Chapter Eight

Two things Solomon had desired to seek out—wisdom and folly (Ecclesiastes 7:25). The latter he had known to his cost, and most faithfully has he described it. He now adverts to the former—Who is as the wise man? There is no one to be set by him, however splendidly endowed, rich, noble, or learned. “Wisdom is the principal thing” (Prov. 4:7)—worth all the pains of prayer and diligence to gain and to hold fast. If it is anything, it is everything. A matchless gift!

The Preacher cannot restrain his burst of admiration—Who is as the wise man? But it is the practical quality that we chiefly regard—to know the interpretation of a thing. The Apostle distinguishes between “the gift of tongues, and the interpretation of tongues.” (1 Cor. 12:10.) To have the gift of communicating the treasure is far more valuable than the mere personal benefit.

The interpreter—one who can expound the mind, the word, the ways, the works of God—is “one among a thousand” (Job 33:23)—one very rarely to be found. In the field of science the gifts of wisdom and interpretation are distinct. Many a man may see clearly through his own optics; but he has no talent to remove the cloud, that obstructs his brother’s vision. The wisdom, here so highly commended, as a mere intellectual quality has no practical influence.

But as a heavenly principle, it makes the face to shine from intercourse with a brighter world. There is not indeed—as in the cases of Moses and Stephen (Ex. 34:29; Acts, 6:15)—any external glory. But the Lord fulfils his own promise—I “will beautify the meek with salvation” (Ps. 149:4.) “Holiness to the Lord” stamps the profession with a Divine lustre. Godliness is never long without making itself seen. If it be too humble to court the eye, it is too active to escape it.

Are we not all more or less moulded into the spirit of our society? What a moulding of holiness must there be in fellowship with God—‘walking in the light, as he is in the light! What a weight of holy character must be the result! This is indeed a religion—not only convincing by its consistency, but attractive by its loveliness.

Lord Bacon beautifully describes the diversified influence of this practical principle—‘If a man be gracious and courteous to strangers, it shews that he is a citizen of the world, and that his heart is no island cut off from other lands, but a continent that joins to them; if he be compassionate towards the afflictions of others, it shews that his heart is like the noble tree, that is wounded itself when it gives the balm; if he easily pardons offences, it shews that his mind is planted above injuries, so that he cannot be shot; if he be thankful for small benefits, it shews that he weighs men’s minds, and not their trash: but above all, if he have St. Paul’s perfection, that he would wish to be an anathema from Christ for the salvation of his brethren, it shews much of a Divine nature, and a kind of conformity with Christ himself.

One display of this Divine transformation may be seen in the change of the boldness of our face. Once it was hard and stern loftiness. Now, without losing one atom of its firmness, it melts down into humility. Moses, when occasion warranted, could shew the boldness of his face.

Yet his habitual course was the change of this boldness, as one, who “was very meek above all the men which were upon the face of the earth.” (Ex. 32:26–28, with Num. 12:3.) How fine and perfect the contrast in our Divine Master, when the boldness of face awed the buyer and seller in the temple; and yet he could change it for the exercise of a Teacher “meek and lowly in heart.” (John 2:15, with Matt. 11:29.) It is however only when the face shines under heavenly influence, that the sturdiness of Christian confidence will be fully set out.

The combination is perfect—‘heaven upon earth to have a man’s mind move in charity, rest in Providence, and turn upon the poles of truth.’

Having commended wisdom in its bright shining beauty, he now enforces some of its practical rules. Loyalty is a component part of Christian obedience. (Tit. 3:1.) The command—“Render unto Cæsar the things that are Cæsar’s,” stands upon the same ground as—“Unto God the things that are God’s.” (Matt. 22:21.) The preacher speaks with authority—I counsel thee to keep the King’s commandment—to observe the mouth of the King (Heb. Ps. 103:20, 21), as ‘the angels behold the face of God,’ the mark of their constant readiness to execute his first commands.

This obedience has respect to the oath of God. If there be no outward covenants, as in days of old; the solemn obligation still remains to those who stand to us in the place of God. ‘All Authority’—Bp. Taylor reminds us—‘descends from God, and our superiors bear the image of the Divine power, which God imprints on them; which whoso defaceth shall be answerable for the defacing of the King’s image.

And in the same manner will God require it at our hands, if we despise his authority, upon whomsoever he hath imprinted it. This was St. Paul’s argument for our obedience—“The powers that be are ordained of God.” (Rom. 13:1–5. Comp. 1 Pet. 2:13.) Yet no earthly sovereign can claim the right of absolute obedience.

‘The law of the land ought not to be made our standard of moral right and wrong.’ (Dan. 3:16–18; 6:10; Acts, 4:19; 5:29.) The Babylonish confessors, and the Apostles of Christ, shewed themselves to be servants of God by their very act of disobedience to man. The service of man must ever be subordinated to the supreme claims of the service of God. To God, the oath of allegiance is bound indissolubly.

