Man and the Gospel - 1
IN TRIAL.
"My brethren, count it all joy when
ye fall into divers temptions."
ST JAMES 1. 2.
HERE is an old story of two knights who fell into a quarrel, almost into a
combat, about a shield - the one asserting, and prepared with his sword to
maintain, that the shield was made of gold ; the other as positively asserting
that it was not gold but silver. Both were right; and there was no more
occasion for quarrel between them than there has often been between good men in
religious controversy. Looking at a doctrine from different points of view, not
having the same stand-point, as it is called, they quarrelled; and the quarrel
was a mistake. These two knights saw one and the same shield; but looking on it
from opposite sides, each saw a different face; this was of silver, that of
gold.
Like that shield, the word temptation, as used in Holy Scripture, has to be
regarded under two aspects. It has two meanings; and unless care be taken to
distinguish the one from the other, we may fall into a very serious mistake.
Some times temptation is employed as another word for afflictions, trials ; at
other times in a sense so different, that, instead of counting it all joy, we
should dread nothing more than to fall into divers temptations. Whatever is
calculated to inflame our corruptions, and has a tendency, from its own nature
and ours, to seduce us into sin, is temptation; and it is in this sense the
word is used when it is I said, "Let no man say when he is tempted, I
am tempted of God: for God cannot be tempted with evil, neither tempteth he any
man. But every man is tempted when he is drawn away of his lust, and is
enticed. Then when lust hath conceived, it bringeth forth sin; and sin when it
is finished bringeth forth death."
In this, the most common sense of the word, to fall into temptation, is often,
notwithstanding our best and strongest resolutions, to fall into sin. Such is
the weakness of our nature! and how can that, which leads in so many cases to
sin, ever be an occasion of joy? Who would keep his body under, as the apostle
says, who would be temperate in all things, who would hold the old man nailed
to the cross, who would mortify the flesh with its affections and lusts, who
would keep his marriage garment unspotted of the world, will not throw himself
into the arms of temptation, but rather shrink from it with fear and dread. He
will go out of his way to avoid temptation, as he would the road frequented by
a ravening lion, a house or street where coffins were rife, and the plague was
raging. He fell among thieves, is true of him who falls into divers
temptations; and he would often die under his wounds, but for Him who drew His
own portrait in the picture of the good Samaritan. Beset by robbers and
assassins, he may conquer through divine strength, but he has a hard fight for
it, nor comes out of the battle without some wounds to heal.
"Stand in awe, and sin not;" "Watch and pray, that ye
enter notinto temptation," are warnings which no good man should
disregard. Is this to be a coward? Anything else were the height of rashness.
Who sleeps by a magazine of gunpowder needs to take care even of sparks; who
walks on slippery ice, let him not go star-gazing, but look to his feet, and
take care of falling. Whatever provokes to sin, though beautiful as Bathsheba,
- what is in its nature calculated, and by the cunning fiend intended to draw
us into transgression, - is a danger against which we cannot be too much upon
our guard. Though in themselves innocent, pleasures are sought at too great
hazard that grow on a dizzy crag, or among the grass where adders creep, or in
the lofty crevice of some tottering wall, or on the brink of a swollen flood;
and all the more if, such as our poet describes, -
The language of joy is praise: but when a man is passing through temptation,
the time is not for praise but prayer; it is for sighs, much more than songs;
for strong crying, and tears, and holy fears; for deep horror, and the drawn
sword that gleamed in the hand of Christian, as, amidst spectral forms, hideous
sights and sounds, he trode the Valley of the Shadow of Death. Count it all
joy? Who consults his soul's peace, purity, and safety, instead of counting it
all joy to fall into divers temptations, will do his utmost to avoid them; his
constant, daily, earnest prayer, "Lead me not into temptation;" and
when he falls into it, his cry - St Peter's on the sea, - " Save me, I
perish !" - that of one with the coils of a monstrous snake
contracting round his form, "Make haste unto me, 0 God, thou art my
help and my deliverer; 0 Lord, make no tarrying."
