Self-Communion

From Octavius Winslow's book, Help Heavenward
 

"Commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still." Psalm 4:4

It will be acknowledged by every spiritual and reflecting mind that the tendencies of the age are not the most favorable for the calm, solemn, holy duty of self-communion. We have fallen upon times of great religious, as well as worldly activity and excitement. So strong and rushing, indeed, is the tide, that there exists a fearful and fatal liability in those who profess to walk with God, as did Noah and Enoch, to neglect entirely one of the most essential and effectual helps heavenward: the prescribed, faithful, and constant examination of the spiritual state and condition of their own hearts. To the consideration of this vitally-important subject—a subject so intimately entwined with our progress in the divine life—let us now address ourselves.

The Divine precept is emphatic, "Commune with your own heart upon your bed, and be still;" or, as it is rendered in another and a beautiful version of the Psalms, "Commune with your own heart in your chamber, and be still?"

Both renderings are good, but perhaps the latter conveys more distinctly and impressively the idea of retirement for self-communion. "Come, my people, enter you into your chambers," is the invitation of God to His Church. Similar to this is the Savior's exhortation, "When you pray, enter into your closet."

With everything but themselves, the great mass of human beings by whom we are surrounded are in the closest communion. Man is in communion . . .
with nature in its glories,
with science in its wonders,
with art in its triumphs,
with intellect in its attainments,
with power in its achievements,
with the creation in its attraction.

There is but one object with which man holds no rational, sacred, and close communion—from which, though the nearest and the most important, he seems the most widely isolated; that object is himself! He does not study . . .
the wonders of his being,
the spirituality of his nature,
the solemnity of his relations,
the accountability of his actions,
the immortality of his destiny.

He thinks not . . .
of himself,
or of death,
or of judgment,
or of eternity!

He will examine and prepare himself for worldly preferment, but . . .
his state as a moral being,
his position as a responsible being,
his future as an accountable and deathless being
—absorbs not a moment, awakens not a thought, inspires not an aspiration of his soul!

What a fearful verification of and commentary upon the word of God: "Dead in trespasses and in sins!"

But the saints of God present another and a widely-different class. The religion of Jesus, while it is designed to disarm man of selfishness, and, when enthroned supremely upon the heart, ennobles and expands it with the "expulsive power of a new affection"—yet concentrates his most serious, devout, and earnest consideration upon himself. "Man, know yourself!" though a heathen maxim, befits in its highest and noblest sense, every Christian. It is of the utmost consequence, then, that the saint of God should be kept in perpetual remembrance of this sacred duty of self-communion: its neglect entails immense spiritual deterioration and loss; its observance will, more than all other engagements—for it stimulates to activity all others—effectually advance the soul in its heavenward course.

Self-communion is the topic which will now engage our thoughts—may we give to it the devout and earnest consideration which a subject so closely intertwined with our personal advance in heavenly fitness demands! Oh that this chapter of our work may be written and read under the especial anointing of God the Holy Spirit! Let us endeavor to ascertain what this sacred duty involves.

 

Know your true spiritual state before God.

In the first place, my beloved reader, commune with your own heart, to know its true spiritual state as before God. This will bring under your review the subject of conversion—a state which many take for granted without scriptural evidence of the fact. This is a great matter, and too many assume the existence of their personal conversion without proof. And yet how vast are the consequences of this most momentous matter they take for granted! There is no statement clearer in God's Word than this, that to enjoy Heaven we must become heavenly. God cannot cease to be God; therefore He could not make us, like Himself, perfectly happy—unless He made us, like Himself, perfectly holy. The Holy Spirit must make us new creatures—the subjects of a nature that is Divine—in order to fit us for the enjoyment of a Heaven that is absolutely pure. The questions, then, which we must weigh are:

Have I passed from death unto life?

Has my heart been convinced of sin?

Am I a subject of the new birth?

Have I passed from a state of insensibility to objects, and feelings, and hopes—that are spiritual, eternal, and divine?

Have I been quickened by the regenerating Spirit to walk with God, and before the world, in newness of life?

These are personal and serious questions, which must not, which cannot, be evaded without imperiling all that is most dear and precious to your everlasting well-being. Oh, give to your eyes no slumber until the subject of the new birth has awakened in your mind the profoundest thought.

It is spoken by Him who is the Truth, and it is written by Him who is the Spirit of Truth, "Unless a man is born again, he cannot see the kingdom of God." Heaven or Hell is suspended upon the outcome!