Soul and body are alike the purchase of the Son of God. (Ps. 119:106, with 1 Cor. 6:19, 20.) Where therefore man’s command is contrary, we must shew respectful but unflinching determination. ‘The case’—as a valuable Christian writer determines—‘does not admit of argument. The course is distinct and clear. The will of God is the simple and absolute rule. Whatever is not in exact consistency with this is sin. God alone is worthy of homage.

His law is the supreme and only guide, from which there is no appeal, and which admits of no rival. The throne must be for the Great King. The second place would be, as if we cast him out, and “would not have him to reign over us.” (Luke 19:14.)

These wise and important rules have a special reference to despotic power—The standing daily before the King (1 Kings 10:8; Esth. 1:14) was the mark of obedient readiness. Hastiness therefore to go out of his sight would be an insolent or disrespectful taking offence, seeming to fling off all allegiance. If there has been an evil thing—inadvertently or wilfully—stand not in it. There is little hope of escape.

The same rule he elsewhere gives—“If thou hast done foolishly in lifting up thyself, or if thou hast thought evil, lay thine hand upon thy mouth. ‘Kings, as the Proverb says, have many eyes, many ears, many and long hands. Instant confession is far better than standing out. Where the word of a King is, there is power. The Autocrat—whether he be good or bad—whether he be a Solomon (1 Kings 2:29–46) or an Herod (Matt. 14:9, 10) is without control.

He doeth whatsoever pleaseth him, and who may say unto him—What doest thou? A conscientious counsellor is bound in faithfulness to his Sovereign and to the interests of his country. He may therefore in cases of wilful or inadvertent wrong, be constrained to a firm protest at all hazards—What doest thou? But in the ordinary course—quiet obedience—keeping the commandment, and marking the time, is the best security.

Thus Esther in prudent submission preferred her anxious request. And “by the good hand of her God upon her,” she was preserved from feeling evil, and honoured as the Saviour of her people. (Esth. 5:1–8.) Indeed the indemnity from evil gives great encouragement to this path of godly confession. Moses felt no evil from Pharaoh—nor Samuel from Saul—nor Elijah from wicked Ahab.

And even the exceptive cases—where outward injury was sustained, could not be said to have been charged with evil, when the crown of martyrdom was the result. ‘The Apostolical precepts’—as has been well observed—‘are just those of Solomon in a more extended form. The same counsel is given. It is enforced by the same considerations of “wrath and conscience.

And the same means are prescribed for shunning the severity of the ruling powers—called by Solomon keeping the commandments—by Paul—“doing that which is good.” ’ But we speak—not only of the courtiers, or the immediate attendants of the earthly Sovereign. Who of us does not lie under a primary obligation to the “King of kings”?

If it be an honourable “happiness” (Comp. 1 Kings, 10:8) to stand continually before him; yet what carefulness—what reverence—what implicit subjection—what ready obedience is required! Never for a moment let us stand in the evil thing—“I have sinned against heaven and in thy sight” (Luke 15:21): let this be the breathing of instant and hearty confession.

Think of the power of the King’s word, “who can destroy both body and soul in hell.” (Lk 12:4, 5.) Think of his absolute—sovereign rule—“all the inhabitants of the earth” (such was the confession of the Heathen Monarch) “are reputed as nothing; and he doeth according to his will in the army of heaven, and among the inhabitants of the earth; and none can stay his hand, or say unto him, What doest thou?” (Dan. 4:35.

Comp. Job. 9:12.) This path of keeping the commandment will preserve us from feeling evil. Every command bears the stamp of infinite tenderness and love. Not one is supernumerary. Yet our course must not be one command standing upon the ruins of another; but the exercise of godly wisdom—just where the Lord has marked out our path, there to lay ourselves out for him. And this indeed is a most precious means of grace, opening to us the mystery of the Christian’s joy.

‘This keeping God’s commandment,’ writes Bp. Taylor—‘is rewarded with keeping God’s commandments. And in this world God hath not a greater reward to give. For so the soul is nourished up to life; so grows up with the increase of God; so it passes on to a perfect man in Christ; so it is consigned for heaven; and so it enters into glory.

For glory is the perfection of grace, and when our love to God is come to its state and perfection, then we are within the circle of a diadem, and then we are within the regions of felicity. Indeed the most trifling details of our ever-day obedience become the stepping-stones to our highest Christian privileges. Difficulties will arise, as the exercise of needful discipline, and calling for sound judgment to guide us through them wisely and practically.

The King’s commandment—when to keep—when to resist it—the right manner of keeping or resisting—this is sometimes a time and judgment calling for great discernment. It is not man’s natural prudence that sufficeth; It is the wise man’s heart—the heart enlightened by the knowledge of God and his will—the heart possessed by “the Spirit of wisdom”—here alone is the safe discernment. Too often in the ordinary course we encumber the path with difficulties of our own framing.