It is in an old, but now rather uncommon, use of the word that we are to
understand temptation, as used by St James when he says, "Count it all
joy when ye fall into divers temptations." It stands there for what in
common language we call trials ; - those troubles from which the best no more
than the worst are exempt; the bitter ingredients that mingle with every man's
cup; the cup that is found in every man's sack; the sufferings that, in some
form or other, are ever occurring between the cradle and the grave, and that
chequer a life which at birth begins with a cry, and at death ends with a
groan.
And what a grand faith is that which glories in these tribulations! The world,
a cold philosophy tell us to bear what we cannot throw off, stoutly to face
what we cannot shun, and, like one who holds his breath and sets his teeth to
some painful operation, to endure what we cannot cure. How divine the faith
which, thrusting these cold comforters aside, comes to the mourner weeping by
the coffin, visits the captive pining in his dungeon, stands by the martyr
bound to his stake to say, "Glory in tribulations" - "
Blessed is the man that endureth temptation, for when he is tried he shall
receive the crown of life which the Lord bath promised to them that love
him!" Since trials more or less painful are the lot of all, God's
people should learn how to bear them.
In Old Testament times Christianity was in the opening bud; now it is in the
full- blown flower. Sustained then by types and symbols, it was the eaglet when
the mother stirs her nest and bears it on her wings; now a full-feathered eagle
with her foot on the rock, and her far-piercing eye on the sun, she springs
upwards to cleave the parting clouds and soar high above them. Still, though
without our advantages, these Old Testament saints present remarkable
instances, among other graces, of resignation; and as we see the trees in early
spring living, standing, though autumn blasts and winter frosts have stripped
off all their leaves, we see in these patriarchs how stoutly faith in God can
stand when trials have robbed life of every green joy, and the days come, of
which he says, "I have no pleasure in them," the poor sufferer
would be happy with his head beneath the sod, to sleep where the wicked cease
from troubling, and the weary are at rest What an illustrious example of this
was Job, when deep answered unto deep at the noise of God's waterspouts! Billow
after billow went over him; he goes down, never as it seemed to rise again; but
faith cannot drown, and how wonderful to see his head emerge, and, as he looks
around on the desolation, fortune and family ingulfed, to hear him say,
"The Lord giveth, and the Lord taketh away, blessed be the name of the
Lord ;" or, "Though he slay me, yet will I trust in
him;" He has slain mine, my sons, my daughters, my joys and hopes, all
are dead and gone; now let Him slay not mine but me also, yet will I trust in
Him. What faith! What sublime resignation! And would we, now suffering under
trials, bear them, or, having to suffer, would we meet them with like
submission, we must learn to yield to, not to resist God's will. Strive to
enter in at the strait gate, - at all cost and hazard ; let sinners strive
after conversion - to be in Christ; but strive not, impatient of trials, to get
out of them.
If, like many, you are "bound in affliction," it will do you
no good to fret against it; that will but make the iron cut deeper into the
flesh. The yoke sits easiest on the neck of the patient ox; and he feels his
chain the lightest who does not drag but carry it. Bow before the trial, as I
have read travellers do when overtaken in the desert by the dreadful simoom.
The Simoom! When that cry rises, striking terror into the boldest hearts, and
the purple haze sweeps on, which to breathe is death, they make no attempt to
fly - the swiftest Arab scours not the desert like the wing of this scourge -
but, instantly, they throw themselves on the ground; every head is muffled; and
there, low in the dust, trembling, dumb, in awful silence they lie, and let the
poisonous wind blow over them. "Hide thee in the dust," hide
thee in the dust, is the voice of God in our calamities; and the lower we lie
there before Him, passive under His mighty hand, yielding to His sovereign
will, we shall suffer the less when days of darkness come.