My reader! are you sensible . . .
that within you all things have been made new?
that, whereas once you were blind, now you see?
that your heart is in sympathy . . .
  with objects that are spiritual,
  with enjoyments that are holy,
  with engagements that are heavenly?

In a word, are you sensible that your views of sin and self, of God and of Christ and of the gospel—are radically, essentially changed; and that you seem to yourself to be the subject of a new-born existence, and the occupant of a new-created world?

 

Know the existence and condition of the love of God in your own heart.

Commune with yourself to ascertain the existence and condition of the love of God in your heart. Either enmity or love to Jehovah characterize us; there is no middle state between these extremes. A careful inspection of our hearts as to this principle, will enable us correctly to decide our spiritual condition before the Lord.

Do you love God, because He is holy?

Do you love His law, because it is righteous?

Do you love His government, because it is divine and just?

Do you love His ways, because they are wise, and right, and sure?

Do you love Him for sending His Son into the world to save sinners?

Do you love Him . . .
as a Father,
as a Friend,
as a God in covenant relation?

How your heart stand, O believer with your love to God?

What is the warmth and vigor and ardor of your affections?

Do you so love God in Christ as, under its constraining influence . . .
to do what He commands,
to yield what He asks,
to go where He bids,
to hate what He hates,
and to love what He loves?

Yes, to embrace Him with an affection which is simple, single, and supreme, oblivious, if need be, of every other claimant; and satisfied, if so He willed it, with Him alone?

Oh, what is the state of your love to Jesus: frigid, selfish, inconstant—or, glowing, self-denying, fixed?

You ask how your love to Christ may be tested and increased? Test it by obedience, "If you love me, keep my commandments." Increase it by a more close, believing dealing with Christ's love to you. Your love to Christ will never increase by feeding upon itself. You must light your torch of affection at the altar of Calvary. You must go there, and learn and believe what the love of Jesus is to you: the vastness of that love—the self-sacrifice of that love—how that love of Christ labored and wept, bled, suffered, and died for you.

Can you stand before this love—this love so precious, so great, so enduring, so self-consuming, so changeless—and know that . . .
for you was this offering,
for you was this cross,
for you was this agony,
for you was this scorn and insult,
for you was this death
—and feel no sensibility, no emotion, no love? Impossible!

Sit not down, then, in vain regrets that your love to God in Christ is so frigid, so fickle, so dubious. Go and muse upon the reality, the greatness, the present intercession of the Savior's love to you—and if love can inspire love, then methinks that, while you muse, the fire will burn, and your soul shall be all in flame with love to God!

"May you have the power to understand, as all God's people should, how wide, how long, how high, and how deep His love is. May you experience the love of Christ, though it is too great to understand fully!" Ephesians 3:18-19

"Were the whole realm of nature mine,
That were a present far too small;
Love so amazing, so divine,
Demands my soul, my life, my all."

 

Know your own heart as to its views of, and feelings towards the Lord Jesus Christ.

Commune with your own heart as to its views of, and its feelings towards, the Lord Jesus. The great question which decides your eternal state is, "What do you think Christ?"

Is it a reality with you, that Christ died for sinners?

Do you fully credit the promise by which God has engaged to accept through His sacrifice and intercession, all who believe in His name?

Do you believe Him to be divine, accept His obedience as justifying, and His death as sacrificial?

Has it pleased God to reveal His Son in you?

Is He precious to your heart?

And do you receive Him, trust in Him, follow Him, and hope to be with Him forever, as all your salvation and all your desire?

You ask me how you may come to a right conclusion in the matter. You long, you yearn, you pray to know whether or not . . .
you love Christ,
are one of His disciples,
and shall certainly be with Him where He is.

But why doubt it? Is the matter so difficult?

If your mind were filled with admiration of a being, could you question the emotion thus awakened?

If your heart were captivated by an object of superior intellect and beauty—and that object, towards which the yearning and clinging of your affection went forth in a warm and ceaseless flow, became supremely enthroned in your sympathy and regard—would the fact admit of a moment's doubt?

Would you call in question the existence, the reality, or even the intensity of your love? Impossible!

The higher and more momentous question of your sincere attachment to Christ admits of a yet easier solution.

Do I love Jesus?

Is He the object of my supreme admiration and delight?

Is He the chosen, the preferred, the supreme Being of my warmest affection?

Is He precious to my soul?