Sincere Christians are not always wise. The husbandman never fails to discern the time. He never mistakes the season for the plough, the seed-time, and the harvest. But in “God’s husbandry” (1 Cor. 3:9) how few seem to discern the value of the season!—how much the well-timing—whether in saying or doing—adds to beauty and effect! (Prov. 15:23; 25:11.) The command—“Be instant” (2 Tim. 4:2), is with many Christian professors rather an excuse for being “out of season” than a motive for being “in season.

They feel it quite enough to have acted rightly in the substance of a duty, and they have little care about the wrongness of time and manner in doing. We may therefore sometimes feel evil even in the profession of keeping the commandment. Want of discernment may bring us into some of the many bye-paths of self-will or self-delusion. There may be danger in fleeing from the temptations of the world, of fleeing from its duties.

We may possibly be neglecting immediate duties for extraordinary service; forgetting that the soldier’s place is in his ranks, and that no impulse of his own courage can justify him in rushing out of his own proper position for some unexpected occasion of exploit.

So many indeed and so plausible are the devious paths, that can we help feeling the daily need and value of the prayer—“Teach me good judgment and knowledge; for I have believed thy commandments”? (Ps. 119:66.) Carefulness of others will often cast the light of holy simplicity upon our own path. In the calculations of the day, always take trials into the account. They will come as one view—one exercise—of his love; not to consume, but to prove and purify, our faith.

They will come too with the precious promise—“If any man lack wisdom, let him ask of God, who giveth to all men liberally, and upbraideth not; and it shall be given him.” (Jam. 1:5.).

Solomon had already shewn—that there is a time and judgment to every purpose—a special time, and a special application. All things are in the hand of a wise Sovereign. ‘There comes to be a critical nick of time, into which such and such things must fall, and into no other. A wise man’s heart discerneth, and therefore improveth this time. But the mass of mankind—through weakness or perverseness—discern it not.

And therefore in the neglect of improvement it becomes the occasion of greater misery. Great indeed is the mischief of this neglect. In common life valuable opportunities of improvement pass away without a harvest. The future is under a cloud. He knoweth not that which shall be. If God does not teach, no one can tell him when it shall be. All concerning us is determined in the counsels of God, and all in judgment. The time is the best time, because it is God’s time.

It is a solemn thought to us all—most precious to the Christian—that each of us has been in the mind of God—the subject of the thoughts of God—from all eternity. Every particle of our being—every trial—every step in our journey—the most minute as well as the most important—everything has been marked with the stamp of the Divine purpose. And what a dignity does it give to the veriest trifle of circumstance or work!

Yet what can be called a trifle, that is a link in the purpose of the great Sovereign? But how little does man conceive the responsibility of indifference to the purpose of God! The evil of this wilful ignorance in the concerns of eternity is ruinous beyond all calculation—God’s time of mercy—his “accepted time”—how bright is the sunshine of every moment! But let it be neglected—great indeed will be the misery.

“The door” once “shut,” is shut for ever. (Matt. 25:10; Luke, 13:24–28.) Friends all gone—left alone with devils—no hope—no rest—nothing but eternal despair! The soul, capable of the eternal enjoyment of God, lost beyond remedy! Better never to have had the time, than to have had it, and not known it. One can hardly imagine tears too bitter—groans too deep—fears too awful.

We seem to shrink from the conviction of what we know to be the fact and history of every moment—Souls lost for eternity! We long to sympathize with the Saviour’s weeping lamentation—“If thou hadst known!” (Luke 19:41, 42.) The sentence is left unfinished, as if the tears interrupted his speech, or melted it away in more speaking silence. And were these vain and causeless tears?

They dropped from the most intellectual and comprehensive eye—from the most tender, bleeding heart. They told how great the misery of man, despising or neglecting his time—his day of grace. Oh, sinner! be persuaded to turn now. To-morrow is with God—in eternity. Much indeed of the future is far beyond the keenest and most sagacious eye. What or when it shall be—is our present exercise. But prayer and diligence will bring the light in God’s fittest time.

Meanwhile this ignorance does not touch our security, or cloud our confidence. “We know that all things”—including the whole universe—the mightiest as well as the weakest movement—the chastening as well as the healing—the sharp as well as the gentle—all combine for the one grand issue—our present and eternal good. (Rom. 8:28.) Rich indeed must be the portion, that includes death in its treasures—not as a bar to keep us out, but as a bridge, by which we pass over, and possess our inheritance.

Thus the certainty of death assures the certainty of heaven. Both worlds are provided for—“things present, and things to come—all are ours.” (1 Cor. 3:22.) Whatever be the threatening trial, ‘the sure testimony of God, received in humble, realizing, obedient faith, is the only remedy for the evil.’

One event—specially stamped with uncertainty, but linked with the Divine purpose, is—“a time to die.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, 2.) This most momentous event in man’s history hangs upon the Almighty Fiat. Who can tell a man when it shall be? But the word once given—who hath power over the spirit, to retain the spirit? Such is the uncontrolled government of God.

