anything short of God's testimony lead me to embrace it?
Not that there is anything in it contrary to reason—no! But everlasting
felicity is something so vast, so wondrous, so magnificent--that unaided
human reason never could have concluded that this gift, so rich, so
splendid, so extraordinary, could be bestowed on a sinful child of dust!
And does not even faith, I say again, sometimes shrink
from it as a huge improbability? Nothing short of all those irrefutable
evidences which accredit the mission of the Son of God, could ever make me
believe that I am the wondrous being which immortality makes me. To believe
this in reality—this is faith—strong faith—mighty
faith.
The great mass even in this Christian land, and also
among those who frequent our sanctuaries, do not really believe in eternal
felicity. Their conduct is utterly at variance with such a belief. Is the
impress of immortality upon their character? Is there anything that bears
resemblance to the mighty idea in their conduct? Are they not infinitely
more swayed by the present time, than a future eternity? Has not earth
infinitely greater attractions for them than heaven? Is not all their labor
bestowed upon the present, while the endless future is neglected and
forgotten? No, no! Immortality is not believed by the multitude. It is a
mere name, an opinion, a speculation; any thing but a deep practical
conviction.
Still God has testified it. There, in characters radiant
with the light of heaven—there, written as with the beams of the Sun of
Righteousness upon the page of inspiration, is the mighty word,
IMMORTALITY—the gift of God—the hope of a dying world—the portion of the
righteous! The mind even of the omniscient God himself never
conceived anything greater; nor his words, which are not as our
words, ever expressed anything nobler than that matchless sentence– "To
those who by patient continuance in well-doing, seek for glory, honor,
immortality—eternal life." O, most precious volume, if only for this one
verse! I can never come to it without stopping to gaze, to wonder, and
adore. Glory! Honor! Immortality! Eternal life! What subjects of thought!
Compared with their brightness—the sun at noon is dark! Compared with their
grandeur—the ocean is insignificant! Compared with their beauty—the choicest
scenes of nature are dull!
How have heroes panted for glory! How have the
ambitious panted for honor! How have the living panted for
immortality! How have the dying panted for life! Here, in this one
verse, are all these in their essence, divested of the shadow and the
sham with which pretense and illusion have invested them! Here, in this one
verse, are all these in their purity, divested of everything that
ignorance and falsehood have attached to them! Here, in this one verse, are
all these in their perfection, comprehending all that in the Word of
God belongs to them. Philosophers, orators, poets, historians—all, find for
me if you can—quote for me if it be possible—from the whole range of human
literature, a sentence so weighty in terms, so lofty in subject, so worthy
of God to utter or man to hear—as this which fell from the pen of the
blessed apostle.
It would seem as if, when he wrote that wonderful
sentence, he had in view the whole race of aspirants after what is
illustrious; the multitude of every age and every country who have lifted
their heads above their fellows; and looking round with exploring eye, have
sought to find some adequate and permanent good for the soul; as if he saw
their eager hope, their laborious pursuit, their panting bosoms, after what
they thought to be glory, honor, and immortality; and knowing how
they were deceived, said to them– "Here it is—revealed by the gospel, and
proposed to all who live according to its precepts!"
But it is time, after this long introduction, to dwell
upon the subject of this chapter, which is, Faith in reference to heaven.
Faith also believes in hell. Yes—it believes all those dark threatenings—those
dreadful descriptions of punishment that will come upon the wicked. Faith
stands sometimes—not that it loves to do so—but because God requires it—upon
the borders of the flaming pit, to hear the groans of the lost, and see the
smoke of their torment ascend up forever and ever! Perfect love casts out a
servile fear—but not a filial fear. There are seasons when a
contemplation even of the place of punishment may be beneficial even to a
child of God. HOPE and FEAR are the two scales in the soul of the Christian
which regulate each other—as one sinks, the other rises—and faith holds and
adjusts the balance. And it is well, that if we sink into a frame where the
objects which appeal to our hope are but feebly influential—that we should
be roused by those addressing themselves to our fears.
The awe produced on the soul of the believer by the
representation of the miseries of the lost, is beneficial and even
necessary. And it has been conjectured by some, that as the continued and
certain security of saints in glory will be effected by moral means—the
contemplation of divine justice as it appears in the eternal punishment of
the wicked—will be among those things which will accomplish the eternal
preservation of the righteous in heaven. But we have now to do with
heaven—and the following are the exercises of the believer's mind in
reference to it.