Am I trusting believingly, and exclusively, and without mental reservation—as a sinner utterly undone, self-abhorred, and self-condemned—to His sin-atoning sacrifice?

And still you hesitate! And yet you doubt! It is still a problem which you tremble to solve! You think . . .
of your sinfulness,
of your unworthiness,
of the taint and flaw and unloveliness of all that you do,
of your faint love,
of your weak faith,
of your doubtful sincerity
—and then you shrink from the thought of claiming an interest in Christ, and resign yourself to the conviction that your salvation is an utter impossibility—that you are not, and never will be, saved!

But to take a closer view of the matter. Upon what ground do you base this hesitation and justify this self-exemption from the great salvation?

It is not for your worth that you are saved, but for Christ's worth.

It is not on the ground of your personal merit that you are justified, but on the ground of Christ's merit alone.

It is not upon the plea of . . .
your fitness,
your tears,
your confessions,
your prayers,
your duties,
that God forgives and accepts you—but simply and exclusively upon the one plea of the Savior's sin-atoning sacrifice. The blood of Christ pardons, the righteousness of Christ justifies you—and this is all that you require, or that God demands. The great work is already done by Jesus—it is not to be done by you. It is complete, finished, accepted, sealed. And you, as a lost sinner, without holiness, without strength, without one plea that springs from what you are—have nothing to do! Believe, and you are saved. Believing is not doing, it is not meriting; it is trusting—it is the simple exercise of a faith in Christ which God gives, and which the Holy Spirit produces in the heart; so that your salvation, from beginning to end, is entirely outside of yourself, in another.

With what clearness and emphasis has the Spirit of truth set forth this: "By the works of the law shall no flesh be justified," (Galatians 2:16.) "But to him whoworks not, but believes on him whojustifies the ungodly, his faith is counted for righteousness," (Romans 4:5.) All your own works, until your faith embrace the Lord Jesus, are "dead works," and dead works never took a soul to Heaven! You need as much the sin-atoning blood to purge you from dead works, as to purge you from deadly sins! Hear the words of the Holy Spirit, "How much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from Dead works to serve the living God?" (Hebrews 9:14.)

And still you ask, "What then must I DO to be saved?" Do! I answer—NOTHING! All is done, completely and forever done! Blessed, O thrice blessed be God! Christ has . . .
done it all,
paid it all,
endured it all,
suffered it all,
finished it all
—leaving you, O sin-burdened, anxious, trembling, hesitating soul—nothing to do, and only to believe. Will not this suffice? Will you demur a moment longer . . .

to commit yourself to Christ,

to lay your soul on Jesus,

to accept the salvation, the Heaven, the crown, the eternal life He offers you as the free bestowments of His grace?

Your sins, as countless as the stars—are no barrier to your salvation if you but believe in Jesus.

Your transgressions, as deep as scarlet and as crimson, shall not be of too deep a dye—if you but plunge into the fountain of Christ's blood. His delight, His glory is to receive sinners—to receive you! And the moment you cease to give over doing, and begin only to believe—from that moment your soul rests from its labor, you enter into peace, and are forever saved!

"Nothing, either great or small,
Nothing, sinner, no;
Jesus did it, did it all,
Long, long ago.

"When He from His lofty throne
He stooped to do and die,
Everything was fully done;
Hearken to His cry—

"'It is finished!' Yes, indeed,
Finished every jot.
Sinner, this is all you need;
Tell me, is it not!

"Weary, working, burdened one,
Why toil you so!
Cease your doing; all was done
Long, long ago.

"Till to Jesus' work you cling
 By a simple faith,
'Doing' is a deadly thing—               
'Doing' ends in death!  

"Cast your deadly 'doing' down—
Down at Jesus' feet;
Stand 'IN HIM,' in Him alone,
Gloriously 'complete!'"

 

Know the ruling principles of your actions.

Commune with your own heart concerning its ruling principles of action. It is a law of our moral being that the human heart must be governed by some all-controlling, all-commanding principle—some secret potent spring that moves and regulates the entire powers of the soul. What is the ruling principle of your heart? Have you examined yourself to know? Beware of self-treachery—the most easy and the most fatal of all species of deception. There are many deceitful things in the world:
the wind is deceitful, 
the ocean is deceitful,
the creature is deceitful
—but the human "heart is deceitful above all things," and in nothing, probably, more so than in the principles and motives which govern and sway it.