Man—after all his mightiest efforts to make himself independent of God—cannot retain his spirit in its tabernacle prison a single moment beyond the time. Nay he hath no power at all in the day of death. The king is as impotent to resist as the beggar. ‘The power, that sways millions with a nod, fails here. The wealth, that procures for its owner all that his heart can wish, fails here.

The might of the warrior, which hath slain his thousands, and which no human arm could withstand, fails here. The most earnest desire of life, and the tears, and the wailings, and the fond caresses of disconsolate affection—all fail here. Only one of the children of Adam has ever claimed this dominion over his life. And he, while he thus asserted his prerogative, was pleased—for our sake—blessed for ever be his name!—to waive it.

“No man”—declared the Divine Redeemer—“taketh my life from me; but I lay it down of myself. I have power to lay it down; and I have power to take it again.” (John 10:18.) A man therefore, having no power to retain his life, hath of course no power in the day of his death to repel the stroke. The physician’s skill may seem to put off this day. But he is only the instrument, and his success or failure only serves to mark the Divine purpose hitherto hidden.

Giant strength is powerless before “the king of terrors. In other wars a discharge may place us beyond the reach of danger. But no such discharge is here. The Christian hero of an hundred fights can claim no privilege as miles emeritus. The mighty one must be met in single combat. No help will be given from earth or heaven. The struggle may be long or short. But the issue is certain. Each falls in turn before him.

The word has gone out—“It is appointed unto men once to die.” (Heb. 9:27.) No truth is more certain—perhaps none more often repeated; yet none more practically forgotten. Men live as if they were never to die—as if they were exempted from the universal law. The wicked “strengtheneth himself in his wickedness.” (Ps. 52:7.) But he can neither outwit nor outbrave the enemy. Given to his wickedness, he will find that it is no deliverance for him.

His “covenant with death and with hell shall be disannulled. He “shall be driven away in his wickedness.” (Isa. 28:14–18; Prov. 14:32.) Child of God! thou must enter into the war with this great enemy. But thou shalt not be alone in the awful crisis. Thine unseen Friend—“Jehovah thy Shepherd”—walks with thee in the valley—thy cover from all evil (Ps. 23:1–4.) “The Captain of thy salvation” (Heb. 2:10) hath entered into the conflict for thee.

He hath come out victorious—He “hath abolished death.” (2 Tim. 1:10.) “He hath destroyed him that had the power of death.” (Heb. 2:14.) His victory by faith is thine. Shrink not then from the conflict. To thy Saviour it was most bitter trouble. To thyself it will be only the dismissal from thy prison—the entrance into everlasting joy. But—Reader—prove thy security. Not to have an interest in him, is to be under the power of death.

To be vitally united to him, is to be safe for eternity. On one side is death—on the other, victory and life eternal. (Isa. 25:8; 1 Cor. 15:55–57.)

‘To encourage confidence in his statements, Solomon tells us once and again, that they were the result of his own careful observation over the vast field of Divine Providence and Government. In the corresponding field of Creation he had been a diligent and successful student. (1 Kings 4:33.) But “they that would judge aright of any one of the Lord’s dispensations, must be careful students of them all.

They must not slight any work of his, because all, though they be many to us, make but one entire work in God’s hand. And every part of that work is a commentary, clearing the nature and use of the whole, and God’s intent therein. Solomon’s views were not on the surface; nor were they the views of a philosopher merely, or of a theorist.

Man in all his various relations was the object of his study—at this moment with a special reference to the ordinance of God, in which he himself bore a part—one man ruling over another. Often had he seen this rule perverted from its legitimate end—exercised to the hurt—not of the ruled only, but of the ruler. So wide a sphere for the mighty striving of self-will must be peril—a pinnacle of fearful danger.

Thus was Pharaoh “raised up” to a throne, only that his fall might be more tremendous. (Exod. 9:16.) Well may “the rich rejoice, in that he is made low.” (Jam. 1:10.) Especial mercy is it to be kept upon humble ground; not seeking to mount, but thankful to be kept watchful in godly fear. But let us follow Solomon in his field of observation. Wickedness—so far from being a deliverance—becomes an occasion of hurt.

The wicked may have come and gone in pomp and ceremony from the place of the holy. But the great leveller comes without respect of persons. The splendid pageant of a funeral passes before us—I saw them buried. Their hypocrisy is laid open. Instead of being embalmed in memory, soon the miserable object is out of mind—forgotten—even in his own city.

For “the memory of the wicked shall rot.” (Prov. 10:7.) ‘Whereas in their life they would be as gods, they died like men, and were soon forgotten as beasts. The wise man’s father had painted the picture in strong colours, as it passed under his own eye—“I have seen the wicked in great prosperity, and flourishing like a green bay-tree.

Yet he passed away, and lo! he was not; yea—I sought him, but he could not be found.” (Ps. 37:35, 36.) Is not this another exhibition of this world’s vanity? And yet this is the best portion that earth can give, but such a portion as the poorest child of God would utterly despise. Who that has ever grasped the substance could bear to be put off with such a shadowy inheritance?

