Forsaken the First Love

Edward Griffin (1770—1837)
 

Revelation 2:4, 5
"Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love! Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place!"

These solemn words were a part of the message of the risen Savior to the church of Ephesus. That church had been planted by the apostle Paul, who at first continued there three years. Afterwards it was left to the care of Timothy and the elders who received from Paul that affecting charge at Miletus. At a later period John resided among them, and continued there until he was banished to Patmos by the emperor Domitian, about three years before this message was sent.

Under all these advantages it is not to be supposed that the Ephesian church had departed from the Gospel in the articles of their faith or in the forms of their worship. Paul had indeed forewarned them that after his departure "grievous wolves" would enter in among them, "not sparing the flock;" and that even of themselves men would arise "speaking perverse things to draw away disciples after them." And we know that Cerinthus and Marcion were there, who denied the divinity of Christ. There were also Nicolas and Hymeneus and Alexander and Phygellus and Hermogenes. But men of this character who had belonged to that church, had been excluded; and the church in this very message are commended for their marked reprobation of the deeds of the Nicolaitans. Nor yet does it appear that the members of that church had fallen into any open immorality, or had relaxed in their attendance on divine ordinances. On the contrary, they are highly commended for their many labors, their patient sufferings for Christ, and their resolute resistance of those who had grossly departed from the Gospel in faith or practice. "I know your deeds, your hard work and your perseverance. I know that you cannot tolerate wicked men, that you have tested those who claim to be apostles but are not, and have found them false. You have persevered and have endured hardships for my name, and have not grown weary."

Amidst this constellation of excellencies, one 'spot' appeared: they had forsaken their first love. That tender and fervent affection which they had felt in the days of their espousals, had grown cold. While sitting under the ministry of the heavenly minded John—while bleeding under ferocious persecution—they grew cold. This is the only charge brought against them—the only thing for which they are not even commended. This it was which drew upon that beloved and suffering church the stern reproof and awful threatening of the text: "Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love! Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place!" That is, I will unchurch you; a threatening which has long since been fulfilled, though upon a generation then distant; for where is now, and where has long been, the church of Ephesus?

Although Christians in their general course grow in grace, yet there may be times after their conversion when they are in a frame less holy than at the first. A great proportion of these Ephesians were doubtlessly real Christians, and yet they had grieved and offended their Savior by forsaking their first love. They do not appear to have sunk into actual lukewarmness. This character belonged to the Laodiceans, and is noticed in a far different manner. But here you see a church somewhere between Laodicean lukewarmness and the fervor of their first love; and at this alone the Savior is so offended, that, dear as they are to him on account of their many labors and sufferings for his sake, he solemnly threatens to come unto them quickly and remove their candlestick out of its place, unless they repent. I shall,

I. Consider the greatness of the sin of Christians, and how offensive it is to God.

II. Inquire how we are to escape from this dreadful evil of forsaking our first love.

I. We will consider the greatness of the sin of forsaking our first love, and how offensive it is to God.

But let us first find the persons that answer to this description. The subject has nothing to do with the mere professor who has apostatized to error or open vice, or has withdrawn from the assemblies of the saints. He is a Laodicean or something worse. But the person respected may be supposed to be always in his place in the house of God. He prays in his family and in his closet. He frequently attends the meetings for fellowship and prayer, and is regarded in general as an amiable and exemplary Christian. But he has lost the fervor of his first love.

In the hour when he first found himself delivered by a Savior from eternal death—when first that heavenly countenance looked in upon his darkness covered with smiles and charms—when first he dropped the punishment of eternal woe, and found a title to Heaven in his hands—"O," said he, "I never shall lose the remembrance of this hour and this deliverance. If I forget you, O my Savior, let my right hand forget her cunning: let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, when it ceases to be employed in your praise."

Then his soul, full of tenderness and devotion, could ponder over the glories of his Savior's character, and sit and weep at his feet. The attributes and government of God appeared perfect, and his grace most amazing. Every sentence in the Bible had a meaning; every doctrine possessed a charm; every promise was sweet. In communion with God and his people he felt that he could spend a whole eternity. Prayer was his breath; and he looked forward to the meetings with his brethren for prayer and praise, with all the sweetness and impatience of love. He could not look abroad on a world lying in wickedness, but his eyes would be filled with tears, and he must seek some secret corner where to unburden his soul in prayer. He felt his heart united to his Christian brethren and to all mankind. He was melted into forgiveness to enemies. He longed to devote his property, his influence, his life, to the honor of his Redeemer. He was jealous of everything that might grieve the divine Spirit, and watched his lips and his heart continually. He loathed every sin, and stretched forward with insatiable desires after a greater possession of the divine image. But now all the glories of the divine nature seem little to affect him. The dying love of Christ is contemplated with dreadful indifference. He can look upon a world lying in sin without any great distress, and without one agonizing prayer for their deliverance. He feels less love for his Christian brethren, less love for mankind at large. His eyes can rove over those pages which contain a history of God's reign, the records of all his mercies, the charter of all the believer's rights, without seeing a glory there. His prayers are cold and heartless and difficult, and little else than mockery. He can hear words sung which might well employ an angel's harp, without one emotion. He has scarcely any realizing sense of eternal things, and finds his heart darkened with much remains of infidelity and atheism. Those blessed meetings for prayer and praise are no longer pleasant, and are often neglected. His exertions for the salvation of men are feeble and sluggish, and he seems almost to have made up his mind to leave God for the world, without an anxious thought. In a word, both his love to God and love to man are dreadfully abated.

