The present is ever
the stepping-stone of the future. Each stage of progress is the bud of the
next. Conviction prepares the way for conversion; conversion leads to
sanctification; sanctification culminates in glory; and glory begun is the
entrance upon an endless career of progress in wisdom and knowledge, beneficence
and bliss.
In the history of the kingdom, the dread of wrath
and death induced by the flood, prepared the way for the law; the law was
the school-master to drill the world into readiness for the gospel; the coming
of Christ and his death laid the foundations for the temple to be reared
by the Holy Spirit, and he is now erecting the temple, stone by stone, course
upon course, story above story, in preparation for the millennium and the
kingdom of glory.
The present — the now present, would
seem to be around in the heavenward-stretching ladder near to the top. One
step more, or two at most, so it seems at least to us poor short-sighted
mortals and the summit will be gained.
What, then, are the now unfolding germs preparing
the way for the incoming period?
Three things may be confidently predicted of the
church of the future — its UNITY, ACTIVITY and
SPIRITUALITY.
In the prayer of Jesus with his disciples on the
night of his betrayal, the unity of his followers was coupled with the spread
of the knowledge that Jesus is the Messiah of God as its cause, “That
they all may be one,” prayed the Saviour, “that the world
may know that thou hast sent me.”
One! Yes; the disciples of Christ are yet in the future, sometime,
sooner or later, to become completely united, and then the world will know
that he is the Messiah of God.
This prayer of Jesus is to have its happy fulfilment
— When? When, if not in the period next approaching, and now at the
doors?
What is the watchword of the present? Union. Fifty
years ago now, it may be more or less, God began the visible preparations
for the fulfilment of this prayer. First in England. The missionary spirit
was poured into the heart of an obscure cobler upon his bench, and as he
cut the leather into shape, and pounded it upon his lapstone into solidity,
and drew the waxed ends stitching together shoes for his customers, he was
cutting out, compacting, and stitching together thoughts, which were destined
to shoe the feet of thousands upon thousands with the preparation of the
gospel of peace to go to the outer bounds of the earth with the glad tidings
of a crucified Saviour.
His discourse delivered — the question was raised. Who will
go? and whom shall we send?” His feet were all shod ready for
the journey and his ready answer was, “Send a better man if you can
– if not, here I am, send me.”
This settled — next came the question, How?
And the practical answer was, combine, associate. So they combined; a little
nucleus, enough to send out and sustain their man.
And this was the first of the many nuclei in that
land and in others around which Christians have rallied until now what do
we behold? Scores, it may be, of huge corporations, gathering money by millions,
and sending out and sustaining missionaries by thousands upon thousands,
at home and abroad, amongst the people of every kindred and tongue almost
in the world!
The missionary fathers combined, like the early
settlers in a new country, in their house “raisings” and
“bees,” upon the principle that ten men can lift a log into place
in the cabin’s side which one could not stir from the ground —
and upon the maxim that “many hands make light
work.”
The movers in the World’s Protestant Alliance
had other, and in some respects, higher motives for union. They desired to
bring the ends of Protestantism together, and in some sort cement all into
one, insomuch, at least, as to be able to present to themselves and to their
enemies, and to the world, the imposing spectacle of a single front, and
the invincible strength of an undivided line of battle.
But it is only now that the highest and noblest
movements have begun, in fulfilment of the prayer for unity. Young Christianity
is moved to lay aside the grey prejudices of sect, and throw off the dead
weight of formality. Associations are formed for the purpose of counteracting
the increasing corruptions of our cities in their influence, especially upon
the young men drawn from the country, into these great centres of activity
and attraction. God pours out his spirit upon these associations, and united
young Christianity becomes suddenly converted into a society, not simply
to make a fair show before the world of the unity of the church of Christ,
nor yet to send into all the world to preach the gospel, but actually to
go — every man becoming himself a missionary. Union meetings are started
in places and numerical attendance to startle the world, and increased in
numbers to reach the masses in every locality. Circles are broken in upon
by the evangelizing influence, which have ever been regarded as close
corporations in the interest and under the sole control of Satan himself,
and voices are heard in praise and prayer which have been wont to make the
night and the Sabbath hideous with their yells in the street. And holy hands
are lifted to God, and raised also for hearty blows in the cause of the Prince
of Peace, raised before never in this way, but often in theatres, in brawls
and fights, and in pugilistic contests.
The missionary fathers combined to send a few
thousands to set up the standard of the cross, and begin the war in every
land. The Alliance movers combined to show and to feel the full strength
of the embattled host, not at all for actual contest, but in a sort of
world’s review from year to year. But now the embattled host is combining,
for the contest and the conquest.
