New shafts in the old mine; an exposition of some classic passages of Holy Scriptures

Dedication

To the members of the

Westminster Presbyterian Church

and

Contents

PAGE

The New Birth and the New Faith 145

"FEASTIN' ON THE WORD"

Prefatory Note

One of the most valuable of my early lessons in homiletics had respect to the treatment of somewhat extended portions of Scripture, as the sermon ordinarily discusses a single verse. Such expositions of the word do not consist in scattering and illogical comments, however edifying in themselves, on the successive verses of a passage. They are rather, as the old Scotch Uncle expresses it, "sinking a mine doon" into some definite and segregated portion of Holy Writ, with a view to bringing up and into clearest emphasis its central teaching, and at the same time grouping all its subordinate thoughts in some living order around the leading idea. The effort to do this in a few instances explains the title of this little volume, and gives shape to the discussions herein recorded.

I have ventured to adhere to the numbered heads of discourse, though this seems just now to be a little ''out of style." An experience of over forty years in the ministry has convinced xii PREFATORY NOTE

me that the large majority of plain people hear with more comfort, and recall with more ease, the sermons that have "a. few pegs to hang the memory on." And, even to a reader, though less needful, they are not wholly useless. At the same time, while making them comprehensive in every case of the entire passage under consideration, I have sought to frame them in a few clear words, remembering the adage, *'The less sash the more light."

It is my earnest prayer that the truths of these classic passages may prove none the less "sweet and sappie bits" to the spiritual taste, that they are here set forth in an orderly array.

The Author.

Wooster, Ohio.

"Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who according to His great mercy begat us again unto a living hope by the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead, unto an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven for you, who by the power of God are guarded through faith unto a salvation ready to be revealed in the last time." — I Peter i : 3-5.

Hope is man's fast and firmest earthly friend. When all others forsake him, she remains his steadfast companion and comforter. This, the common experience of men, is beautifully embodied in the old classic legend. As related by some, Pandora, the goddess all-gifted, as her name implies, came to bless mankind. Her box was richly freighted with mercies contributed by her numerous companion-divinities; and her advent was hailed with songs of gladness by those about to receive her benefactions. But alas for them, in an incautious moment the beautiful messenger opened her treasure chest ; and all her blessings, save one, escaped beyond recovery, before she could again shut down the Hd. That one was Hope. Wisely and happily for man, she was not permitted to join the flight of other blessings. And so it comes about that ever since, in every heart, hope is found the earliest and the latest guest, first to enter and last to leave her human habitation.

It is only a fable, but truth lies under the drapery of the parable. Hope is one of the most powerful emotions of the soul. She makes the weak strong, and nerves the spirit to well-nigh superhuman effort. She is the spring and joy of life. With more than a painter's power she covers the dark waters with a silvery sheen. With more than a magician's skill she transforms the present wilderness into a paradise of beauty and of peace. And when she leaves the soul, it is as when one turns the key in the rusty lock and leaves the old house with shutterless windows and leaking roof and unhinged doors to degenerate into a drearier dilapidation — the home henceforth of nerveless and effortless despair.

So men cling to Hope. When she is gone, all is gone! While she remains, they cannot be entirely alone. And as to the life that now is, they seek the firmest and broadest foundations on which to plant their hopes. But how frail that basis, and how feeble their hope as to the Hfe which is to come ! Significant and solemn are the words of Holy Scripture concerning men in this respect — ''having no hope." The multitudes are forever battling with the trials of our mortal state; and as to the eternal world they are without hope. It is to them a land of darkness. No sun shines on the spirit realm. There are no loves nor joys for them beyond the sepulchre. And with a dread unspeakable they contemplate the close of life. Or should they have some brighter conception of the future state, such as Christianity gives even to the unbeliever, they have but vague and unsubstantial grounds of hope that its blessedness shall ever come to them. In all essential respects they live without any wellfounded hope of heaven.