1. The true Christian believes the CERTAINTY of heaven.
It is an assured fact that there is a
heaven—a state of ineffable bliss, beyond the grave, for the righteous. He
holds it not as a mere opinion—a speculation—a something that reason renders
probable—but believes it as that which revelation makes certain. Heaven is
one of the chief subjects of the New Testament. Though of necessity
invisible, it is in his view—a grand reality. True he has sometimes his
gloomy seasons, when the unseen, unknown world, appears to him, as an
uncertain world. Doubts, fears, difficulties, and objections rise up before
him—or are injected into his mind like so many fiery darts of the wicked
one. Distressing at times are these conflicts between his reason and his
faith—bitter his feelings—agonizing his state. This is what Bunyan calls the
Dark Valley of the Shadow of Death. It is however only for a while.
He takes up the shield of faith, which receives the burning missiles and
quenches them all. He lays hold of the Word of God, recovers his confidence,
rejoices in hope, and exultingly exclaims– "Yes, it is all true. All the
evidences of Christianity sustain my hope of heaven."
To all the suggestions of unbelief—to all the logic of
skepticism—to all the difficulties of imagination—to all the surmises of his
own suspicious fears, he opposes the testimony of God. He knows what man can
say against it; but he also knows what God has said for it. He has studied
the historic evidences of the gospel; and if not, he has in the power of the
gospel in his own heart, the inward witness in himself. He can stake his
soul upon the gospel testimony for eternity. "I know whom I have believed,
and am persuaded he is able to keep that which I have committed to him,
until that day."
2. The Christian understands, believes, and approves the
true NATURE of heaven. Heaven with him is
not a mere name—an unintelligible sound—an undefinable thing. He has learned
from his own experience what kind of heaven he wants, and from the Bible
what heaven God has provided for him. There is much that God has not
revealed—much that he could not reveal—much that if revealed, we could no
more understand, than a newborn babe old could comprehend Raphael's picture
of the Transfiguration if it were shown him, or Handel's Messiah if it were
performed in his hearing. "It does not yet appear what we shall be." No, we
cannot know it! We must have some other faculties, or else those we already
possess must be otherwise than they are to understand it. Heaven is too
great to be fully made known. We must trust God for our hereafter, as we
trust him for our present state. And we may trust him. He has undertaken to
provide for our perfect bliss, and we may be sure he will do nothing
unworthy of himself.
"The glories that compose his name,
Stand all engaged to make us blessed."
He treats us as parents sometimes do their children, who
promise them some good thing, and require them to trust their wisdom and
goodness not to disappoint them. It is beautifully said, God has "prepared
for his people a city—therefore he is not ashamed to be called their God."
Wonderful implication! It shall be something worthy not of their acceptance
merely—but of his bestowment! A prince would be ashamed to give a present,
which was only suitable for a peasant. God would be ashamed to bestow a
heaven less than that which accorded with himself. With such an assurance,
we may be content to walk by faith amid much present ignorance of heaven.
Our hope will never make us ashamed. It will not utterly fail us, and will
not fall below our expectation. When the Queen of Sheba saw Solomon's glory,
she almost fainted under the display, and exclaimed– "The half had not been
told me." We shall say the same when the veil shall be drawn aside, and
eternal glory blaze out before us! Or rather shall say, the millionth part
had not been—and could not be—made known to us!
But heaven is not all unknown. Something is
revealed. We can here only refer to, without stopping to explain, certain
passages of Scripture which describe it, and give the substance of them.
Heaven will consist of the moral perfection of the soul—its perfect
knowledge—1 Cor. 13:12—perfect holiness—Ephes. 5:27—perfect love—1 John
4:17—perfect likeness to Christ—1 John 3:2. The physical perfection of the
body in incorruptibility, immortality, glory, and spirituality. 1 Cor.
15:42-44. The presence of God in the full manifestation of his glory. Rev.
22:4. The beatific vision of Christ. John 17:24. 1 Thess. 4:17, 18. The
fellowship of angels and all the redeemed. Heb. 12:22-24. The joint worship
of the heavenly multitudes. Rev. 4:5. The perfect service of Christ, without
interruption, imperfection, or cessation. Rev. 22:3. Complete freedom from
pain, toil, hunger, thirst, anxiety, fear, sorrow, and death. Rev. 7:15-17.