Oh, it is appalling to think what self-idolatry and self-seeking and self-delight may reign in our hearts, and prompt and govern our actions! How carefully may we adjust our sail and shape our course, to catch the soft breath and win the low murmur of man's approbation and acclaim—as we float on the bosom of the stream, while ostensibly we are doing all for God!

But, retreating to my chamber, let me, in solitude, self-scrutiny, and prayer—commune with my own heart.

Laying bare, as with the deepest incision of the knife, its spiritual anatomy before God—my motives, purposes, and aims—can I say, "Lord! sinful though I am, the chief of sinners—yet I desire . . .
to be ruled in my life by Your Word,
to be governed in my principles by Your fear,
to be constrained in Your service by Your love,
and to make Your honor and glory the end of all I do."

Thus ruled and swayed, how fragrant and acceptable to Him is your lowliest service, your poorest offering!

It may be but the "widow's mite" you have cast into the treasury—to Him it is more costly than the jeweled diadem!

It may be but a "cup of cold water" you have offered to a disciple in His name—to Him it is as beauteous and sparkling as the crystal river which flows from beneath His throne!

It may be a service for Christ you have done—imperfect in itself and difficult to your spirit, unrecognized and unrewarded by others; yet, the tribute of your heart, in harmony with His will, and promotive of His glory—this box of precious ointment which you have broken shall fill earth with the fragrance of your love, and Heaven with the music of Christ's praise.

Know the heavenly tendencies of your own heart.

Commune with your own heart, and ascertain its heavenly tendencies—whether the shadows of time or the realities of eternity have the ascendancy. Let no child of God deem such a scrutiny needless. The Word of God is replete with exhortations to the Church . . .
to set its affections on things above, and not on the earth;
to seek first the kingdom of God;
to have its hearts in Heaven.

Encompassed as we are by earth,
blinded by objects of time and sense,     
weighed down by human cares and anxieties
—we need to be watchful against their secular influence upon our minds.

It is good, therefore, to retire to our chamber . . .
to examine the spiritual barometer of the soul,
to adjust the balance of the affections, and
to see that divine and eternal realities are obtaining a growing ascendancy and pre-eminence.

How distinct and impressive the precept, "Do not love not the world, nor the things that are in the world. If any man loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him." "Be not conformed to this world, but be transformed." "Who gave himself for our sins, that he might deliver us from this present evil world, according to the will of God and our Father."

 

Know your own heart as to its real and habitual fellowship with God.

Commune with your own heart as to its real and habitual fellowship with God.

Do we pray?

What is the character of our prayers?

Do we pray in the Spirit?

Is our prayer communion with God?

Do we walk with God as a Father, and with Christ as our best Friend?

Is the throne of grace the sweetest, holiest, dearest spot to us on earth?

For lack of this honest communion with our heart, there is often an essential defect in our communion with the heart of Jesus. Our hearts grow so cold that we are insensible to the warmth of His heart. There is so little self-examination concerning prayer, that our devotions glide into a cold, abstract formality, and petitions and supplications which should be as swift arrows shot from the bow of faith entering into the presence of God—congeal in icicles upon our lips!

Oh, look well to the state of your heart in the matter of prayer—it is the true, the safest test of the spiritual condition of your soul. See that your devotions are the utterances of the Spirit, sprinkled with the sin-atoning blood, and offered in the lowly, loving spirit of adoption—the breathing of a child to God as your Father. This is "communion with God," and all other is but the name.

 

Know your progress in the divine life.

Commune with your own heart as to your progress in the divine life. It is impossible to correctly know the distance we are on our heavenward way, the stages we have traveled, the points we have reached—without self-communion. The mariner examines his ocean-chart, the traveler the milestones of the road, to mark the progress he has made homewards; how much more necessary is examination for the voyager to eternity, for the traveler to the heavenly Zion!

Everything in nature is advancing—nothing stationary. Progress is the universal law of the universe. Is the renewed soul, the heavenly traveler—alone to stand still? Is the living water, welled within the soul of the regenerate, alone to be stagnant? Is the kingdom of grace alone exempt from the operation of this law of progress?

Let your inquiry then be—How high is my sun in the moral heavens? How near is it to its glorious setting? How far am I from the haven where my soul longs to be, sheltered from storm and billow in eternal safety and repose? "Knowing the time, that now it is high time to awake out of sleep; for now is our salvation nearer than when we believed!" (Romans 13:11.)

And, then, as to the dealings of our heavenly Father—how close should be our self-communion! God deals with us—that we might deal with ourselves, and then with Him.

