Old Wine and New Part 4

Finally, the invitation is to be regarded. Who here is not athirst?

Some thirst for riches, some for honors, some for pleasures, a few perhaps--may grace enlarge the number--for the water of salvation. Gold cannot satisfy the soul; the more we have, the more we crave. The world has not enough of glory in its gift to fill the aching voids of ambition; elevation evokes aspiration, and at the last summit the cry is still "Excelsior!" One after another, all sensuous enjoyments pall upon the taste; and fluttering like b.u.t.terflies from flower to flower, and sipping like honey-bees every sweet of field and forest, we learn at length with a sated Solomon that all is vanity. The gilding of an empty cup can never satisfy the thirsty soul. "We were made for G.o.d,"

says St. Augustine, "and our hearts are restless till they repose in him." For G.o.d, even the living G.o.d, David thirsted long ago; and here, incarnate in our nature, stands the Divine Object of his desire, crying to the world: "If any man thirst, let him come unto me and drink!"

But there is something, see you not? for the thirsty soul to do. Christ cannot save us till we come. He is indeed, as St. Paul calls him, "the Saviour of all men, especially of them that believe"--of all men, because he has opened the fountain for all and invited all to the fountain--especially of them that believe, because they accept the invitation and come to him for supply. Whoever, whatever, wherever you are--however great your obstructions, and however numerous and enormous your sins--called, you may come; coming, you will receive; receiving, you shall be satisfied forever. "Rivers of living water," Jesus offers every believer in him. See the adaptation--"water"--to a.s.suage your thirst, to refresh the weary soul, to revive him who is fainting and dying. Observe the quality--"living water"--not a stagnant pool, but a salient spring, a fountain that never fails, a well of water within springing up unto everlasting life. Behold the abundance--"rivers of living water"--not one great stream, but many--an inexhaustible supply, having its source in a sh.o.r.eless and unfathomable sea--

"Its streams the whole creation reach, So plenteous is the store; Enough for all, enough for each, Enough forevermore!"

But the coming is not all. Come and what? Come and see? Come and explore? Come and investigate? Come and a.n.a.lyze the water, and discuss its qualities, and speculate about its probable effects? Come and praise the fountain, and commend it to others, and enjoy its cool retreats, and admire its beautiful environs, and congratulate your friends upon its conveniences, and applaud the benevolence that opened it for the benefit of all? Nay, come and drink. Not all the water from the smitten rock could save the Israelite that would not drink. Not all the river of the water of life flowing through the City of G.o.d can quench the thirst of the soul that declines it. Personally you must appropriate the mercy. Personally you must experience its restoring power. Salvation is not a theory, but a fact; not a speculation, but a consciousness; not an ethical system to be reasoned out by superior intellect, but a divine blessing to be taken into the believing heart.

It is a new life received from the Fountain-Life of the world. Gushing from the throne of G.o.d and the Lamb, "clear as crystal," with a copiousness and an energy which no dam can stay nor dike restrain, it offers its refreshment to all, free as the air, the dew, the rain, or the sunlight of heaven. Drink, and you shall never thirst again. Drink, and find your immortality in the draught!

[1] Preached in Rochester, N.Y., 1842.

VII.

SOJOURNING WITH G.o.d.[1]

Ye are strangers and sojourners with me.--Lev. xxv. 23.

I have a dear friend to-day on the Atlantic. Four days ago, in New-York Harbor, I accompanied him to the floating palace that bears him to Europe; and put a book into his hand, which may furnish him some entertainment on the voyage, and some service perhaps in the land of art and beauty for which he is bound. Next Lord's Day he hopes to spend in London; and thence, after a short pause, to proceed to Rome, where he means to remain three months or more. A summer in that city is to an American somewhat hazardous on the score of health, and the facilities for seeing and exploring are far less favorable than they are in the winter. Yet, as this is the only season he can command for the purpose, he is willing to encounter the dangers and dispense with some of the advantages, for the sake of a brief sojourn in the grand old metropolis that dominated the world in the days of the Caesars, and has since ruled it with a rod of iron in the hands of the popes.