21:4. Such are the substance of heavenly felicity. Take any one of them by
itself, and each is a heaven. Add them altogether, and what a heaven!
How pure! How elevated! How felicitous!
The description of heaven, as given us in the New
Testament, is one of the most striking and convincing internal evidences of
the Divine origin of the Word of God. How unlike the Elysium of the Romans,
or the Paradise of the Muhammadans, or the Eden of the Swedenborgians, which
in fact are but 'earth transferred to the skies'.
Here, in the true heaven—all is unearthly, divine,
god-like. It is such as the corrupt heart and imagination of man never would
or could have devised. It may be truly said, this New Jerusalem must have
descended from heaven. Man never would or could have conceived of such a
heaven as that which the Bible makes known. But even of this true heaven—how
little can we now understand? How faint and feeble are our conceptions of
these things. To believe them is nearly all we can do, and wait for their
meaning hereafter. Now it is the province of faith to believe in this
heaven—the heaven of the Bible—the heaven that God has promised and
provided—to believe in this—just this—all this, and nothing more. It
confines itself to the testimony; it does not speculate—but takes the matter
just as it is revealed.
3. The Christian believes in the possession of this
heaven, so far as relates to the soul—immediately after death.
There is a great mystery, no doubt, concerning the
intermediate state of the redeemed between death and the resurrection. The
condition of disembodied spirits is a subject which neither the profoundest
philosophy nor theology can comprehend—or even discuss. Nor is this at all
surprising, when we consider how little we can understand of the very nature
of spirits as distinct from matter, or the link by which they are united. We
may therefore be well content to be in ignorance of their separate state,
and it is no part of the business of faith to explain the mystery. It
believes—but does not know. It receives the fact, without
presuming it understands all about it. The 'godly dead' are with Jesus. Paul
desired to depart and 'be with Christ,' evidently importing that he should
be with him when and as soon as he departed. He speaks of our "being absent
from the body and present with the Lord." The Christian often adopts the
words of our poets,
"In vain my fancy strives to paint
The moment after death;
The glories that surround the saint
When he resigns his breath!
"Oh, the hour when this material
Shall have vanished like a cloud;
When amid the wide ethereal,
All the invisible shall crowd;
"And the naked soul, surrounded
With realities unknown,
Triumph in the view unbounded
Feel herself with God alone.
"In that sudden, strange transition,
By what new and finer sense,
Shall she grasp the mighty vision,
And receive its influence?"
4. It is the part of faith to regard the grace of God, in
bestowing heaven, the very same grace as is displayed through the mediation
of our Lord Jesus. No cross, no crown, is a
phrase susceptible of a double meaning. It may refer to the experience of
the Christian himself, and signify that he must for Christ's sake be content
to bear a cross on earth—if he would wear a crown in heaven. But it may be
also applied to Christ, without whose cross we had received no crown. The
believer neither asks, expects—nor hardly wishes, a heaven which is not
obtained for him by Christ. Everything Christ was and did for us as a
Savior, has a reference to heaven. It is beautiful to see how Manton applies
the whole of Christ's different states to the procuration of our heavenly
felicity. His coming from heaven was to show heaven to us; his going again
there was to prepare a place for us; his sitting at the right hand of God is
to promote our interest in heaven; his coming to judgment is to take us back
with him to heaven.
Christ in his humiliation was appareled with our
flesh—that we in our exaltation might be clothed with his glory. If he was
crucified—it was that we might be crowned; and his grave—was the way to our
throne! In his exaltation he is not only carrying on his intercession—but
wielding his scepter of power, to bring us, as the Captain of our Salvation,
to glory. There the saints in glory are represented as gathering round the
throne of the Lamb—worshiping the Lamb—and ascribing their salvation to the
blood of the Lamb. This is their anthem, when surrounded with all the
glories of the city founded upon precious stones and paved with gold–
"Worthy is the Lamb who was slain, for you have redeemed us unto God by your
blood."