An affliction often recalls our thoughts and sympathies and care from others, and concentrates them upon our more neglected self. "They made me the keeper of the vineyard, but my own vineyard I have not kept." Why has the Lord, perhaps, taken you apart from the activities of life, from the duties of your family, and from the religious engagements which have been so exciting and absorbing? Just so that in this lonely hour, in this quiet chamber, on this bed of sickness and reflection—you might be the better schooled in the much-neglected duty of self-communion. God would have you now ascertain the why and the wherefore of this present discipline:
what backsliding this stroke is to correct;
what sin this chastening is to chide;
what declension this probing is to discover;
what neglected duty this rebuke is to make known;
what disobeyed command this rod is to reveal.

Oh, how needed and wholesome and precious is self-communion now! Never, perhaps, before has your heart been . . .
laid open to such inspection,
subjected to such scrutiny,
submitted to such tests.

Never have you been brought into such close contact with yourself; never has self-communion appeared to you so needed, so solemn, and so blessed as in this quiet chamber.

"Ah, much-abused, much-neglected heart! How have I allowed you to wander, to be enamored, enchained, won, and possessed by others!

How has your spiritual verdure withered?

How have your fresh springs dried?

How has your beauty faded?

How has your strength decayed!

How cold, how inconstant, how unfaithful, how unkind have you been—to your best, your dearest, your heavenly Friend! But for the restraints of His grace and the constraints of His love, and the checks of His gentle corrections—where, oh, where would you have gone? I thank you, Lord for Your discipline—for . . .
the shaded path,
the severed tie,
the lonely sorrow,
the loving, lenient correction
—that recalls my heart to You!"

 

Know the state of your heart concerning the spirit of thanksgiving and praise.

Commune with your own heart to ascertain its state concerning the existence and exercise of the spirit of thanksgiving and praise. There is scarcely any part of our religious experience that receives less attention and insight than this. And in consequence of its neglect, we lose much personal holiness—and God much glory. Praise is as much an element of our Christianity, as distinctly a duty and a privilege—as prayer. And yet how little of it do we exhibit! We are so absorbed by the trials and discouragements of the Christian pilgrimage, as to overlook its blessings and its helps. We dwell so much upon the somber coloring of the daily picture of life, as to be insensible to its brighter hues. But did we deal more with the good, and less with the evil; did we weigh our mercies against our trials; were we to reflect that if one sorrow is sent, how much heavier a sorrow that one may have prevented;

that if one trial comes, how much greater that trial might have been;

and that when the Lord sends us one discomfort, or permits one reverse—He sends us many comforts, and crowns our arms with many victories;

that there is not a dispensation of His providence, whatever its form and complexion, that is not a vehicle of mercy, that does not breathe a beatitude;

that the blessing of God, the smile of Jesus, and the voice of the Spirit's love, are in every event and incident and circumstance of our history

—then, what a more thankful, praiseful spirit would we cherish!

How should we examine our hearts to discover and expel thence the lurking spirit of murmur and rebellion and fretting against the Lord!

How should we uplift every window, and remove every veil that would admit the beams of God's goodness entering and penetrating every recess, and lighting up the entire soul with the sunshine of mercy, and making it vocal with the music of praise!

I have exhorted you, beloved reader, to cultivate self-communion as to the matter of prayer; with equal point and earnestness do I exhort you to this holy duty as to the matter of praise. There exists a serious defect in the Christianity, a sad lack in the religious experience of many of the Lord's people concerning this holy exercise. The Lord has declared, "Whoever offers praise, glorifies me." And the holy apostle, speaking by the Spirit, exhorts, "Be anxious for nothing; but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving—let your requests be made known unto God." And in another place we learn how comprehensive is this precept, "Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ!"

Thanks always for ALL things! Then I am to cultivate a feeling of gratitude and to breathe a spirit of praise for all that my God and Father pleases to send me. I am always to be in a thankful, praiseful spirit for all the dispensations of His providence and grace. What a holy state would my soul then be in! What happiness would it ensure to my heart, and what a revenue of glory will accrue to God! How would it . . .
lighten my burdens,
soothe my cares,
heal the chafings of sorrow,
and shed gleams of sunshine upon many a lonely, dreary stage of my journey!

