Who is more an object of ridicule than the rich miser—who
goes supperless to bed, because he will not give one farthing out of his
immense sums to purchase food; being afraid to live on what he is never able
to spend, and anxious to heap up what he can never enjoy.
Shall I, then, act the miser in spiritual things? Shall I
be afraid to live on the all-sufficient fullness of my Lord, lest his stores
decay? Shall I spare to drink of his overflowing ocean, lest it grow dry
before my face? Heaven no less loves a liberal receiver, than a liberal
giver. Is it decorous to hunger at the table of the king; or to say to the
enriching hand—Stop, you cannot spare so much? The miser's wretched
penny-pinching may, after his death, advantage his heirs, and, in the
meantime, accumulate his own riches; but the case is not so with me. My
living for the present poorly and sparingly on the promises, will never
advantage my after-state, nor leave any greater plenty for other saints;
neither will it make the celestial treasures any fuller, that I fetch not
daily from them. Though Daniel looked healthier than those that fed on the
polluted bread of the king of Babylon, yet my soul will look but thin and
lean, unless it feeds and feasts on the daily allowance of the King of
glory, whose table is covered with an infinite plenty. All the angels and
all the saints may banquet continually without lessening the divine store,
which, as to the display and manifestation, increases, as in the days of his
flesh, among the numerous eaters, and grows among the happy guests. Why then
pine at such a table, starve in the midst of so much plenty, and convert
divine liberality into the penny-pinching of unbelief? Shall I confine that
bounty that is rather perplexed where to pour its plenitude, (because few
will accept of Christ and his fullness,)—than at a loss for a super-abundancy
to bestow?
Henceforth let my soul by faith live at large on the
promises, and live spiritually grand at the expenses of the King, who will
not grudge it. Let me put on the royal apparel of the Son of God, the
vesture of imputed righteousness; and, as a sign that this is the
embroidered garment of my inner man, keep clean hands, and an holy walk. Why
should I creep and grovel in the by-ways of darkness, and foot-paths of
despondency—when I may ride in the chariot of the covenant, which Solomon
has built for the daughters of Jerusalem, and paved its interior with love?
Why should I walk by foot through fear and faithlessness—when my seat is
empty there, and no one else can sit in my place? Then, to the honor of him
to whom I belong, I will appear like one of the royal family of heaven. I
will rejoice in him always, and again I will rejoice. I will feast my soul
with his divine dainties—and suck the honey of the promises! I will satiate
myself with his goodness, and drink at his river which gladdens the city of
God. I will not dwell in the shadow of sorrow—but come out and walk in the
light of his countenance, in the brightness of his glory. I will importune
his sin-subduing grace, and plead for strength to fight the battles of the
Lord, that in his name I may conquer all my foes. I will expatiate on the
opulence of my treasure, the extent of my inheritance, and the excellences
of my Beloved; and live to the glory of him who gives me all things richly
to enjoy—according to the magnificence of an heir of God—according to the
grandeur of a joint heir with Christ!