This is the very person whom the Savior is this moment regarding with unutterable displeasure; and if he were to break silence and send a message to him today, it would be the very message contained in the text: "Yet I hold this against you: You have forsaken your first love! Remember the height from which you have fallen! Repent and do the things you did at first. If you do not repent, I will come to you and remove your lampstand from its place!"

The great sin and offensiveness of this frame of mind will appear from the following considerations:

1. You have no right to feel this indifference towards God or man. God never gave you a right. He constantly stands over you and says, "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and your neighbor as yourself." He requires the sweetest and most compassionate regard for your neighbor, and the most adoring and grateful affection towards himself, every hour, and has enjoined these with the same authority with which he says, "You shall not kill."

You are accustomed to complain of your dullness as a misfortune, or at most an infirmity; but he considers it in no other light than as rebellion. You are accustomed to think that the regulation of your heart lies so far beyond your power, that if your hands are clean from open sin, you may acknowledge the coldness of your heart without a blush; but he considers your heart as much under the control of his laws as your hands, and as strenuously demands a right temperament as a right practice, and no more excuses your indifference than your crimes. In a word he has given you no more right to feel for one hour this coldness towards himself, than to steal or murder.

2. This coldness of heart is not a mere defect, it bespeaks some degree of the positive action of the most polluting passions. There is no such thing as the soul's wandering from God, but in pursuit of idols. It never leaves the fountain of living waters, but for broken cisterns.

This coldness of heart then betrays some remains of idolatry; and idolatry comprehends the whole action of selfishness; for the undue love of the creature as the instrument of personal gratification, is at once the essence of idolatry and the very definition of selfishness.

This coldness of heart betrays pride. A heart humbled in the dust before its Maker, never yet was stupid. And nothing but such a humiliation before God can demolish pride. Where doltishness of heart prevails, there pride must lurk.

And who can doubt that coldness of heart betrays unbelief? Did not unbelief exclude a sense of the glories of God and the love of Christ, what heart could remain unaffected? Thus this indifference is the immediate effect of the four leading sins of a depraved soul:
selfishness,
pride,
idolatry,
unbelief.

If such a state is not sinful, what in the universe can be?

3. Coldness of heart is a dreadful abuse of God. It is passing by his infinite glories after other objects. It is slighting his adorable perfections. It is disregarding his authority, his pressing, moving, solemn, awful commands and entreaties. It may seem hard to charge all this upon a Christian merely because he is cold-hearted; but it seems thus only because we have been long accustomed to see men cold, and by inveterate habit have lowered down the standard of duty. But let us go back to first principles. Let us have come into existence, as the angels did, in the immediate presence of God, and have always seen his glory, and seen creatures adoring at his feet or swelling their transported praise. Let our minds never have been familiarized to the instance of a creature turning away from that blaze of glory, from the dreadfulness of that majesty, from the sweetness of that love—to follow idols. Then let such a sight be presented as a cold Christian, standing in the presence of God unaffected, and reaching after the world. Let all the evils of the heart which go in to work this declension be laid open at once; and then how would the sight appear? Should we not pronounce it a greater abuse of God than any language can fully express?

4. Coldness of heart involves all the guilt of base ingratitude. It is the returns of one whose name was written in the Lamb's book of life before the foundation of the world, when he was not there to speak for himself—when none was there to speak for him but the Being who is thus abused. It is the returns of one who was cast out in the open field, and left there, under the influence of a disastrous birth, to die; by whom, when there was no other eye to pity or hand to save, Jesus passed, and spread his skirt over him and bid him to live. When you had done nothing to move his love more than others, he came out to seek you; he separated you from your former companions, and delivered you from eternal death, and put a title to Heaven in your hands.

O, then you thought you never could forget him. You gazed upon the prints in his hands and feet, and heard him say, All this I bore for you. And then how did you sit and weep at his feet and sob out your thanks. But where are you now? Are these the returns he expected from you? O the dreadful ingratitude. No creatures in the universe but redeemed sinners can show such ingratitude as this.

5. There is in coldness of heart the violation of an oath, or a solemn breach of covenant. In better hours you stood before the Lord and called Heaven to witness that until the day of your death you would love him better than father or mother or life. Could you covenant less? Had you any authority to covenant less? This was certainly your covenant; and it was so recorded in Heaven. You were then standing by the foot of the cross as represented in the holy emblems. You put forth your finger to the blood which issued from his heart and sealed your solemn covenant. And how have you kept your vows? Ah the infinite guilt! No creatures perhaps on earth are capable of guilt so great as a Christian bound to God by oaths sealed with blood.

