THE MOURNER'S CREED
How stands our faith? These mighty thoughts and words of
consolation—are they really believed, felt, trusted in, rejoiced over?
Christian, "Do you believe this?" Are you really looking to this exalted
life-giving Savior? Have you in some feeble measure realized this
resurrection-life as your own? Have you the joyful consciousness of
participating in this vital union with a living Lord? In vain do we listen
to these sublime Bethany utterances unless we feel, "Jesus speaks to me,"
and unless we be living from day to day under their invigorating power.
He had unfolded to Martha in a single verse a whole
Gospel; He had irradiated by a few words the darkness of the tomb; and now,
turning to the poor dejected weeper at his side, He addresses the
all-important question, "Do you believe this?" Her faith had been but a
moment before staggering. Some guilty misgivings had been mingling with her
anguished tears. She has now an opportunity afforded of rising above her
doubts—the ebbings and flowings of her fitful feelings; and cleaving fast to
the Living Rock. It elicits an unfaltering response—"Yes, Lord, I believe
that You are the Christ, the Son of God, which should come into the world."
Remarkable confession! We would not so much have wondered
to hear it after the grave had been rifled, and the silent lips of
Lazarus had been unsealed; or had she stood like the other Mary at her
Lord's own sepulcher in the garden, and after a few brief, but momentous
days and hours, seen a whole flood of light thrown on the question of His
Messiahship. But as yet there was much to dampen such a bold confession, and
lead to hesitancy in the avowal of such a creed. The poverty, the
humiliations, the unworldly obscurity of that solitary One who claimed no
earthly birthright, and owned no earthly dwelling, were not all these,
particularly to a Jew, at variance with every idea formed in connection with
the coming Shiloh?
Was Martha's then a blind unmeaning faith? Far from it.
It was nurtured, doubtless, in that quiet home of holy love, where, while
Lazarus yet lived, this mysterious Being, in an earthly form and in pilgrim
garb, came time after time discoursing to them often, as we are warranted to
believe, on the dignity of His nature, the glories of His person, the
completeness of His work. It was neither the evidence of miracle or prophecy
which had revealed to that weeping disciple that Jesus of Nazareth was the
Son of God. With the exception of Micah's statement regarding Bethlehem as
His birthplace, we question if any other remarkable prediction concerning
Him had yet been fulfilled; and so far as miracles were concerned, though
she may and must have doubtless known of them by hearsay, we have no
evidence that she had as yet so much as witnessed one. We never read until
this time of their quiet village being the scene of any manifestations of
His power. These had generally taken place either in Jerusalem or in the
cities and coasts of Galilee. The probability, therefore, is that Martha had
never yet seen that arm of Omnipotence bared, or witnessed those prodigies
with which elsewhere He authenticated His claims to Divinity.
Where then did her faith come from? May we not believe
she had made her noble avowal mainly from the study of that beauteous,
spotless character—from those looks, and words, and deeds—from that lofty
teaching—so unlike every human system—so wondrously adapted to the needs and
woes, the sins, the sorrows, and aching necessities of the human heart. All
this had left on her own spirit, and on that of Lazarus and Mary, the
irresistible impression and evidence that he was indeed the Lord of
Glory—"the Hope of Israel, and the Savior thereof."
And is it not the same evidence we exult in still? Is
this not the reason of many a humble believer's creed and faith—who may be
all unlettered and unlearned in the evidences of the schools—the external
and internal bulwarks of our impregnable Christianity? Ask them why they
believe? why their faith is so firm?—their love so strong? They will tell
you that that Savior, in all the glories of His person, in all the
completeness of His work, in all the beauties of His character, is the very
Savior they need!—that His Gospel is the very errand of mercy suited to
their souls' necessities; that His words of compassion, and tenderness, and
hope, are in every way adapted to meet the yearnings of their longing
spirits. They need to stand by the grave of no Lazarus to be certified as to
His Messiahship. His looks and tones—His character and doctrine—His cures
and remedies for the needs and woes of their ruined natures, point Him out
as the true Heavenly Physician.
They can tell of the best of all evidences, and the
strongest of all—the experimental evidence! They are no theorists.
Religion is no subject with them of barren speculation; it is a matter of
inner and heartfelt experience. They have tried the cure—they have found it
answered—they have fled to the Physician—they have applied His balm—they
have been healed and live! And you might as well try to convince the
restored blind that the sunlight which has again burst on them is a wild
dream of fancy, or the restored deaf that the world's joyous melodies which
have again awoke on them are the mockeries of their own brain, as convince
the spiritually enlightened and awakened that He who has proved to them
light and life, and joy and peace—their comfort in prosperity—their refuge
in adversity—is other than the Son of God and Savior of the world!
Reader, is this your experience? Have you tasted and seen
that the Lord is gracious? Have you felt the preciousness of His gospel, the
adaptation of His work to the necessities of your ruined condition?—the
power of His grace, the prevalence of His intercession, the
fullness and glory and truthfulness of His promises? Are you exulting
in Him as the Resurrection and Life, who has raised you from the death of
sin, and will at last raise you from the power of death, and invest you with
that eternal life which His love has purchased?
Precious as is this hope and confidence at all times,
specially so is it, mourners in Zion! in your seasons of sorrow. When human
refuges fail, and human friendships wither, and human props give way, how
sustaining to have this "anchor of the soul sure and steadfast"—union with a
living Lord on earth, and the joyful hope of endless and uninterrupted union
and communion with Him in glory!
Are you even now enjoying, through your tears, this
blessed persuasion, and exulting in this blessed faith? Do you know the
secret of that twofold solace, "the power of His resurrection and the
fellowship of His sufferings?"—the "fellowship of His sufferings" telling of
His sympathy with your sorrows below—the "power of His resurrection"
assuring you of the glorious gift of everlasting life in a world where
sorrow dare not enter. Rest not satisfied with a mere outward creed and
confession that "Jesus is the Savior." Let yours be the nobler formula
of an appropriating faith—"He is my Savior; He loved ME, and gave
Himself for ME." Let it not be with you a possible salvation, but a
salvation found; so that, with the tried apostle, you can rise above
the surges of deepening tribulation as you glory in the conviction, "I know
in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that He is able to keep that which
I have committed unto Him."
Sad, indeed, for those who, when "deep calls unto deep,"
have no such "strong consolation" to enable them to ride out the storm; who,
when sorrow and bereavement overtake them—the lowering shadows of the dark
and cloudy day—have still to grope after an unknown Christ; and, amid
the hollowness of earthly and counterfeit comforts, have to seek, for the
first time, the only true One.
Oh! if our hour of trial has not yet come, let us be
prepared for it—for come it will. Let us seek to have our vessels moored now
to the Rock of Ages, that when the tempest arises—when the floods beat, and
the winds blow, and the wrecks of earthly joy are seen strewing the
waters—we may triumphantly utter the challenge, "Who shall separate us from
the love of Christ?"
"Say, you who tempt
The sea of life, by summer plea impelled,
Have you this anchor? Sure a time will come
For storms to try you, and strong blasts to rend
Your painted sails, and shred your gold like chaff
O'er the wild wave. And what a wreck is man,
If sorrow find him unsustained by God!