It is in contrast with this experience of men that Peter here speaks of the Christian's expectation as a "living hope." As Christ is the "living stone" chiefly, perhaps, because He imparts life to the entire edifice, so this feeling of the soul is a "living hope," because it gives that soul the inspiration of new being. It is no indefinite expectation such as that with which many delude themselves. It has the firmest foundation ; and, in its object, it possesses the sweep of the eternal world.

To this Object and Ground of the Christian's Hope I invite your attention in a famiHar exposition of the text.

I. The Object

All objects of hope rest, of course, in the bosom of the future. They lie below the visible horizon, for ''who hopeth for that which he seeth?" This is preeminently so of the great hope of the Christian. The object of it, says Peter, in this passage, is ''an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away, reserved in heaven" for him. His portion is found beyond the grave. There are the joys that satisfy and sanctify the soul. There gather his believing friends in an ever-enlarging circle. There reigns his ;gracious Redeemer upon a throne of love. And thitherward go forward the affections of his 'entire nature — the daily strengthening cords w^hich shall bind and bring him home. These are the objects on which his hope is supremely set. And in the text they are summed up in the one word — "inheritance."

It is in contrast with the vague and shadowy hopes of worldly and unbelieving men that Peter calls this of the Christian a "living" hope. The fitness of this designation is apparent from the term here used to describe the object to which the Christian's hope looks. It is "an inheritance." It is, then, a reality. It is no shadow. It is no summer cloud, to be dissipated by the rays of the sun of truth. It is no mirage of the desert, looming up on the horizon of time, with all its appearance of fact and substance, in walls and domes, in trees and fountains, in flowers and fruits — but destined to fade into the viewless air, as the tired but expectant traveler nears the enchanting scene. It is a substantial fact. It is a veritable possession. The Christian did not, indeed, plan for it. It was not the work of his hand or the toil of his brain that gathered it. No groans nor tears of his nor wealth of his affections are represented in its great proportions. To build it up, he cannot say, as Jacob said of his years of service, 'Tn the day the drought consumed me, and the frost by night; and my sleep fled from mine eyes." Other hands have toiled; another mind has planned. Through sweat and blood, with sighs and cries, by consuming work and corroding suffering, the vast possession has been accumulated ! But the believer can claim no credit for it. It is his, but his only by inheritance. It simply descends to him according to the laws which govern the transmission of estates.

The word, therefore, indicates more than the actual existence of the possession. It shows the Christian also and especially the certainty that it shall one day become absolutely and thoroughly his own. The security of an inheritance is fundamental to the stability of society. To guard this, the wisdom and power of law have everywhere been evoked, and the sanctions of immemorial custom have been brought into requisition. As a result, possession by inheritance is one of the most certain of all things in this uncertain world. Only prove one's heirship, and the w^hole force of all law and custom and opinion and government will combine to give him his inheritance. He is reasonably certain of finally obtaining it. But he does not yet possess it. He lives, therefore, in hope. And his, we say, is a ''living hope." This, descriptive of any earthly estate, is infinitely more true of the Christian's inheritance. It is the only and the great certainty in the way of inheritance. He has not yet entered into possession; but he will obtain it, with an absolutely infallible certainty. 'They may die," you can say of other prospective heirs. So may the Christian. But this works no disappointment or forfeit. With other estates, the possessors must die, before the heirs can enjoy their advantages.

With that heavenly estate, the rule is reversed. The present possessor lives on and evermore: it is the heir who must die in order to his entrance upon his inheritance.

If, now, we turn from this general view of the object of the Christian's hope and, guided by the text, seek to examine it more particularly, we meet the difficulty which seems to have been before the mind of Peter. How can one describe that which he has not seen? And even if directed by the inspiring Spirit, how can one portray in human speech that which, because of its surpassing glory, cannot be compassed in the language of men? The attempt were vain. And Peter does not make the trial. Neither version makes plain what is so evident in the original, that the apostle, in the structure of the words he uses, describes this heavenly inheritance, not in any positive terms that fill our minds with new and otherwise unknown conceptions of it, but in simple negations. He can describe the object on which our hope is set only by denying that it is disfigured by any of the imperfections which meet us here on every hand. Literally he says of this inheritance that it is "not corruptible, not defiled, not fading." Whatever of imperfectness and perishableness exists on earth is not found there, and does not affect the heavenly inheritance !