Wondrous are the dispensations of Divine mercy! But not less wondrous is the wickedness of man in turning all this world of mercy into an occasion of deeper sin. Sentence against an evil work is instantly passed—“Woe unto the wicked; it shall be ill with him:” Why then—reason would ask—is it not speedily executed? Why does he not crush him at once by his stroke? The glorious perfection of Divine long-suffering must be displayed.

Adam therefore lived more than nine hundred years under the sentence passed—not executed. (Gen. 2:17; 5:5.) “The long-suffering of God waited in the days of Noah.” (1 Pet. 3:20, with Gen. 6:3.) The ordinary course is to give the sinner time and space for repentance—to open to him a day of grace—“An accepted time, leaving him in the neglect of it without excuse.” (Luke 19:42.) Were the execution instantly to follow the sentence, how many glorious manifestations of grace would have been lost to the church!

We might have known Paul as “a blasphemer, and a persecutor, and injurious;” but not as the “chief of sinners, who obtained mercy,” as a special display of “all long-suffering; and for a pattern to them which should hereafter believe.” (1 Tim. 1:13–16.) As to the bold and presumptuous sinner—if he expected the thunderbolt to fall upon his head in the very act of sin, would he not turn pale at the thought?

But because sentence is not speedily executed—because the threatened destruction seems to loiter—he goes on secure, because he goes unpunished. He dares not say so with his lips; but “he hath said in his heart, Thou wilt not require it.” (Ps. 10:13. Comp. Luke, 12:45.) He does not really believe that God will be true to his own word.

He has often sinned—So have his neighbours—No evil consequence has come—The Sentence is gone forth; but there is a chance whether it will be executed. And upon this hazardous chance all the momentous interests of eternity are rashly staked! The sinner takes his plunge—“I shall have peace, though I walk in the way of my own heart.” (Deut. 29:19.) Mark the emphasis of this presumptuous sin.

The heart—as if it were but one common heart of the sons of men—the bent of one purpose acting in every man in the world—this heart is set—fully set—it is not only yielding to sin under some special assault, but one wilful—habitual—determined resolution—without remorse—all—to do evil.

It is “man drinking up iniquity like water—setting himself in a way that is not good (the meiosis figure—speaking less than is meant), putting themselves to hard labour—“drawing iniquity with cords of vanity, and sin as it were with a cartrope. Such is the picture of man in rebellion against his God! But because sentence is not speedily executed, it is not the less sure for the delay. The scoffer asked in contempt—“Where is the promise of his coming?

But the promise did come in God’s time, and swept them away. (2 Pet. 3:3–6; Luke, 17:26–29.) ‘It comes’—as good Bishop Reynolds remarks—‘with feet of wool; but it will strike with hands of lead. And yet the wickedness of man abuses the long-suffering of God, as an occasion of more desperate rebellion. Awful indeed is the sight. How he “despiseth the riches of God’s goodness, and forbearance, and long-suffering, not knowing that the goodness of God leadeth him to repentance!

Yea—“after his hardness and impenitent heart, he treasureth up unto himself wrath against the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God.” (Rom. 2:4, 5.) What ‘vcnom must there be in the corruption of our nature, that can suck such poison out of such a sweet attribute as the patience of God! Never let it be supposed that God’s patience is the proof, that he thinks lightly of sin.

There is indeed a treasure of wrath, and hour by hour, yea—moment by moment—has the impenitent sinner been adding to the heap. How soon the cup may be full! Who knoweth but he may be at this moment exhausting the last drop of the appointed patience of God? We live only by the mere act of grace. And yet we would burden his forbearance, because it is so great, and load him with the weight of sin, only because he is so slow to avenge himself.

The devils might have been capable of this aggravated sin, of thus trampling upon the mercy of God; but guilty they could not be, simply because their instant punishment precluded them from the opportunity. This awful revolt is not reached at once. The habit, that entrenches the sinner so firmly in his own delusion, is not formed in a day.

Conscience will stir, and remonstrate—specially in the early stages—and not without a severe struggle will this ‘Deputy of the Supreme Judge be wholly silenced. Bishop Taylor has accurately drawn the gradations and progress of this mighty principle of evil—‘Vice first is pleasing; then it grows easy; then delightful; then frequent; then habitual; then confirmed; then the man is impenitent; then he is obstinate; then he resolves never to repent; and then he is damned.

Beware of the first steps—the first taste of the poison—the first lust after its sweetness—the first consent of the will—the first yielding of the heart to anything but to God. If the lust has been indulged, at least shew beginning of repentance—believing the indulgence to be thy shame. Awful indeed is the thought—‘He that blushes not at his crime, but adds shamelessness to his shame, hath no instrument left to restore him to the hopes of mercy.