I am too little praiseful. I am looking only . . .
to the crossing of my will,
to the disappointment of my hopes,
to the foil of my plans,

to what my Father sees fit to restrain and withhold

—and not to the mercies and blessings, as bright as the stars which glow and chime above me, and numerous as the sands of the ocean upon which in pensive sadness I tread; therefore it is that while those stars chant His praise, and those sands speak His goodness and power—I alone am silent! And yet, my Father, there is nothing in Yourself nor in Your dealings which ought not to inspire my deepest gratitude and praise to You!

"I thank You, O my God, who made
The earth so bright;
So full of splendor and of joy,
Beauty and light;
So many glorious things are here,
Noble and right!

"I thank You, too, that You have made
Joy to abound;
So many gentle thoughts and deeds
Circling us around,
That in the darkest spot on earth
Some love is found.

"I thank You more that all our joy
Is touched with pain;
That shadows fall on brightest hours;
That thorns remain;
So that earth's bliss may be our guide,
And not our chain.

"For You who know, Lord, how soon
Our weak heart clings,
Have given us joys, tender and true,
Yet all with wings,
So that we see, gleaming on high,
Diviner things!

"I thank You, Lord, that You have kept
The best in store;
We have enough—yet not too much
To wish for more;
A yearning for a deeper peace,
Not known before.

"I thank You, Lord, that here our souls,
Though amply blessed,
Can never find, although they seek,
A perfect rest;
Nor ever shall, until they lean
On Jesus' breast!"
  —Proctor

 

Know with certainty your possession of heart-religion.

If, my beloved reader, there is one caution which I would urge with deeper emphasis of meaning and solemnity of spirit than another, it is this: do not be satisfied without the clearest evidence of the personal possession of heart-religion. In nothing does there exist a greater tendency, a more easy road to fatal self-destruction, than in this. The substitutes for heart-religion are so many and subtle, that without the closest scrutiny and the most rigid analysis of religious feeling and action—we may be betrayed, unsuspectingly to ourselves, into the gravest error.

You may be religious—very religious, conscientiously religious—and yet be destitute of vital religion. Denominational partisanship is not vital religion. Religious activity is not vital religion. You may be the warm promoter and patron of that which is Christian and philanthropic and useful in its nature—the school, the hospital, the society—and yet not possess vital religion! You may aid . . .
in the building of churches,
in the appointment of ministers,
in the securing of endowments,
in the sanitary, moral, and intellectual well-being of a community
—and still be destitute of vital religion.

You may submit to the rite of baptism,
you may go to the Lord's table,
you may take upon you in any form the vows of God—
and yet remain without a changed heart and a renewed mind.

All this which I have been describing is but religious still-life—the mere galvanism, the simulation, the counterfeit of vital godliness—a wretched copy of the original!

Examine yourself by these TESTS:

Do I know that my sins are pardoned through Christ?

Have I peace with God in Jesus?

Am I living in the enjoyment of the Spirit of adoption?

Have I in my soul the happiness, the joy, the consolation, the hope which heart-religion imparts?

Or—solemn thought!—am I endeavoring . . .
to quiet my conscience,
to stifle self-reflection,
to divert my thoughts from my unsatisfactory, unhappy condition and state of mind by the religious substitutes and subterfuges with which the present age so profusely abounds, and which, with those who are ensnared by them, pass for real spiritual life? Oh, commune faithfully with your own heart concerning this matter!

 

Directions as to the manner in which self communion is to be engaged.

A few directions as to the manner of engaging in this solemn duty of self-communion:

As a spiritual work, we must, in its engagement, seek earnestly the aid of the Holy Spirit. He alone can enable us . . .
to unlock the wards,
to unravel the mystery, and
to penetrate into the veiled depths of our own heart.

We need the knowledge, the grace, the love of the Spirit—in a task so purely spiritual as this. Let us, then, betake ourselves to the Holy Spirit and . . .
invoke His power,
supplicate His grace, and
seek His renewed anointing.

Our hearts being His perpetual home, enshrined there in the new creation He has formed for Himself—He is better acquainted with them than we are ourselves, and is prepared to aid us faithfully and successfully to discharge this difficult and humbling task of self-communion. "You have an anointing from the Holy One, and know all things." This divine anointing will essentially assist you in an experimental knowledge of yourself.

Blend communion with Christ, with self-communion. Let converse with your own heart, be in unison with converse with the heart of God. Endeavor to realize that in this sacred engagement God is with you, that His thoughts towards you are thoughts of peace, and that the feelings of His heart are the warm pulsations of His love. Associate all views of yourself with this view of God: that whatever discoveries you arrive at of your waywardness and folly, your idolatry and sin—however dark and humiliating the inward picture may be—not a frown of displeasure shall glance from His eye, nor a word of reproach shall breathe from His lips.