5. Nor does the faith of the Christian leave out the
necessary FITNESS for heaven, accomplished in and by the work of the Holy
Spirit. For every state, and for all
circumstances in which man is placed, whether it is a condition of duty or
of enjoyment, there must be an appropriate preparation. The apostle's
language shows that this is as true in reference to heaven as to anything
else– "Giving thanks unto the Father, who has made us fit to be
partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light." Col. 1:12. This
fitness is as necessary as the title. A farmer just taken from the plough
would not be fit for the splendor of a court. He would enjoy no happiness in
such a situation—but find it only a 'splendid prison,' and he would pine
amid the blaze of royalty—for the humble scenes of his hamlet and his
cottage. As little could the great bulk of mankind be happy in their present
state of mind amid the honors and felicities of the celestial world. Heaven
is a state of service as well as of bliss—for there "his servants
shall serve him," and we are taught to pray that "God's will may be done on
earth as it is done in heaven." It is the combination of obedience and
enjoyment; for the former there must be the preparation of a devoted heart,
and for the latter of a spiritual taste. But what devotedness to Christ, or
what taste for his delights, have the multitude around us? In heaven
they would be as strangers and aliens; among a people whose language they
could not talk, all whose customs were strange to them, and with whose
enjoyments they could hold no sympathy.
Or to change the illustration, they would be like men in
a fever amid the delicacies of a feast—they could do nothing—taste
nothing—enjoy nothing. There must be an education—a discipline—a probation—a
preparation for Paradise, or it could be no Paradise at all. This fitness
must be acquired upon earth, or it never will be acquired anywhere. Without
pardon, a sinner would be the more miserable the nearer he was
brought to the throne of an offended God; and without holiness he
would feel an indescribable irksomeness in that state, where there is
nothing but what is holy. And where are pardon and holiness acquired but on
earth?
The believer realizes this fact, and as long and as much
as he acts in character, he is seeking by the work of God's Spirit upon his
soul to gain this fitness. He feels that he is educating for heaven; and
labors that the means of grace, the dispensations of Providence, and his own
hope of eternal life—may prepare him for the glory to be revealed. He
believes in the fact of different measures of reward and punishment in the
eternal world; and that the higher degrees of grace here on earth, fit him
for the higher degrees of glory in eternity. Heaven is a state of order,
arrangement, and gradation; and the higher posts of service will be there
awarded to those who by diligent spiritual cultivation have prepared for
them upon earth. A holy ambition for large service in the celestial state is
one of the legitimate exercises of faith. A right-minded Christian would do
much for Christ here—that he might do proportionately for him hereafter.
Perhaps this may constitute the differences in glory—the various degrees of
rank and elevation in the heavenly city. This is the believer's business
then on earth, to be ever educating for his Father's house and home under
the influence of the Divine Spirit. How delightful an aspect does this give
to this world—as the schoolhouse for heaven. What a dignity does it impart
to man amid all his seeming littleness—he is a student for immortality. What
an air of importance does it throw over the seeming trivialities of human
life—they furnish the lessons of holiness, patience, and benevolence—which
the Christian is learning for the formation of his eternal character. What
an incentive does it supply to his diligence, self-denial, and
perseverance—he is contending for some post of honor and glory in the
kingdom of his Father!
6. We have partly
anticipated what comes next; and that is,
faith realizes the believer's own
personal interest in I
heaven.
It is a glory for him. Heaven is not a vast
domain which is to enrich some other heir, at which he may look with
admiration of its magnificence, and with congratulation to the happy
individual who is to call it all his own. Heaven is his! He
himself is the heir of all this vast estate. It is for the righteous and
he is one of the number. He is not satisfied merely with singing,
"When I can read my title clear
To mansions in the skies,
I bid farewell to every fear,
And wipe my weeping eyes,"
for he gains a clear evidence of his title. He has the
Spirit bearing witness with his spirit that he is a child of God. He could
not let a matter of such infinite consequence, as whether he is going on to
heaven or hell, remain uncertain. He has gone down into the depths of his
own soul with the Word of God in his hand, and examined his state by a
comparison of the one with the other, and by the aid of his own
consciousness, has come to the conclusion that it is all safe with him for
eternity. He sees there the work of the Spirit in the soul, tallying
with the word of the Spirit in the Bible; and he says– "Yes, I, this
individual self—this poor, sinful, yet renewed creature; I, who now am so
little thought of by others, and still less thought of by myself; I, who am
so soon to die, be buried, and forgotten, I, am to inherit
everlasting glory. The I AM a child of God now, is to be the
everlasting I am in heaven. I am to be one of 'the general assembly
and church of the firstborn, which are written in heaven!' I am to be
one of 'the spirits of just men made perfect.' The greater the glory, the
more miserable I would be—if I had not a well-founded persuasion that it
would be mine."