Under all this guilt the eyes of Christ meet you. It is a solemn thought. I tremble as I express it. Let not imagination dare to play about this sacred spot. In this solemn stillness of the divine presence let our words be few and guarded.

O the dreadful displeasure with which Christ contemplates the cold Christian this moment. I hear him say to such a one; "Remember from whence you are fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto you quickly and will remove your candlestick out of his place, except you repent."

II. Let us inquire what is to be done, and how we are to escape from this fearful condition. Had there been no way of escape, I would not have opened my lips. I have brought all this before you, my dear brethren, only to obtain a hearing while I endeavor to point out the way of escape from this awful coldness and this dreadful guilt.

The first thing which you have to do is to remember from whence you have fallen. Set yourselves down fixedly to reflect on the days of your espousals. Call to mind the tenderness of your love to God and man, and compare it with your present stupor. Remember how the world then appeared, into which you are now so deeply plunged; how the realities of eternity then stood before you, which are now so concealed; how the truths of that word affected your hearts, which is now a sealed book; how much you delighted in the company and conversation of the children of God, and in conferring with them on the things of your Father's kingdom, which are now insipid, and exchanged for communion in business and conversation about the world.

Self-delight has often whispered in your ear that the change is produced by the coolness of maturer wisdom. But let me test the truth of that suggestion by a few decisive questions.

Have you now as much love to God or man, or as much faith?

Do you delight as much to commune with God?

Do you feel as thankful to him?

Have you as deep a sense of your sins?

Do you as fully realize the joys of Heaven or the miseries of Hell?

Do you see the truths of the Bible to be so glorious or so real?

Do you feel as tender an affection for your Christian brethren?

Do you feel as much compassion for a perishing world?

Does your heart melt so readily into forgiveness to enemies?

Are you so active in doing good?

Does your heart beat with so high a desire to advance the prosperity of the Church and the salvation of men?

If not, bless not yourselves in the thought of your maturer wisdom. You have certainly declined from everything which had the appearance of faith and love: and if any difficulty arises from the known truth that Christians grow in grace, it is a difficulty which presses against the soundness of your hope. You have certainly declined in everything which appeared like faith and love; and if real Christians cannot thus decline, then the question is forever settled—you are not a Christian.

Having ascertained how much you have fallen, the next step is to repent. This must be no ordinary repentance. You must come down into the very dust. You must mourn and weep at God's feet; and forgetting all other cares, must give your whole souls to humiliation and sorrow; resolving to lie in that posture until the return of his pardoning love, whether it be for a day or a month or a year; refusing to wander abroad among other truths even of a religious kind, until you have thoroughly settled this great controversy with your Maker.

For one who has wandered thus, there is no getting back to a state of reconciliation with God—there is no getting back to heavenly affections—but by going through the valley of humility and meditating over all its solemn length. Begin then this day the work of repentance in earnest, and set apart this week and following weeks to this special duty, until peace is restored with your offended Savior. If you linger long in this exercise, think not the time lost or your progress retarded. A month spent upon your face, would carry you forward more than your ordinary pace would do.

The next thing required is to do your first works. You must actually return to the faith and love of former days. This obligation is laid upon you by all the authority of God, who makes no allowance for your dependance—who accepts no plea of inability—but demands all this with as little ceremony as if there was no Spirit and you were independent—with as little ceremony as he commands any outward action. But you must go to him for strength. "If any of you lacks wisdom let him ask of God that gives to all men liberally and upbraids not; and it shall be given him. But let him ask in faith, not wavering; for he who wavers is like a wave of the sea driven with the wind and tossed. For let not that man think that he shall receive anything of the Lord."

For this strength you may go to him freely. "What man is there of you whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone?" "If you then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, then how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him." A firm belief in this is the very faith required. "Without faith it is impossible to please him: for he who comes to God must believe that he is, and that he is a rewarder of those who diligently seek him."

"And do the first works." This was spoken with all the authority of the Godhead. "And do the first works; or else I will come unto you quickly and will remove your candlestick out of its place, except you repent." Do you hear this, indifferent Christian? Unless you repent and return to your first love, he may come unto you quickly and break up your church-standing, either by taking you away, or leaving you to fall into open sins and forfeit your Christian privileges.

Where are we? In what a solemn condition do we stand? Right under the eye of God, and this awful threatening ringing in our ears! It is too late to say, "A little more sleep, a little more slumber," when the sword of the Almighty is at our bosom. We thought it would be good to awake at some future day; but what think we now? "Else I will come unto you quickly." While I speak he may be hastening to meet us. What a solemn condition are we in. An hour's delay may prove fatal. Instantly burst those chains which bind you to the world. Break up your wretched worldly calculations. Awake from sleep. Inquire what there is for you to do to advance the interests of religion and pluck souls from eternal death. Break, as from a burning house, from that stupor and fear of man which can demur about coming out from the world and engaging thoroughly in religion. Rouse all your powers and come up to the help of the Lord. Whatever you do you must do quickly—for the Judge is at the door!