Like the “Old Thirteen,” in the days
of American colonial dependence, the churches have all along known and felt
their unity, (in the one Lord, and the one faith, and one baptism, of Christ,)
and have often combined for some special practical purpose, or for some sort
of colonial congress to declare unity in words and present the show of united
resistance to our enemies — but it is only now that every man is harnessing
for the war, and taking his position, side by side with every other man,
irrespective of denominational distinctions.
And although we are far yet from the fulfilment
of the Saviour’s prayer, still we were never before so near, never before
surrounded by so many tokens and preparations for its fulfilment as now.
The unfolding bud is plainly the bud of complete unity — it cannot be
mistaken. This unity is to be a unity in Christ, and so it will manifest
Christ. The disciples are to see face to face, because they will all see
the face of God in Christ and become like him, and so become like each other.
Changed from glory to glory into his image, and so changed also from degree
to degree into likeness, and love too, to each other, and so showing forth
the image of Christ which they have taken.
There is a unity in Christianity which has never
been realised in the church, though typified by the nucleus of early converts
in the dawn, when bathed and baptized in the first rising beams of the Sun
of Righteousness ascended, “they were of one heart, and one soul: neither
said any that aught of the things he possessed was his own; but they had
all things common.” “Then they continued daily with one accord
in the temple, and breaking bread from house to house, did eat their meat
with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God and having favor with
all the people, and the Lord added unto them daily such as should be
saved.” (Acts iv: 32, and ii. 46, 47)
There has been, and is yet, great discordance
in the varied songs of the many churches — but there is to be a universal
harmony — nay a universal unity in the one song of Moses and the Lamb,
each church bearing its own part in the general concert, and then all earth
and heaven shall hear.
Each tone on the musical scale is composed of
three — three in one — one in three. And it may be there is one
tone — known or unknown — itself three in one, which is the union
of all — the grand focal starting point and centre of
all.
The primitive rays of the sun are white, but each
ray is in itself a combination of three — three in one, one in three.
And this one ray — white as it touches first the sphere of earth’s
vestment of air, is separated by the vapory prism into every hue and shade,
clothing the globe in its beauteous coat of clouds of many colors, and carpeting
it with green and gold, pink and purple, and every other lovely color and
tint, in every form of grace and sweetness. God is light. The rays of the
Sun of Righteousness are light, light ineffable, light alone. But they bring
embosomed in themselves to him who receives Jesus, the Triune God. And they
work out as they fall upon human hearts and human minds, all the separated
shades and varied combinations, of grace and truth — one and yet
many.
On the face of the cloud in the retiring storm
the bow springs forth — the bow of promise — seven beauteous colors
are numbered in the exquisite arch. The seven make one arch. And the whole
seven spring from one — the one white ray of the sun separated into
seven, and bent together into the symbol of harmony and of
hope.
Christ is the one. The churches are the seven.
And the one in the seven, is Christ in the heart the hope of
glory.
Already the bow of harmony and of hope, as we
have seen, is springing forth, upon the face of the retiring darkness and
strife of the past. The day of unity is at hand.
Activity is equally, also, both the demand of the future
and the promise unfolding in the present to meet this
demand.
The church of the future is to be a living church. Every member a
living member — every one doing his duty.
Too much, in all the past, since the first and
glorious days of the apostles, went by; the church has been a sort of hospital
or asylum, where its members have been gathered in to be cared for and nursed
— provided for and dosed, or taught, like the infirm, the deaf and dumb
and the blind; and ministers and officers of the church have been engrossed
in their cares of the various inmates of the churches.
But now it is to be hoped the church is becoming
more like a force of able-bodied industrials, ready for employment in the
Master’s vineyard, under the guidance of ministers and officers. Helpers
together with God, not cumberers of his ground. Certainly there never has
been a time, since the apostolic age, when the opportunities were so general
or so generally accepted and used by all Christians, especially the young,
to engage in the active spread of the gospel amongst the perishing myriads
around. And there never was a time when so many had the boldness to “stand
up for Jesus” as witnesses before great assemblies, or go out for Jesus
into the hard places, and to the hard cases of the world. Activity
— increasing activity — growing steadily toward universality, is
certainly one of the unfolding promises of the present.