To take an illustration from more familiar scenes, we should meet life's trials
as we do the billows, to which Scripture so often compares them. When the
foaming breaker comes rolling in, meet it erect, with bold front, defiant of
its strength, and, sweeping you off your feet, it hurls you among the seething
water. We have tried it; and, all but suffocated, have risen, lacerated and
bleeding, from the flinty beach. But meet the billow bent, stoop to its foaming
crest, bow before its power, and, roaring, it passes harmlessly over your head;
and as the waves neither come so fast, nor stay so long, but there is time to
breathe between them, by this simple art you stand like a rock, and see the
proudest billows burst foaming on the beach. A blessed art this, when deep is
answering unto deep, and all God's waves and billows go over us! Who, seizing
every opportunity to pray, bends to trials, breaks them - and is least stunned
by the rudeness of their shock. And thus it is, perhaps, that Christians of a
gentle spirit, by nature as well as grace more pliant than defiant, that women,
by their constitution less tough and more ready to bend, have more passive
courage, often bear troubles better than stout men; they let the wave go over
them, not fighting against God, but saying with Christ, "Father, not my
will, but thine, be done;" or with Eli, "It is the Lord, let
him do what seemeth him good."
Again, the sight of God in his trials greatly helps a good man to bear them.
The nearer we get to God in times of trouble, the less their pain and the
greater our profit. The son who, seeking to escape correction, stands at arm's
length struggling to get away, feels the full power of the rod; but light falls
the stroke on him who, confessing, "I am afflicted far less than my
iniquities deserve; I will be dumb, opening not my mouth, because thou didst
it," flies to his father's bosom, and falls penitent at his feet It
happens in the spiritual as in the natural world, that the farther from him who
strikes the heavier, and the nearer to him who strikes, the lighter falls the
blow. Consider this, besides, that God never strikes his people with both
hands; for who has ever sought Him in their trouble, drawn near to him in deep
affliction, but found that if He was strong to smite, He was strong also to
support?
Did you ever see a father beating a son who resisted? He holds the boy with one
hand, and he smites him with the other. It is not so God corrects a penitent,
loving child. While one hand is employed to strike, what does He with the
other? They who draw near to Him crying, "Though he slay me, yet will I
trust in him," ever find the other employed not to hold, but to uphold
them. Wiping away the tears the rod starts in their eyes, pouring balm into the
wounds His hand inflicts, sustaining while He smites, kissing while He
corrects, He teaches His people that trials are the badge of sonship.
"Whom he loveth he chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he
receiveth."
But submission is not the highest lesson taught in the school of trial. That
school has higher instruction and nobler prizes. It is a great thing to learn
submission; but it is a grand thing to rejoice in, and rejoice over our
afflictions, as St Paul did; and St James says we are to "count it all
joy when we fall into divers trials." Why not? why should that
language surprise us? why should we start at it? why hear it with an
incredulous ear, if seasons of trial are the occasions of drawing out the
tenderest love of God? Why not, if they correspond to the sick-bed and
sick-chamber, where we get into the innermost circle of domestic affections? By
the anxiety all show for our recovery; by the midnight watching at our bed; by
no trouble grudged, but sleep, and rest, and pleasure, and everything
sacrificed for us; by the noiseless step and gentle whispers; by the cloud that
darkens every brow when physicians look grave, and our case looks worse; by the
joy that sits on every face when we are better; by a thousand little kind
attentions that, never thought of in the day of health, come out shining like
stars at night, we now know how precious we are to others, how much we are
valued, how tenderly loved.
It is almost worth being ill to know this, and receive the kindnesses that our
illness calls out. Is that a set-off to thy pains of sickness? How many of the
Lord's people have had this to set against their sorest trials, that they never
felt nearer to God, and God never drew nearer, nor dealt so kindly with them,
as when they were cast into darkness and the deeps - their affliction abounded,
but then their consolations much more abounded. It was on the mount where it
lightened and thundered that God showed them His glory. It was in the
wilderness that water gushed from the smitten rock and they ate of angels food;
that the pillared cloud was seen by day, the pillared fire by night. It was
when their bark was tempest-tossed, and the sky was dark, and the sea was
rough, that Christ came walking on the billows to still the tempest, to subdue
their fears. Can they ever forget how then and there He fulfilled these
gracious promises - " When thou passest through the waters, I will be
with thee, and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; thou shalt
walk through the fire, and not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon
thee. Fear not, for I am with thee. For I am the Lord thy God, the Holy One of
Israel, thy Saviour."