Oh, do you think that He will join in your self-accusation? that because you loathe, and abhor, and condemn yourself—He will likewise loathe, abhor, and condemn you? Never! Listen to His words, "Thus says the high and lofty One who inhabits eternity, whose name is Holy: I dwell in the high and holy place, with him also who is of a contrite and humble spirit, to revive the spirit of the humble, and to revive the heart of the contrite ones." Bending low at His feet, in penitential acknowledgment of sin, in the holy act of self-communion and prayer—no atmosphere shall encircle and embrace you but the atmosphere of Divine forgiving love.

I venture to suggest another and the most important direction in this work of self-communion: Commune with your own heart, looking fully to the cross of Christ. Without this, self-examination may induce the spirit of bondage. It should never be entered upon but upon the principles, and in the spirit of the gospel. It is only as we deal closely with the Atonement, we can deal closely with sin. It is only as we deal faithfully with the sin-atoning blood, that we can deal faithfully with our own hearts. Overwhelming are the revelations of a rigid self-scrutiny, but for the hold faith maintains of the sacrifice of Christ—the close, realizing apprehension it has of the cross of Jesus.

You must commune with Christ's heart and your own heart at the same moment! Looking at Jesus in the face—you will be enabled to look your sins in the face! And as your love to Him deepens, so will deepen your sin and self-abhorrence.

As has been beautifully remarked, "For every look at yourself, take ten looks at Christ!" No dark discovery will then sink you to despair.

Ah, how little we deal with the heart of our Lord! We find finite depths of iniquity in our own heart, but we forget the infinite depths of grace that are in His heart! Our heart is cold and fickle in its love and constancy—His heart is overflowing with a love as changeless and immutable as His being! Oh, then, take every discovery you make in this humbling task of self-scrutiny, to Christ. Remember that if you are a believer in the Lord Jesus—every sin and infirmity and deficiency you discover, Christ has died for, He has shed His blood for, and has forever put away. And that, repairing anew to His atonement and His grace—you shall have . . .
your iniquities subdued,
and your conscience purified,
and your soul reinstated in a sense of pardon and Divine acceptance.

It is beneath the cross alone that sin shall be seen, hated, conquered, and forsaken! Sin, guilt, unbelief, impenitence—cannot live a moment under the sacred shadow of the cross of Christ! Drag your foe there, and it is slain! Go there, my soul, and weep, mourn, and love. And in communing with your own heart—oh, forget not the yet deeper, closer communion with the heart of Jesus!

We will group together a few of the HALLOWED BLESSINGS that result from this habit of self-communion.

In the first place, it will help to keep you acquainted with the true state of your soul. By this daily survey, you will know how matters stand between God and your own conscience.

Sin shall not seek supremacy, and you not know it.

The world will not obtain an ascendancy, and you not be conscious of it.

The creature will not become idolatrous, and you not be suspicious of its encroachment.

Christ will not grow less in your estimation and love, and you remain insensible to the change.

Self-communion will keep you whole nights upon your watch-tower, and the foe shall not surprise you.

The duty, too, will increasingly deepen the conviction of your individual relationship with Jesus. You will feel it to be a solemn privilege to commune with your own heart; and thus your own responsibility—a fact so lamentably overlooked—will appear in its proper and impressive light.

How few indulge in this searching inquiry into the state of their own hearts, lest their self-esteem should be lowered! "Hence it is that we meet continually with people possessed of great shrewdness and sagacity in all other matters, who are most lamentably ignorant of themselves and their spiritual state. Many have obtained an extraordinary knowledge of mankind in general, and can discover at once the weak points of every individual—but are pitiably blind to every one of their own infirmities. It is amusing to observe that of all people within the circle of their acquaintanceship, they are perhaps the only parties to whom their own failings are unknown." M'Cosh

Prosecuting honestly and vigorously this self-research, you will have less time and still less inclination to examine and judge your fellows. Vain and officious attempts to penetrate and unveil the hearts of others, will give place to the yet more neglected, important, and humbling work of examining, unavailing, and searching your own heart.