7. The Christian is favored with a foretaste of heaven's
bliss, even on earth. What a mystery, as we
have said, is heaven to the multitude. Talk to them of the enjoyments of
heaven upon earth, and you would appear to them as one who dreams. Yet is it
absolutely certain that heaven in its commencement is known upon earth; and
to use the beautiful language of Lady Powerscourt– "a Christian should be
not one who looks up from earth to heaven—but one who looks down from heaven
upon earth. His citizenship is in heaven. He is an immortal, and
should have the demeanor, the consciousness, and the feeling of one. He
knows what heaven means, for he feels it. Faith gives to him a foretaste
now. The very belief of such a state is its beginning. Is it not so with
all our future joys? Who that looks forward to some promised and
expected joy, does not in the very anticipation, commence the reality?" What
thoughts and imaginations are awakened! The soul throws itself forward into
the very midst of the expected delight. Its hopes out-travel itself, and are
already there before it takes full possession. Watts has truly said,
"The men of grace have found
Glory begun below;
Celestial fruits on earthly ground,
From faith and hope may grow"
Or if they do not grow on earthly ground, then like the
spies who went into Canaan and brought back the grapes of Eshcol—faith and
hope go up into heaven, and plucking off some of the fruits of the tree of
life, bring them down to the believer upon earth. The contemplation of
heaven is like the sight of a feast to a hungry appetite—the first relish of
it. Just think what these graces do for their possessor; what a sense of
peace with God and of his love to us; what a feeling of our love to him;
what a quietness of conscience; what an admiration of the glory of Christ,
with an intense sense of gratitude and affection to him; what a
consciousness of the power of holiness and its unspeakable enjoyment; what a
delight in God's people, and what a benevolence to all God's creatures; what
a stillness of the passions, and a regularity of the affections; what an
elevation above the base cares and pursuits of the world; how independent is
the soul for happiness of all the possessions of this world; how seemingly
rich in all the materials of true felicity; how free from all the agitations
of this tumultuous scene of things; how near to God, the fountain of
life—when really and powerfully under the influence of faith. And what is
heaven as to its great essentials—its eternal felicities—its unfading
delights—but feelings such as these?
Here on earth then, if there be a heaven at all, is its
bud. Can we imagine—can we wish for—a heaven higher, purer, sweeter than the
absolute perfection of such a state of mind as this? Let any rational mind,
any renewed heart, yield itself up to the full enjoyment by an intelligent
faith, of the truths of God's precious Bible—let him thus plunge into the
depths of God's glorious nature, Christ's wondrous work, and the revelations
of the unseen world—and can he be ignorant of what heaven is? If we know
nothing of heaven, it is because we know nothing of our Bibles; and if we
feel nothing of it, it is because we have not a stronger faith in them. God
has set the door of glory ajar, and in part its windows, in the Bible—that
we may look in and see; and has sent out by the hand of the sacred writers
some small portions of the celestial feast, that we may taste and long to go
in, and partake fully of the celestial banquet!
And now what INFLUENCE should this faith have upon us, in
reference to the heavenly state?
Should it not raise our MEDITATIONS upon it?
If worldly men in the state of their youth, look onward with such delight to
their coming of adulthood—when the title, and the mansion, and the domain,
shall all be theirs—when their honors, their riches, and their enjoyment
shall be ripe, gathered, and feasted upon; shall we, who are heirs of God
and joint heirs with Christ—who are expecting an inheritance which
incorruptible, undefiled, and which fades not away—be forgetful of ours?
With heaven expanding its glories above us—giving us the beginning of
them within us—and spreading them out in eternal perspective
before us—shall we be so taken up with the base, earthly, and dusky
objects of this world—as to turn aside and not see this great sight? Shall
we be pleased with candles—while the glorious sun is blazing above us, and
pouring a flood of radiance over the earth, and covering the face of nature
with smiles? Shall the pictures of children engross and amuse our
attention—when the snow-clad mountains—and the great ocean—and the boundless
prospect of river, forest, and valley, are spread out before us?