But, as I have said, the child of God has joy not only in trials, but through
them ; and for this, among other reasons, because they prove the genuineness of
his faith - they are the trying of your faith, as an apostle calls them.
There was a British regiment once ordered to charge a body of French
cuirassiers. The trumpets sounded, and away they went boldly at them; but not
to victory. They broke like a wave that launches itself against a rock. They
were sacrificed to traders fraud. Forged not of truest steel, but worthless
metal, their swords bent double at the first stroke. What could human strength,
or the most gallant bravery, do against such odds? They were slaughtered, like
sheep on the field. And ever since I read that tragedy, I have thought I would
not go to battle unless my sword were proved. I would not go to sea with
anchors that had never been tried. But of all things for a man's comfort and
peace, what needs so much to be proved as his faith - its truth and
genuineness?
Any way, it is a serious thing to face death, and meet the King of Terrors on
his own ground; but were our faith never tried till we stood face to face in
the valley with our last enemy, face to face with our God at the bar of
judgment, it were still more serious. With our powers of self-deception - with
Satan sitting at the sinner's ear, saying, Peace, peace, when there is none to
be found - with so many who have the form of godliness, but are strangers to
its power - the stoutest heart might tremble for the issues. Before I go down
to battle, I want to know if my sword is forged of trusty steel; before I go to
sea, I want to know if my anchor is hammered out of the toughest iron; before I
set out on my journey, I want to know if this is sterling money - is it
genuine? has it the ring of true metal? will it stand the test? So long as it
is fair weather, I want to know if my hopes rest on sand or on solid stone;
when rains descend, and waters rise, and winds blow, and beat on my house, it
may be too late to know the truth. I want to know it now ; - now, when, if I
should have been building on the sand, there is time to seek in Christ the Rock
of Ages, a foundation that cannot be moved. It is of the utmost importance to
have our faith tested; and God's people, therefore, have cause to bless Him,
and do bless Him, for the trials that have put it to the test, and proved it
true.
If like the treading of camomile, or the crushing of a sweet-scented plant,
that bathes in odours the hand that bruises it, or the burning of incense that
draws out its latent perfumes, your trials have called forth heavenliness of
mind, child-like submission to God's sovereign will, strong trust in His
providence, a ready willingness to bear your cross for the honour of Him that
bore His cross for you, count it all joy when ye fall into divers trials. They
have equipped you for future battles, and furnished you with recollections and
experiences to disarm the greatest evils. His presence with you in the past is
a pledge of His presence in the future; that He will be with you through
whatever troubles, great or small, you have to go - with you always - with you
even unto the end. Not one that has never been tried when days of darkness
come, you can "remember the years of the right hand of the Most
High." Why should you be dismayed? You stand on the vantage-ground of
David, when, the host reeling back with terror, and Saul attempting to dissuade
him from meeting the Philistine, he stood calm, collected, and, eyeing the
giant, said, "He that delivered me from the paw of the lion and the paw
of the bear, shall he not also deliver me from the hand of this Philistine
?" Let the past throw its shadow, or its light rather, on the future.
"That which is to be bath already been;" for "our God
is the Father of lights, with whom is no variableness nor shadow of
turning." Courage, then! go forward! and as in days gone by, the
favour of God shall be your shield, and the joy of the Lord your strength.
Some bear their sufferings as, if we are to believe the stories we have read,
the Indian bears his tortures. Tied to the stake, abandoned of hope, looking on
his last sun, a crowd of enemies dance round him with frantic gestures and
brandished knives; and as they go round and round in the horrid dance, though
avoiding to wound, they strike at his throat and face; but the red man stands
motionless, erect; nor shrinks, nor winks, nor gives sign of terror.
Ingeniously cruel, they search out the most delicate seats of feeling, and
thrust the burning match up to the quick. Inch by inch they cut his living form
to pieces; but, with blood, they wring out no groan from that defiant man.