Oh that all who profess the name of the Lord Jesus were more deeply concerned about the spiritual condition of themselves as in the sight of God! There would then be less censoriousness and uncharitableness, less judging the motives and condemning the actions of others—and more humility, kindness, and love in the Church of God. Commune with your own heart, and leave to others the solemn responsibility and duty of communing with theirs. To their own Master they stand or fall. Enter into your chamber, and in the solemn stillness of an hour spent alone with God, deal with your own heart and be still. This work faithfully done, you will emerge thence too much filled with astonishment and condemnation at the discoveries you have made of your own self—to examine, judge, and condemn others!

Self-communion, too, will greatly conduce to growth in personal holiness. The eye will be more concentrated upon the seat of evil, the sentinel of your heart will be more wakeful, and sin and temptation will have less power to surprise and overcome you. It will also promote true humility.

Self-communion will lead to self-acquaintance, and this in its turn will dispel those vain delusions and conceits with which the flattery of others may have inflated us. Alas that there should be so much religious flattery and compliment—the most ensnaring and injurious of all species of adulation—among professors of religion! Here is the antidote—self-knowledge! This will turn the fine edge of the fatal weapon—self-communion! The too fond and partial opinion of your graces, your spiritual attainments and your usefulness, expressed by others—will leave you unscathed if you are found in much communion with your own heart in your chamber.

Few spiritual engagements, too, will more vigorously promote in your soul the yet higher and more solemn one of prayer. To know in some degree ourselves—the heart, whose infirmities others see not, nor even suspect, but which we know to be so vile—will impel us to prayer.

Once more, how precious will Jesus grow with growing self-communion! How will it endear His atonement, His grace, yes, Himself—to the heart! That engagement which deepens the conviction of our own sinfulness, helplessness, and need, which discovers to us taint and flaw and imperfection in the "hidden part," the fountain all poisoned and impure—must deepen our sense of the infinite worth and preciousness of the Savior!

Where can we look with one gleam of hope but to His blood and righteousness? That sacrifice offered once for all, that divine atonement, that perfect work, that righteousness which raises us above all demerit, into the sunshine of God's presence; the light of which reveals not a speck upon us—just fits our case, quells our fears, and assures us of divine acceptance.

Surely, then, the closer the acquaintance we form with ourselves, while it throws us upon the Savior, must render Him an object increasingly precious to our hearts.

Dealing closely with our own selves in the time of God's afflictive dispensations will . . .
elucidate much that is obscure,
explain much that is mysterious,
and soothe much that is painful and sad.

When the Psalmist was sorely tried in his soul, when his sore ran in the night and ceased not, when his soul refused to be comforted, and his spirit was overwhelmed, when he was so troubled that he could not speak—then came the remedy: "I call to remembrance my song in the night: I commune with my own heart, and my spirit made diligent search." And when from this process of self-communion—searching into all the thousand memories of God's past loving-kindness and faithfulness laid up in the heart—he arose; he arose a victor over all his dark forebodings, and gloomy fears, and depressing sorrows; his faith confirmed in the truth that the Lord never casts off His people, that His promise fails not for evermore, that He had not forgotten to be gracious, nor in anger had shut up His tender mercies.

Is your heart searching . . .
for one spring of comfort,
for one ray of hope,
for one throb of love,
in this the long, dreary night of your sorrow?

Search, O child of God! for you shall find some stored remembrance there of God's past faithfulness and love! This shall be a token to you that all that the Lord your God has been to you—He is now, and will be forever. "When my heart is overwhelmed, lead me to the Rock that is higher than I!"

"Be still!" Let communion with your own heart soothe it to perfect peace and repose, calm in the assurance that nothing shall separate it from God's love—that the government of all worlds and all beings and all things is upon Christ's shoulders—that your heavenly Father is causing all things in your individual history to work together for good—and that you may wait with confidence, quietness, and cheerful composure the issue of the night of gloom and tears which now enshrouds your soul within its gloomy pavilion. "Search me, O God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts. Point out anything in me that offends You, and lead me along the path of everlasting life!" Psalm 139:23-24

"And what am I? My soul awake,
And an impartial survey take;
Does no dark sign, no ground of fear,
In practice or in heart appear?

"What image does my spirit bear?
Is Jesus formed and living there?
Say, do His lineaments divine
In thought, in word, and action shine?

"Searcher of hearts! O search me still;
The secrets of my soul reveal;
My fears remove, let me appear
To God and my own conscience clear!

"Scatter the clouds which o'er my head
Thick glooms of dubious terrors spread;
Lead me into celestial day,
And to myself, myself display.

"May I at that blessed world arrive
Where Christ through all my soul shall live,
And give full proof that He is there,
Without one gloomy doubt or fear!"