Or to go back again to the case of the youth, shall the
mind of the future prince be so taken up with the games and sports of
youth—as to forget the regalia, the honors, and the gratifications of
royalty, which are just ahead of him? All this is rational, compared with
that strange oblivion of heavenly glory which characterizes the conduct of
the professing Christian. O man, renounce the hope of heaven—or think more
about it. Be consistent, and if heaven is so base in your esteem as not to
be deemed worth thinking about—give up the belief in it.
Let the expectation of heaven be fruitful of
CONSOLATION. If heaven is truly believed
in, it must be so. Is heaven such a trifle that the expectation of it should
have no effect in moderating our grief amid the troubles of life? What said
the apostle, when speaking of this glorious inheritance– "Wherein you
greatly rejoice, though now for a season, if need be, you are in
heaviness through manifold trials." 1 Peter 1:6. Why, if all the trials of
all the men on earth could by possibility be cast into one of the scales of
any individual's lot, and heaven placed in the other, the apostle's words
would be true, where he says– "Our light afflictions, which are but
for a moment, work out for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of
glory."
The first view of heaven when we reach it, will in
a moment cause us to forget all the trials of earth—and the first thought
of heaven now, should have the same effect in measure. Christian,
why do you weep? Look up! Heaven is smiling above you. Look ahead! Heaven is
opening before you. Let your tears, if they must fall, be as the drops of
rain which fall in the sunshine and reflect the colors of the rainbow. The
last tear of earth will soon be wiped away amid the first smile of heaven;
and that smile will be eternal!
Let us in the exercise of faith,
be content with our remaining
ignorance of the celestial state. We have
already said there are many things of which we necessarily must be
ignorant. Much as we do know—there is more we do not know. There is a
curiosity in us all to know as much as we can about the vast, mysterious,
eternal future. Over that future hangs a thick, impenetrable veil—oh that it
were altogether drawn aside—or only a little way; or if not altogether
transparent as glass, yet that it were semi-clear. No! nothing more than
what the Scripture has said, can be told us. Is it not enough? Can we trust
God for nothing? Would we walk to heaven by 'sight'? No, we must wait and be
contented. We are sure when the curtain is drawn up, instead of querulously
asking in the language and tone of disappointment– "Is THIS ALL!" we shall
exclaim, I repeat, with delighted surprise as did the Queen of Sheba when
she stood before Solomon– "The half had not been told me!" Since God
has promised us a heaven worthy of himself to bestow, we should now be
contented in shades far deeper than those amid which we dwell, assured that
we shall never be ashamed of our hope. Without a single star to relieve the
darkness of the night, we could wait for the rising of the sun—how much more
so with the skies over our head, studded with constellations of promise and
description.
Out of faith in the reality of heaven, comes patience
also —that calm and quiet grace—that
serene and waiting state of mind. It is true that the greatness of an
expected and delayed blessing is of itself, too apt to produce impatience.
Yet when that blessing is certain, the mind can control its eagerness—by the
assurance that it will come, and that its greatness will infinitely
compensate for any little delay. As regards the great bulk of professors, we
have no need to speak of patience to them. Their danger lies in the
opposite extreme of a too great eagerness to remain—but think of such a
Christian as I have at this moment before my mind's eye; one who in early
life was living in great respectability of circumstances—but is now more
than fourscore years of age—suffering constant pain, and sometimes extreme
anguish—dependent upon charity not only for comforts—but necessaries—often
apparently on the verge of death, and then sent back again to more
suffering, like a vessel just entering the haven, and then driven out to sea
again. What need of patience is there here? To groan, and weep, and
agonize at the very door of heaven; and that door not open year after year
to the poor sufferer. But even in such a case, how powerful is the thought–
"Heaven is worth waiting forever so long, even in my melancholy
circumstances." The night is long, and dark, and stormy—but the
morning must come—and O, what a sunrise will it be!
What is so powerful to overcome the FEAR OF DEATH
as the promise and the prospect of eternal glory?