In "the historic city" he will meet with much to entertain a mind like his--highly cultivated and richly stored with cla.s.sic lore; and for all that he wishes to accomplish, he will find his opportunity far too brief. But he will not be at home there--a transient and unsettled visitor. Every thing will be different from what he has been accustomed to in his own country--government different--society different--manners and customs different--churches and worship different--dress, diet and language different--architecture, public inst.i.tutions, general aspect of the city, and natural scenery on all sides, quite different from any thing he ever saw before. And while he daily encounters new objects of absorbing interest--new wonders of art--new treasures of antiquity--new ill.u.s.trations and confirmations of history, and feels the charm of a thousand beauties to which he has not been accustomed, the very contrast will make him confess that he is a stranger and sojourner, and think frequently of his home beyond the sunset, and sigh for the fellowship of the dear hearts far over the western sea.

And should he go farther, and visit the ruined lands of the Nile--the Jordan--the Euphrates, and wander over the silent wastes that once smiled with golden harvests, glowed with gorgeous cities, and teemed with tumultuous populations; everywhere--on the burning sands of the desert--in the savage solitudes of the mountains--amidst the crumbling memorials of ancient civilizations and religions--in the tent of the Arab, the wayside encampment, and the comfortless caravansera--he will constantly require the pledge of chieftains, the protection of princes, the safe conduct of governments, and the covenanted friendship of the rude nomadic tribes among whom he makes his temporary abode.

This is the idea of our text: "Ye are strangers and sojourners with me." It is G.o.d speaking to his chosen people, about to take possession of the promised land, instructing them concerning their polity and conduct in their new home and relations. One of the specific directions given them is, that they are not to sell the land forever, because it belongs to him, and they are his wards--tenants at will, dwelling on his domain, under his patronage and protection. For six years he leased to them the land, so to say; but every seventh year he reclaimed it as his own, and it was to be neither tilled nor sown; and after seven such sabbatic years, in the fiftieth year, which was the year of Jubilee, every thing reverted with a still more special emphasis to the divine Proprietor; and the people were not permitted to reap or gather any thing that grew of itself that year even from the unworked soil, but were to subsist on the product of the former years laid up in store for that purpose. All this to teach them that the domain was Jehovah's, and they were only privileged occupants under him--that he was their patron, protector, benefactor, while they were strangers and sojourners with G.o.d.

In a general sense, these sacred words describe the condition of all men. All live by sufferance on the Lord's estate, fed and sustained by his bounty. Whether we recognize his rights and claims or not, all we have belongs to him, and the continuance of every privilege depends upon his will. You may revolt against his authority, and fret at what you call fate; but his providence orders all, and death is only your eviction from the trust and tenure you have abused. What is your life, and what control has any man over his destiny? A shadow on the ground, a vapor in the air, an arrow speeding to the mark, an eagle hasting to the prey, a post hurrying past with despatches, a swift ship gliding out of sight over the misty horizon--these are the Scripture emblems of what we are. Every day is but a new stage in the pilgrim's progress--every act and every pulse another step toward the tomb. The frequent changes of fortune teach us that nothing here is certain but uncertainty, nothing constant but inconstancy, nothing real but unreality, nothing stable but instability. The loveliest spot we ever found on earth is but a halting-place for the traveller--an oasis for the caravan in the desert. The world itself, and all that it contains, present only the successive scenes of a moving panorama; and our life is the pa.s.sage of a weaver's shuttle--a flying to and fro--a mere coming and going--an entry and an exit. For we are strangers and sojourners with G.o.d.

But what is in a general sense thus true of all, is in a special sense true of the spiritual and heavenly-minded. As Abraham was a stranger and a sojourner with the Canaanite and the Egyptian--as Jacob and his sons were strangers and sojourners with Pharaoh, and the fugitive David with the king of Gath--so all G.o.dly people acknowledge themselves strangers and sojourners with G.o.d. This is the picture of the Christian life that better than almost any other expresses the condition and experiences of our Lord's faithful followers--not at home here--ever on the move--living among aliens and enemies--subject to many privations and occasional persecutions--every morning hearing afresh the summons, "Arise ye and depart, for this is not your rest"--practically confessing, with patriarchs and prophets, apostles and martyrs, "Here we have no continuing city, but we seek one to come." The world knew not their Master, and knows not them. If they were of the world, the world would love its own; because they are not of the world, but he has chosen them out of the world, therefore the world hateth them. Wholly of another character--another profession--another pursuit--aiming at other ends, and cheered by other hopes--the carnal, selfish, unbelieving world cannot possibly appreciate them, and they are constantly misunderstood and misrepresented by the world. Regarding not the things which are seen and temporal, but the things which are unseen and eternal, they are often stigmatized as fools and denounced as fanatics. Far distant from their home, and surrounded by those who have no sympathy with them, they show their heavenly citizenship by heavenly tempers, heavenly manners, heavenly conversation, all hallowed by the spirit of holiness. So one of the Fathers in the second century describes the Christians of his time:

"They occupy their own native land, but as pilgrims in it. They bear all as citizens, and forbear all as foreigners. Every foreign land is to them a fatherland, and every fatherland is foreign. They are in the flesh, but they walk not after the flesh. They live on earth, but they are citizens of heaven. They die, but with death their true life begins. Poor themselves, they make many rich; dest.i.tute, they have all things in abundance; despised, they are glorified in contempt. In a word--what the soul is in the body, Christians are in the world. The soul inhabits the body, but is not derived from it; and Christians dwell in the world, but are not of it. The immortal soul sojourns in a mortal tent; and Christians inhabit a perishable house, while looking for an imperishable in heaven."

To such heavenly-mindedness, my dear brethren, we all are called; and without something of this spirit, whatever our professions and formalities, we do but belie the name of Christian. "If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth, on the right hand of G.o.d; set your affections on things above, not on things on the earth; for ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in G.o.d; when Christ who is our life shall appear, then shall we also appear with him in glory."

Bowed down with many a burden and weary because of the way, how much is there to cheer and comfort us in G.o.d's good word to his suffering pilgrims--"Ye are strangers and sojourners with me"!

There is the idea of friendly recognition. As the nomad chief receives the tourist into his tent, and a.s.sures him of his favor by the "covenant of salt;" so G.o.d hath made with us an everlasting covenant of grace, ordered in all things and sure; since which, he can never disown us, never forsake us, never forget us, never cease to care for his own.

There is the idea of pleasant communion. As in the Arab tent, between the sheik and his guest, there is a free interchange of thought and feeling; so between G.o.d and the regenerate soul a sweet fellowship is established, with perfect access and unreserved confidence. "The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him," and his delight is in his saints, who are the excellent of the earth.

There is the idea of needful refreshment. "Turn in and rest a little,"

saith the patriarch to the wayfarers; and then brings forth bread and wine--the best that his store affords--to cheer their spirits and revive their strength. G.o.d spreads a table for his people in the wilderness. With angels' food he feeds them, and their cup runs over with blessing. He gives them to eat of the hidden manna, and restores their fainting souls with the new wine of the kingdom.

There is the idea of faithful protection. The Arab who has eaten with you will answer for your safety with his own life, and so long as you remain with him none of his tribe shall harm a hair of your head.

Believer in Jesus! do you not dwell in the secret place of the Most High, and abide under the shadow of the Almighty? Has he not shut you, like Noah, into the ark of your salvation? Is not David's rock your rock, your fortress, your high tower, and unfailing city of refuge?

There is the idea of infallible guidance. The Oriental host will not permit his guest to set forth alone, but goes with him on every new track, grasps his hand in every steep ascent, and holds him back from the brink of every precipice. G.o.d said to Israel: "I will send my angel before thy face, to lead thee in the way, and bring thee into the land whither thou goest." Yea, he said more: "My presence shall go with thee, and I will give thee rest." Both promises are ours, my brethren; and something better than the pillar of cloud and fire, or the manifest glory of the resident G.o.d upon the mercy-seat, marches in the van of his pilgrim host through the wilderness, and will never leave us till the last member of his redeemed Israel shall have pa.s.sed clean over Jordan!

There is the idea of a blessed destiny. Their divine Guide is leading them "to a good land, that floweth with milk and honey"--"to a city of habitation"--"a city that hath foundations, whose builder and maker is G.o.d"--"a house not made with hands, eternal, in the heavens"--the Father's house of "many mansions," where Christ is now as he promised preparing a place for his people, and where they are at last to be with him and behold his glory. Oh! with what a sweet and restful confidence should we dismiss our groundless fears of the future, saying with the psalmist--"Thou shalt guide me with thy counsel, and afterward receive me to glory!" The pilgrim has a home; the weary has a resting-place; the wanderer in the wilderness is a "fellow-citizen with the saints and of the household of faith;" and often have we seen him in the evening twilight, after a long day's march over stony mountain and sultry plain, sitting at the door of the tent just pitched for the night, with calm voice singing:

"One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o'er and o'er-- I'm nearer to my home to-night Than e'er I was before-- Nearer the bound of life, Where falls my burden down-- Nearer to where I leave my cross, And where I take my crown!"

and with the next rising sun, like a giant refreshed with new wine, joyfully resuming his journey, from the first eminence attained gazing a moment through his gla.s.s at the distant glory of the gold-and-crystal city, then bounding forward and making the mountains ring with the strain:

"There is my house and portion fair, My treasure and heart are there, And my abiding home; For me my elder brethren stay, And angels beckon me away, And Jesus bids me come!"