Spirituality,
also. If we look to see its increase in the
increase of the three abiding graces — faith, hope and charity —
and of the four cardinal virtues — prayers, gifts, words and works for
Jesus — more beautiful in their blended symmetry than the seven colors
of the bow in the cloud, we shall not fail of a certain promise and prophecy
of a bright day at hand. When has there ever been so much, or so fervent,
or so simple praying, or so great faith of the answers to prayer, or so much
life and power in the religious meetings, or so much wayside conversation
about the works and ways of God?
Not now, however, to dwell upon this. Looking
rather to the bow of promise, arching the heavens, as the gateway of the
future. What are the three words traced by the finger of Providence along
the front of this royal arch? What but the triune promise, unity, activity
and spirituality?
And now to ask and answer again more at large the question asked
and answered in the conclusion of the preceding chapter. What do we now need
to swell and unfold this triune promise into the universality and strength
required for its own happy fulfilment?
Simply the prevalence of a full experimental union
with Jesus by a full trust in his name.
Our union of the future is not to be one merely
of convenience or interest, or necessity, to accomplish the work given us
to do; but the union of heart and soul, vital as the union of the several
members of one‘s own body. And our activity is not to be that of excitements
and occasions, or of the pressure of duty merely, but the increased activity
which comes from increased vitality. Life within — life more abundant
— must be the sustaining power and central spring of the increased life
without. And our spirituality will be made full by the full indwelling presence
and power of the Spirit of God.
We need, therefore, to turn attention increasingly
to the higher form of Christian experience. Not by any means to lose sight
of conversion, but rather to press it more urgently than ever upon the attention
of the world; but not as the all in all — not as the stopping place
of the Christian, or as introducing the convert into all the fulness of the
blessings of the gospel of peace.
Suppose Luther had been content to rest where
he was when he first found the forgiveness of his sins in the convent at
Erfurth, and had not pressed on until he found also the way of full
justification, including sanctification from sin. What would have been the
result?
Simply that he might have remained a monk, after
all, to the end of his days, and the Reformation untouched by him to the
last. It was the final, full conscience of the way of salvation by faith,
into which the Lord introduced him on Pilate’s staircase at Rome, and
not his conversion at Erfurth, merely, that made him the reformer he was.
And D’Aubigne. Suppose he, too, had never passed beyond the first great
stage of his experience, but remained to the end where he was during the
years after his conversion at Geneva, and before his second conversion at
the inn-room in Kiel; where now had been his great work, the History of the
Reformation, and other like works, bearing the stamp of his faith as well
as the stamp of his genius? Unwritten, unwritten; every word of them unwritten.
Two books, (Narratives of Remarkable Conversions,
Conant. Derby & Jackson, N. Y. The Divine Life, Kennedy. Parry &
McMillen, Philadelphia; Presbyterian Board) of very great value and of deservedly
wide circulation — may their circulation be a hundred fold greater —
have been recently given to the public. In both, the experience of Luther
is professedly given, and truly as far as they go. And in one, also, that
of D’Aubigne. But in each instance the narrative stops short with
conversion, leaving in each the after and deeper experience untold, without
so much as an allusion, even. The after and deeper experience, without which
neither the one or the other would have been qualified by the faith of Jesus
in its fulness, or the light of the gospel in its power, for the work and
the mission so happily and so nobly fulfilled by them.
The same thing is true, also, of Baxter and Hewitson
and others whose conversions are narrated in the two volumes referred to,
but Luther and D’Aubigne are singled out because both of their exalted
position in the regards of the church, of every name in every land, and also,
and especially, of the ample distinctness of their own narrations of their
own experiences, in the second great stage as well as the first; and because
also of the illustration, peculiarly impressive, in their cases, that the
second experience is the indispensable requisite of power to glorify God
in the highest degree, by witnessing for Jesus in the fullest, freest, boldest,
clearest manner.
This omission is very significant. One of the
straws showing the drift of the popular current. It indicates a great historical
fact and phase of the present, and a glorious one it is — only less
glorious than the more excellent phase of the future. It shows the profound
absorption of the mind and heart of the church in the matter of
conversion.
But then does it not also show the almost equally
profound forgetfulness of the deeper experience exemplified by these great
and good men, their second conversion?
This ought not so to be — must not be
so.
The keynote of pulpit and press now for a hundred
years, and the clarion note as well — sounding out so loud and clear
as to rule every other into the harmonious line with itself on the theological
staff — has been the new birth. May it never lose one particle of its
clarion clearness. Rather let it be sounded out a thousand fold louder and
clearer than ever until it shall reach every ear, and every heart in the
world, thrilling them with its heavenly power.
But then, in the baptism of John, are we to forget
the baptism of Jesus? In the new birth shall we forget the deeper power of
Pentecost? In the regeneration by water and the Spirit shall we lose sight
of the deeper regeneration by fire and the Spirit?