Who can tell our infinite obligation to this glorious perfection—the long-suffering of God? It is the silence of his justice, and the first whisper of his mercy—the time of his “endurance of the vessels of wrath” (Rom. 9:22)—the assurance that he is “not willing that any should perish” (2 Pet. 3:9)—the display, as we have just remarked, of his sovereign grace. (1 Tim. 1:16.)

The sinner’s heart is so fully set to do evil, that he may do it an hundred times, ‘never so often. Instead of the thunderbolt of vengeance, his days may be prolonged. He may even grow bolder than ever in sin. He may be exalted in outward prosperity, while the children of God are crushed in affliction. The sanctuary expounds the difficulty, and solves the apparent contradiction.

The end shews all to be infallibly right, and (to use the simile of a quaint commentator) ‘as with a sponge, the ground of offence is wholly taken away’. At the great day, there will be a clear discernment between the righteous and the wicked—between him that feareth—and him that feareth not—before God. (Mal. 3:18.) The two classes—mark emphatically, two only—are before us.

They are known by the influence or the want of that ‘Divine quality—a holy, filial fear of offending God’—fearing before him—before his face—as their present God—the witness of all their doings—always in his sight. With those that thus fear (Heb.) before him it shall he well. It may often seem to be ill with the godly, and well with the sinner. We see Joseph in the pit (Gen. 37:24), Job in the ashes (Ecclesiastes 2:8), Lazarus at the rich man’s gate (Luke 16:20, 21).

We may see Haman in power (Esth. 3:1), the foolish in prosperity (Ps. 73:3). But the statement on both sides stands firm. “Many indeed are the afflictions of the righteous.” (Ps. 34:19.) But “thou hast given them the heritage of those that fear thy name.” (Ps 61:5.) How rich that heritage must be, where every loss turns to our gain, and is overruled for our real and eternal good.

This heritage is no other than the Lord himself (Ps 16:5)—‘a God’—as Pascal beautifully describes him—‘who possesses the hearts and souls of his servants, gives them an inward feeling of their own misery, and of his infinite mercy—unites himself to their spirit, replenishing it with humility and joy—with affiance and love—and renders them incapable of any project or aim—but himself. Thus is it well with them now.

And how will it be to them at death—to find it the gate of life? How in eternity—“to be at home, and for ever with the Lord” (2 Cor. 5:8; 1 Thess 4:17),—to “behold” (Ps. 17:15; John, 17:24), yea, even to share (Matt. 25:24–26) his glory—unclouded—everlasting? (John 17:22; Rev. 3:21.) But what is the record of the wicked?

And here we must include a large mass of character—who seem to halt, and to occupy a neutral position between the two—not only the ungodly and profane—not only the negative body, who live only for the barren purpose of doing no harm; but the useful member of society, decorous and upright, the lovely and conscientious.

For it is an awful and affecting truth, that all these shades and modifications of character are stamped with ungodliness in the sight of God, because without the steady, commanding, practical principle—the fear of God.

It may seem to be well with him in the esteem of his fellow-men, and in the testimony of his blinded conscience; but, wanting the one principle that connects him with God, it shall not be well—(meiosis again)—‘it shall be very ill’ with him, so long as he remains in his natural condition. Even in his highest prosperity, he goes in and out under the curse of God.

He hath no other prospect than to quit with horror the world, which hath cheated and ruined him for ever. (Job 18:18; Prov. 14:32.) Or should he “have no bands in his death”—the more overwhelmed will he be at the last in eternal despair—in unanticipated woe. All this comes in the natural course. Nothing is more easy than to ruin ourselves for ever. Only sit still, and do nothing, and we perish in our own slumber.

We are cast out as “wicked,” because “slothful, servants.” (Matt. 26:26–30.) Only just “neglect the so great salvation;” and it becomes to us “the savour of death unto death.” (Heb. 2:3.) Take then the sum and substance of the matter—the child of God at his worst—it shall be well with him; the servant of sin at his best—it shall not be well with him. Each lives for the present life under the blessing or curse of God.

Each will reap the full harvest of their principles throughout eternity. Balance the whole, and who can for a moment doubt on which side lies the well—on which side the ill? The ill of the godly—whatever that may be—is but for a moment; and his well is for eternity. The contrast is dark beyond expression. The ungodly grasps at happiness, and embraces vanity. He cannot prolong his days at his will.

Their shadow—in contrast with the true substance—without good—passeth away, and all his portion is dark despair—the cutting rebuke ringing in his cars—“Son, remember!” (Luke 16:25.) And observe—how decided is the verdict—Surely I know. This is no bare conjecture or probability. No truth in the Bible is more demonstrative. The firm conviction is wrought in the heart by the Spirit of God enabling us to rest confidently on the word.

The promise of both worlds is assured to godliness. (1 Tim. 4:8.) The experience of all the God-fearing confirms the testimony. Ask Marolle—the French confessor in his filthy dungeon—enduring all that man could heap upon him for the crushing of his confidence. Doubt might sometimes rise up like the locusts eating up the pleasant green things. (Exod. 10:15.) But on the main point he was ready. ‘It is—and it shall be—well.