Why, why, O Christian, tremble at the thought of dying? What is death to him
who has faith in Christ, but a dark passage to the regions of immortality—to
the realms of ineffable light and glory? Beyond that dark valley lies "the
inheritance of the saints in light." And can you not enter with boldness,
the gloomy valley, for the sake of the sunny plains beyond—especially when
you are to be accompanied through it by him who brought life and immortality
to light? Cleombrutus, a Pagan, on hearing Plato discourse of the
immortality of the soul, ran and leaped into the sea, that he might
immediately be in that blessed state. Cicero represents Cato as saying– "If
God should grant me to become a child again, to send forth a second time my
infant will from my cradle, and having even run out my course, to begin it
again, I would most earnestly refuse it, for what profit has this life "and
how much toil—yet I do not repent that I have lived, because I hope that I
have not lived in vain. And now I go out of this life, not as out of my
dwelling-house—but from my inn. O blessed day! when I shall enter that
council and assembly of souls, and depart from this crude and disorderly
rabble." Shall a heathen have such longing desires after future glory,
though only possessing such faint evidence of its reality, and such
ignorance of its nature, as to commit suicide to reach it—and you, with all
the light of revelation shining upon the subject, be unwilling to go when
God calls you to it? The Christian's unwillingness to die, is the taunt
and stumbling-block of infidels! May it be overcome in us!
Christians, I now in conclusion solemnly call upon you to
consider your heavenly calling. Consider the end and purpose of your
redemption by our Lord Jesus Christ. He was sent from heaven to tell you of
that glorious state—to open a way for you to enter it—to show you in his own
person, and to assist you by your own experience, to see and feel how much
of heaven may be enjoyed on earth, and then to conduct you there. And lo!
now the God of all grace is calling you by Jesus Christ unto his eternal
glory. It is your calling to forsake this present world—and set your mind
and affections on the eternal world. Make haste then, to leave your
entanglements of all earthly mindedness and earthly affections. Learn to
live in this world as those who are not of it.
Consider that futurity is the greatness of man,
and the glorious hereafter is the grand scene for the attainment of the
fullness of your existence. "O get then the lovely image of the future glory
into your minds. Keep it ever before your eyes. Make it familiar to your
thoughts. Imprint daily there these words, 'I shall behold your face, I
shall be satisfied with your likeness.' And see that your souls be enriched
with that righteousness, have inwrought into them that holy rectitude, that
may dispose them to that blessed state. Then will you die with your own
consent, and go away, not driven—but allured and drawn. You will go, as the
redeemed of the Lord, with everlasting joy upon their heads—as those that
know where you go, even to a state infinitely worthy of your desires and
choice, and where it is best for you to be. You will part with your souls,
not by a forcible separation—but a joyful surrender and resignation. They
will dislodge from this earthly tabernacle, rather as putting it off than
having it torn away. Loosen yourselves from this body by degrees, as we do
anything we would remove from a place where it sticks fast. Gather up your
spirits into themselves. Teach them to look upon themselves as a distinct
thing. Accustom them to the thoughts of death. Be continually, as one ready
to depart. Cross and disprove the common maxim, and let your hearts, which
they use to say are accustomed to die last, die first. Often contemplate
death, and be mortified towards every earthly thing beforehand, that death
may have nothing to kill but your body; and that you may not die a double
death in one hour—and suffer the death of your body and of your love to it
both at once. Much less that this should survive to your greater, and even
incurable misery.
Shake off your hands and fetters, the earthly affections
that so closely confine you to your body—the house of your bondage. And lift
up your heads in expectation of the approaching jubilee, the day of your
redemption; when you are to go out free, and enter into the glorious liberty
of the sons of God; when you shall toil, and groan, and complain no longer.
Let it be your continual song, and the matter of your daily praise, that the
time of your happy deliverance is hastening on; that before long you shall
be absent from the body—and present with the Lord. That he has not doomed
you to an everlasting imprisonment within those 'confining and clayey
walls,' wherein you have been so long shut up from the beholding of his
sight and glory.
In the thoughts of this, while the outward man is
sensibly perishing, let the inward man revive and be renewed day by day.
'What prisoner would be sorry to see the walls of his prison house (so a
heathen speaks) moldering down, and the hopes arriving to him of being
delivered out of that darkness that had buried him—of recovering his
liberty, and enjoying the free air and light.' Rejoice that it is the
gracious pleasure of your good God, that you shall not always inhabit a
dungeon—nor be amid so impure and disconsolate darkness; that he will
shortly exchange your filthy garments for those of salvation and praise! The
end approaches! As you turn over these pages, so are your days turned over.
And as you are now arrived to the end of this book, God will shortly write
'finis' to the book of your life on earth, and show you your names
written in heaven, in the book of that life which shall never end!
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