The new birth is indeed a reality and a blessed
one, an experience and an indispensable one, and may it be urged in all the
burning, convincing power of the spirit of Elias. So also is the baptism
of the Holy Ghost a reality and a more glorious one. Let it be also urged
in the spirit and power of the apostles.
The disciples of Jesus needed and received the
promise of the Father upon them, conferring the power to be effectual witnesses
for Jesus in the introduction of the gospel in its fulness into the world?
Do we not need, shall we not receive the same blessed promise in all the
fulness of its plenary power — the miraculous only excepted — for
the struggle of its final victory and the introduction of its glorious fulfilment
in the world?
But a case so plain is only weakened by arguments,
as if arguments were needed to establish it, when, in fact, it is self-evident
at a glance.
One illustration of the power and blessedness
of full salvation may suffice to close this chapter, and this part of our
discussion.
A better might be looked for in vain than the
following parable from life, of
THE
JUDGE AND THE POOR AFRICAN
The judge was rich and highly esteemed. He dwelt
in a mansion, not so fine as to repel, not so splendid as to make him the
envy of the foolish, large enough to be the social centre of the town, and
plain enough to make every one feel it a home, and his heart was in keeping
with his house, large and open.
The poor African woman lived in a cabin on an
alley all alone without chick or child, kith or kin.
Her own hands ministered amply to her own wants
while she had health, and at home or abroad at work by the day, she often
earned that which found its way to India, or Africa perhaps, in the spread
of the gospel. Her home though poor and small was always neat and tidy. She
belonged to the church of which the judge was an officer, and often sat down
with him at the table of the Lord, in the house of the Lord, as she will
again, 0 how joyously at the feast of the Bridegroom in the palace of the
King, but it so happened that they had never had free conversation together
about the things of the kingdom. He respected her. She venerated him. At
last she received a severe injury, from which she never recovered, and for
many weary months before her death was dependent and helpless, alone and
bed-rid.
During this time the judge’s ample table
and abundant wardrobe had contributed its full share to the comforts of the
poor woman. Never a day but she was remembered. But for a long time, for
one reason and another, he put off from time to time a personal visit which
yet he fully purposed in his heart to make her. Until at last one day as
he thought of the cheeriness of his own pleasant home the thought of the
contrast between this and the loneliness and desolation of the poor woman’s
cabin came into his mind, and while it heightened his gratitude for the goodness
of God to him, it filled him with sadness and sympathy for
her.
“Who can tell but I may cheer her a little,
and perhaps by a little timely sympathy save her from repining at her hard
lot? Possibly, too, I may be able to throw some light upon the rugged pathway
along which she is going to the kingdom?”
The judge loved to do good; it was a great luxury
to him. So, taking a well-filled basket, and making sure that purse as well
as scrip was stored with convenient small change, he sallied forth to visit
the poor woman.
As the door opened, he was struck with the air
of neatness in the cabin. If she was bed-rid, some kind hand supplied the
place of her’s. Everything was in order, swept and garnished neat as
a pin. “Not so desolate after all,” thought he.
But again, as the judge looked around, and contrasted
the social joys of his own ample mansion, where the voice of children and
of music, as well as the presence of books and friends made all cheerful
and happy, with the cheerless solitude of the poor woman alone here from
morning till night and from night till morning, only as one or another called
out of kindness to keep her from suffering, his heart filled again with sadness
and sympathy.
Seating himself on the stool at the side of the
poor woman’s cot, he began speaking to her in words of
condolence:
“It must be hard for you, Nancy, to be shut
up here alone so many days and weeks?”
“0 no, thank God, massa judge, the Good Lord
keeps me from feelin bad. I’se happy now as ever I was in all my
days.”
“But, Nancy, laying here from morning till
night and from night till morning all alone, and racked with pain, dependent
upon others for everything, do you not get tired and down-hearted, and think
your lot a hard one to bear?“
“Well, I’se ‘pendent on others,
dat’s sure, ‘deed I is, an I was allers used to have something
to give to de poor, an to de missionary, too, an to de minister, but den
I’se no poorer dan my good Lord was when he was here in de worl, and
I’se nebber suffer half so much yet as he suffer for me on de cross.
I’se bery happy when I tink of dese tings.”
“But, Nancy, you are all alone
here?”
“Yes, massa, I’se all alone, dat’s
true, but den Jesus is here, too, all de time. I’m nebber alone, no
how, and he’s good company.”