Naming their braves he has slain and scalped in battle, this hero of the forest
sings his bold death-song, scorning their powers of torture. How different from
the central object in this savage scene the form of Christian patience, her
head meekly bowing to the hand of God; heaven in her eye; resignation in her
face; and on her pale lips the seal of silence! It is pride, not patience, that
sustains yonder haughty savage - stubborn endurance, the power of an iron
will.
And in some who, uncomplaining, suffer pain, or loss, or wrong, or calumny,
their silence, though they get credit for patience, may be but pride. It is a
well-known fact, that a man who stands erect can carry a heavier burden on his
head than he ever can on his back; and, raising itself to the occasion, pride
has stood erect under crushing burdens, confronted misfortune, and, while
smarting under insult and injuries, has scorned to gratify its enemies by
betraying a sign of pain. This is but the counterfeit of patience. Nor are we
to take for this Christian grace the callousness or hardening effect which
sometimes follows trials of great severity. They say that the wretch condemned
to the Russian knout feels only the few first blows. After these have cut to
the bone, and brought away long strips of flesh from his quivering back, the
power to feel is gone. The nerves are crushed, their life destroyed; his head
droops, and the lash falls on the dying man as if he were already dead. And
some such callousness has come over hearts that have suffered many and severe
afflictions; future trials giving them no more pain than the hot iron gives the
blacksmith's horny hand.
I once knew one, a Christian widow, who had early lost the husband of her
youth. Other losses succeeded. The pledges of their love, a son and daughter,
were snatched from her arms; her house was left unto her desolate. But these
blows did not, as many feared, break that bruised reed. A pious woman, she was
patient, resigned to the will of the widow's Husband; still it was not patience
that replied to my sympathy, when, alluding to her first great trial, she said,
"My first grief made so large a hole in my heart, that now it can hold
no common sorrow."
Patience is not pride; and is not insensibility. Acutely sensitive, she may
feel all the pain of the rod, while kissing the hand that uses it. She bears,
not because she can do no otherwise, but would no otherwise; not because she
cannot help it, but would not alter it. Leaving God to choose for her as well
as chastise, to select her cross as well as her crown, she meekly says,
"It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good," - not me,
but Him, good. How noble is this grace! It makes the greatest of all
sacrifices, yielding up our fondest wishes, our dearest hopes, our strongest
will to the sovereignty of God. Offering the greatest of all sacrifices, it
achieves the greatest of all victories; here man makes a conquest of himself:
and, in the judgment of Solomon, "he that ruleth his own spirit is
greater than he that taketh a city." Let a good man, then, count it
all joy when he falls into divers trials, for - God's Spirit brooding on the
stormy waters - patience is born of trials. If not their child, she is their
nursling; it is their storms that rock her cradle. I say not that we are to
pray for trials, though, all unexpected, they may come in answer to our
prayers. We seek that patience may have her perfect work, and God sends trials
in answer. It is rough work that polishes. Look at the pebbles on the shore!
Far inland, where, some arm of the sea thrusts itself deep into the bosom of
the land, expanding into a salt loch, lies girdled by the mountains, sheltered
from the storms that agitate the deep, the pebbles on the beach are rough, not
beautiful; angular, not rounded. It is where long white lines of breakers roar,
and the rattling shingle is rolled about on the strand, that its pebbles are
rounded and polished. As in nature, as in the arts, so in grace; it is rough
treatment that gives souls as well as stones their lustre; the more the diamond
is cut the brighter it sparkles; and in what seems hard dealing, their God has
no end in view but to perfect His people's graces.
Our Father, and kindest of fathers, He afflicts not willingly; He sends
tribulations, but hear St Paul tell their purpose," Tribulation worketh
patience, patience experience, experience hope." Therefore, as he
said, we glory in tribulation, therefore we should count it all joy when we
fall into divers trials. Let patience have her perfect work; wait patiently for
God to explain His own providences; wait patiently for the hour of deliverance,
- Woman, He says, my time is not yet come; wait patiently for the hour of
death, for the heavenly rest, for the blood-bought crown. A little more
patience, and you shall need patience no more. One of the multitude whom no man
can number, who stand before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed with
white robes, and palms in their hands, - the days of your mourning are ended.