‘Eighty-and-six years’—was Polycarp’s witness—‘have I served my Master, and he hath never wronged me. How could he after all have turned his back upon him, who had never turned away from him? “I have fought the good fight”—is the voice of a yet nobler witness—“Henceforth the crown.” (2 Tim. 4:7, 8.) But not less decided is the judgment—I know that it shall not be well.

The blessing and the curse stand upon the same firm rock—the word of God; not one jot or tittle of which has ever fallen to the ground. What then is my present state? Living for heaven—or for hell? O my God! for which? May the stamp upon me be “a brand plucked out of the fire!—a sinner saved by grace!”

We have another picture of vanity doubly marked. The All-wise and righteous Governor of the world never forgets the vitally-important distinction between the righteous and the wicked. But he is not pleased to make it the standard of his providential dispensation. (Ecclesiastes 9:1, 2.) It often therefore happeneth as if the just were punished, and the wicked rewarded.

It happeneth, not as if it fell out apart from the foreknowledge and providence of God; but in the ordinary course of the Divine Government. ‘Nothing’—as Beza remarks—‘is more repugnant to reason than this apparently strange distribution.

It would seem as if the righteous “had cleansed his heart in vain.” (Ps. 73:13.) This may justly be called a vanity—not as reflecting upon the government of God in permitting them; but because the instruments are the fruit of man’s corruption, and the display is that of the utterly unsatisfactory state of earthly things. But—be it remembered—we only see the surface view. There are depths in Providence far beyond our vision.

In his own time and way the Lord will bring perfect order out of seeming confusion, and astonish us with the manifestation of his glory. After all, this is only a vanity upon the earth. “In the other world good is given to the good, and evil to the evil. Here—though we know but little, yet enough to be quiet. Providences were not made only for man now, but for man in eternity.

Meanwhile it is beautiful to mark how they fulfil, and thus confirm, Scripture; so that a wise observer is at once rich in experience, and established in the good ways of God. ‘Say then—Christian sufferer—does thine heart rebel, to see the wicked prosper, and thyself in woe? Say, wouldst thou change? Is he better off than thou? Are his earthly blessings better than thy grace? Is not Jesus more than silver and gold to thee?

Hast thou the lesser portion, because thou hast the Lord? Leave thyself with God, and be at peace. Let this living faith preserve thee from that brooding discontent, which seems to throw a cloud upon the goodness of thy most gracious God. (Ecclesiastes 2:24; 3:12; 5:18; 1 Tim. 4:3–5.) Never suppose that the overflow of temporal enjoyments can form the chief good.

Enjoy the gifts of God—whatever portion of them be allotted to thee, as the stream from the fountain of his special interest in thee. (Gen. 33:5.) This enjoyment can never be in unholy sensualism, or unrestrained indulgence—but with that Christian mirth—cheered—as in the bright era of the Church (Acts, 2:46)—with the smile of Divine acceptance, which makes “a continual feast.

Let this be our abiding portion all the days of our life—every new day bringing a fresh gift of God for his service and glory. Whatever we may lose, the grand interest is secured.

‘Too much attention’—we are wisely reminded—cannot be bestowed on that important—yet much-neglected branch of learning—the knowledge of man’s ignorance. Here how deep and humbling is the picture! All the efforts of diligence—earnest perseverance—intense application of heart—the laborious exercise of sleepless nights—all fail to enlighten. A vast terra incognita lies beyond us.

The most profound inquirer can only stand upon the ocean’s shore, and cry—“O the depth” of the arbitrariness?—no—but “of the wisdom and knowledge of God. How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past finding out.” (Rom. 11:33.) Yet if all was brought down to our poor level—if revelation contained no mysteries—if it were stripped of everything supernatural—surely its credentials, as professing to come from God, would be very doubtful.

It is natural to expect—according to Butler’s impregnable argument—that Revelation should have its difficulties, as well as Creation—his word thus corresponding with his works. Nor ought we ‘to draw down or submit the mysteries of God to our reason, but contrariwise to raise and advance our reason to the Divine truth. We open our Bibles. The doctrines instantly press upon us with difficulties. But to cavil is rebellion.

If we reject one doctrine for its difficulties, we may as well reject another, standing as they all do upon the same testimony. The first lesson that Pythagoras taught was silence. The same lesson meets us in the Bible school, “Be still, and know that I am God.” (Ps. 46:10.) He makes no mistakes.

But “he giveth not account of any of his matters.” (Job 33:13.) It is no more unnatural, that some of the doctrines of Revelation should overwhelm our understanding, than that the sun in full blaze should overpower our sight. Yet if the mind is shaken, the heart is upheld in energy. It is faith—not indolence. Exertion and diligence are in full activity. Clearly Revelation was not proposed to indulge curiosity, but to provide a remedy for man’s blindness and misery.