“But, Nancy, how do you feel when you think
about death? What if you should die here all alone some
night?”
“0, massa judge! I spect to. I spect nothing
else but jes to go off all alone here some night, as you say, or some day.
But it’s all one, night or day, to poor Nancy, and den, massa, I spec
I’ll not go all alone after all, for Jesus says, in de blessed Book,
I’ll come an take you to myself dat where I am dare you may be also,
an I believe him. I’se·not afraid to die
alone.”
“But, Nancy, sometimes when I think of dying,
I am filled with trouble. I think how bad I am, what a sinner, and how unfit
for heaven, and I think now what if I should die suddenly just as I am, what
would become of me? Are you not afraid to die and go into the presence of
a holy God?”
“0 no, massa ‘deed I’se
not.”
"Why not, Nancy?”
“0, massa, I was ‘fraid, berry much.
When I was fust injer, I see I mus die, an I thought how can such a sinner
as I is ebber go into such a holy place as de new Jerusalem is? An I was
miseble, 0, I was miseble, deed, sure! But den by an by, after a while, I
jis thought I mus trus myself to do blessed Jesus to make me ready for de
kingdom jis as I did to forgib all my sins. An so I foun res for my poor
soul in Jesus, an sen dat time I feel some-how, all better; I know now he
will make me all ready pure an white for de new Jerusalem above. An now I
love to think about de time when I shall come to ‘pear befo the
Father’s throne, wid him in glory, all starry spangly
white.”
For a moment the judge sat in silence, admiring
the power of grace. Not yet himself deeply affected by the light reflected
from this star in disguise. A little pressure more was required — another
chafing question — to bring out the ray destined to pierce his own
soul.
“Well, Nancy, one thing more let me ask you;
Do you never complain?”
“Complain! 0, now massa judge, complain,
do you say, massa? Why, massa! Who should such a one as I is complain ob!
The Good Lord He knows bes what’s bes for poor Nancy! His will be
done!“
Nancy said this in tones of the deepest sincerity.
And a little more. There was just a shade of wonder at the question —
as much as to say, “What: you an officer in the church, and a man of
education, a judge, and yet think that a poor creature like me might complain
of the dealings of a merciful God and Saviour like
mine?”
The arrow took effect. The judge bowed his head
in silence a moment, and then rose and bade Nancy good-bye, without the word
of consolation and prayer, which he fully purposed when he went into the
cabin.
All the way home he kept saying to himself,
“Well, I never yet said ‘His will be done’ in that way. I
never felt it. Alone, poor, helpless, bedrid, dependent, miserable in body,
and yet happy as an angel. Ah! there is a power there I never felt. But I
must feel it, and God helping me I will. Not afraid to die. Trusting Jesus
to purify her from all sin, and present her spotless before God. Waiting
joyously his summons. 0, blessed faith! I must know more of this, and I
will.”
Two weeks, night and day, the arrow rankled, rankled,
rankled. His pain increased. Sleep forsook him, and his family became alarmed.
He said nothing, but often groaned in spirit and sighed deeply. Sometimes
the tears were seen to steal down his manly cheeks. All wondered, and all
waited to hear what had come over the strong mind and manly heart of the
judge.
At last, one day while he was bowed before God,
he felt in his heart “Thy will be done.” The storm-tossed sea of
his soul was suddenly calmed, and peace filled his heart — peace as
a river. Now he, too, could trust Jesus to make for him his pathway on earth
and fit him for heaven, and take him to it whenever amid from whatever place
it might please him.
It was the beginning of a new life for him —
a change quite as great as at the time of his conversion, and as it has proved,
the beginning of blessed things for his own family and church and town, and
for the cause of Christ generally. Consistent and steadfast before, he has
been a burning and a shining light, letting his light shine far and near
ever since.
He went in the fulness of wealth and education,
and influence and honor, to the poor, lone, lorn African woman, to do her
good if he might with either counsel or food, or clothing or money. This
was the full purpose and prayer of his heart; and yet, while he gave nothing
to her, he received from her what all his wealth could not purchase or all
his wisdom devise.
She, poor body, had nothing to give, nor so much
as even dreamed of giving aught to anybody. And yet, without a thought of
it, she did give to the rich and honorable judge what was worth more to him
than the wealth and honors of all the world.
And what does this illustrate to us? What but
the power of spirituality? What but the power which poured upon the few
illiterate fishermen of Galilee in the Pentecostal baptism, fitted them for
the reformation of the world, almost in a single generation? What but the
very power now needed to transform the world and introduce the golden age
of complete gospel triumph?