The saintly Monica, after many years of weeping at the nail-pierced feet, has at length received the answer to her prayers in the conversion of one dearer to her than life; and is now ready, with good old Simeon, to depart in peace, having seen the salvation of the Lord: "As for me, my son, nothing in this world hath longer any charm for me.

What I do here, or why I should remain, I know not. But one wish I had, and that G.o.d has abundantly granted me. Bury me where thou wilt, for nowhere am I far from G.o.d!"

Dark to some of you, O ye strangers and sojourners with G.o.d! may be the valley of the shadow of death; but ye cannot perish there, for He whose fellowship is immortality is still with you, and you shall soon be with him as never before! Black and cold at your feet rolls the river of terrors; but lift your eyes a little, and you see gleaming through the mist the pearl-gates beyond! There "the Captain of the Lord's host" is already preparing your escort!

"Even now is at hand The angelical band-- The convoy attends-- An invincible troop of invisible friends!

Ready winged for their flight To the regions of light, The horses are come-- The chariots of Israel to carry us home!"

[1] Preached in Charleston, S.C., soon after a year's sojourn beyond the sea, 1858.

VIII.

BUILDING FOR IMMORTALITY.[1]

So they built and prospered.--2 Chron. xiv. 7.

In the fairest of Italian cities stands the finest of terrestrial structures--a campanile or bell-tower, twenty-five feet square, two hundred and seventy-three feet high, built of white and colored marble in alternate blocks, covered with a royal luxuriance of sculpture framed in medallions, studded everywhere with the most beautiful statuary disposed in Gothic niches, and finished from base to battlement like a lady's cabinet inlaid with pearl and gold. It would seem as if nothing more perfect in symmetry, more exquisite in workmanship, or more magnificent in ornamentation, could possibly be achieved by human genius. Pure as a lily born of dew and sunshine, the approaching tourist sees it rising over the lofty roof of the Duomo, like the pillar of cloud upon the tabernacle; and when he enters the Piazza, and finds it standing apart in its majestic alt.i.tude, and looking down upon the vestal loveliness of the Tuscan Santa Maria, he can think only of the Angel of the Annunciation in the presence of the Blessed Virgin. Whoever has gazed upon its grand proportions, and studied the details of its exquisite execution, will feel no astonishment at being told that such a structure could not now be built in this country for less than fifty millions of our money; nor will he wonder that Jarvis, in his "Art Hints," has p.r.o.nounced it "the n.o.blest specimen of tower-architecture the world has to show;" that Charles the Fifth declared it was "fit to be inclosed with crystal, and exhibited only on holy-days;" and that the Florentines themselves, whenever they would characterize any thing as extremely beautiful, say it is "as fine as the Campanile."

Gentlemen, you have reared a n.o.bler edifice! n.o.bler, not because more costly, for your pecuniary outlay is as nothing in the comparison.

n.o.bler, not because the material is more precious, and the architecture more perfect; for what is a pile of brick to such a miracle in marble?

or where is the American builder that would dream of competing with Giotto? n.o.bler, not because there is a larger and richer-toned bell in the gilded cupola, to summon the inmates to study and recitation, or to morning and evening worship; for the great bell of the Campanile is one of the grandest pieces of resonant metal ever cast; and its voice, though soft as flute-tones at eventide coming over the water, is rich and majestic as an angel's song. Far n.o.bler, however, in its purpose and utility; for that wonder of Italian architecture is the product of Florentine pride and vanity in the days of a prosperous republic--a less ma.s.sive but more elegant Tower of Babel, expressing the ambition of its builders; and though standing in the Cathedral Piazza, its chief conceivable objects are mere show and sound; while the end and aim of this edifice is the development of mind, the formation of character, the creation of a loftier intellectual manhood, the reproduction of so much of the lost image of G.o.d as may be evolved by the best media and methods of human education.

The excellence of your structure, then, consists mainly in this--that it is only a scaffold, with derricks, windla.s.ses, and other apparatus and implements, for building something immeasurably more excellent.