If it be viewed with a merely speculative eye, we marvel not, that it should stir up hard thoughts of God. But facts—if they do not convince, are yet sufficiently clear to silence, the gainsayer. That man is obviously treated—and ever has been treated since Adam’s fall—as a creature under punishment—let who will dispute—none can deny. Does not this strongly prove a sure, though mysterious connexion with Adam’s sin, charged upon his children to the end?

But to advert to one field of inquiry—the business that is done upon the earth. To obtain a clear and satisfying view of the whole framework of the Divine government—to search into the reason of the administration, and out of all the seeming incongruities to bring out one work of beauty, order, and completeness—all this is labour and travail. And after all the attempt is vain—Man cannot find out the work.

Labour and wisdom—the two grand instruments of discovery—even in their combined exercise, both leave us in darkness. We can only pray for humility to believe, that whatever is done—however contrary to our apprehensions, is both wise and righteous. Secret it may be, but always holy, so that

‘When reason fails With all her powers, Then faith prevails And love adores.’—Watts.

The mystery of perplexity is “a mystery of godliness. The fact is—as Bp. Butler admirably states it—‘Every secret that is disclosed—every discovery which is made—every new effect which is brought to view, serves to convince us of numberless more which remain concealed, and which we had before no suspicion of.

There is no manner of absurdity in supposing a veil on purpose drawn over some scenes of infinite power, wisdom, and goodness, the sight of which might some way or other strike us too strongly; or that better ends are designed and served by their being concealed, than could be by their being exposed to our knowledge. The Almighty may cast “clouds and darkness round about him,” for reasons and purposes of which we have not the least glimpse or conception.

Light enough he has given to make faith rational, and to leave unbelief without excuse. Are we then to refrain from searching into the works of God? So far from it—we are encouraged “to seek them out.” (Ps. 111:2.) A spiritual understanding of the “loving-kindness of the Lord” will be to us an enriching harvest. (Ps. 107:43.) But how many a self-deluded victim has Satan reasoned into the bottomless pit! The pride of disputation is man’s native corruption.

Let that be restrained, and “light ariseth in the darkness.” (Ps. 112:4.) Man’s ignorance is to be traced to an understanding darkened by the fall. The remedy therefore, which restores from this awful calamity, will bring restored rays into the dark prison. The heart turned away from its proud reasonings—reason humbled to “the obedience of faith”—will bring a new atmosphere of light.

“The entrance of thy words giveth light; it giveth understanding unto the simple.” (Ps. 119:130.) ‘Give me the Bible’—cried an eminent Christian—‘and may the Lord give me faith to fix on it, or my head will grow giddy with amazement, confusion, and dread!

Bright indeed and encouraging are the remarks of a thoughtful mind—‘If we have not banished the Divine Spirit by slights and excesses; if we have fed his lamp in our hearts with prayer; if we have improved and strengthened our faculties by education and exercise, and then sit down to study the Bible with inquiring and teachable minds, we need not doubt of discovering its meaning; not indeed purely—for where find an intellect so colourless as never to tinge the light that falls upon it? not wholly—for how fathom the ocean of God’s word? but with such accuracy, and to such a degree as shall suffice for the uses of our spiritual life.

Take another testimony from a sound practical Christian—‘I find that the benefit I receive from Scripture in a great measure depends upon myself. How often, in turning to it to clear up some historical sequence, or some obscure doctrine, to find material for imagination, or ground for hypothesis, I only get at the shell instead of the kernel!

Or again—if in high-wrought times, a clearer insight be afforded, how prone are we to seek and improve and define it by our own strength, and so to bring human fictions, instead of Divine Truth to light! The mysteries of Holy Scriptures are revealed to us, only when we are seeking for nothing else, but for the way of reconciliation with God, and for help in our battle with selfishness and sin.

Again, ‘I learn more and more to discern the Divine wisdom, which has set limits to revelation. All that we need for our happiness is given us; and were the curtain lifted further from holy mysteries, man would be lost in hopeless bewilderment. After all however, “secret things,” as “belonging to the Lord our God,” will remain “secret” still. But “the things that are revealed” will be the precious portion for “us and for our children”—for all the purposes of godly obedience.

As much light as is conducive to our welfare will be graciously vouchsafed. If the midday beams be withheld, let us thankfully walk in the twilight—improving diligently what is given—not murmuring at what is restrained. “Perfect day” would leave no room for the exercise of faith—the discipline of the present dispensation—wisely appointed to humble us in the sense of ignorance, and to wean us from self-conceit in the exercise of confidence in God.

In this spirit we shall be humble, patient, diligent, intelligent learners, sitting at the feet of our Divine Teacher; not disputing, or leaning unto our own understanding, but willing to be led in his own best way, on any ground, by any means that may seem good in his sight. In fine—let it be remembered, that man’s highest intellect can never receive one spiritual apprehension.

‘Our endeavour therefore to be wise above what is written, must involve us in sin and perplexity, and can never lead to any satisfactory conclusions. But to believe and obey here will be a preparation for that world hereafter, where “we shall know even as also we are known.” ’