The descriptive words are not positive assertions, but simple negations. And yet they are significant, as a glance at them will show.

For one thing, the inheritance is ''not corruptible.'' This object of the Christian's hope contains within itself no germs of death. Of no earthly reliance can such a statement be made. It is the most common experience of men that the things toward which they look with expectancy and longing perish before their eyes. They crumble in the grasp of their hands; they sink beneath the pressure of their feet. You have seen parental hearts bound up in a daughter's life. Full of promise, she w^as rapidly maturing into noble and beautiful womanhood. But the discerning eye could see that even that beauty had in it the elements of decay. Its brightest lines w^ere only touches of the deathangel, labelling the fair form for his own possession. So, as we think of that blessed object of our hopes beyond the skies and are assured that it is beautiful beyond compare, how natural and spontaneous the inquiries : Is it incorruptible? Does it possess no germs of decay? Are its glorious hues but autumn tints, to tell of an ebbing life and to foretell a coming

THE CHRISTIAN'S HOPE ii

winter? To meet such questions Peter seems to say, ''Whatever the inheritance is — and what it is I know not — it is not this. It is not corruptible. It has within itself no seeds of death." Again, this inheritance — object of the Christian's hope (if I may coin the word) — is "not defilable." Another negation, the term is not less suggestive than the one just referred to. The land of Canaan was the inheritance of Israel; but it had been defiled by the sins of the nations, which had filled up the measure of their iniquity, and its stains could be washed out only with blood. Again by Israel's sins it was polluted, and cleansed only by a sabbath of seventy years. The primeval world was so filled with abominations that nothing less than a deluge could wash away the awful stains. And the world that now is shall yet receive her purifying baptism of fire. Sin touches and stains everything below. It defiles our every possession. It pollutes even our inheritances. One of the early fathers of the church, with a sweeping generalization that yet is not wholly untrue, says, ''The rich man is either a dishonest man himself, or the heir of a dishonest man." There are few earthly possessions or inheritances, which are not in some way defiled by the accumulator's sins, or those of his heirs. But, God be praised ! that heavenly inheritance shall never — can never — have a stain of sin! It is "not defilable.''

I cannot forbear, also, calling your attention to the exceeding great beauty and expressiveness of this word in the original Greek. You all know what asbestos is — that singular mineral, so fibrous in structure that, like threads, its fibres can be drawn out and woven into cloth. This fabric is indestructible by fire, and will come out of the furnace, heated seven times, as pure and as white as the driven snow. The finest variety has the beauty and lustre of satin. The Greeks gave it a special and significant name. That name is the word here used by Peter to describe the inheritance beyond the skies. Bought with a price, and purified as by fire, it is the ''undefiled" and ''undefilable."

Yet again, it ''fadeth not away" — literally it is ''not fading." This word has special reference to the loveliness of the possession. As Alford says, "In substance it is incorruptible, in purity undefiled, in beauty unfading." The one idea, running through all these terms, is the safety and security of the inheritance — the permanent nature of this object of our hope. This word continues that thought, and strengthens it. It is "not fading," as much as to say, even the most delicate part of the inheritance above, its bloom and flowering, continues in unwithering freshness. Our earthly possessions are most beautiful, when they put on the gorgeous coloring of the floral world. But just then we feel most deeply that they are transient — only of the day. Oh, could we but fasten in immortal lines the colors of their resplendent robes ! The wish is realized beyond the stars, where the flowers bloom in unfading glory in the blessed light of heaven. This heavenly inheritance — object ever grand and blessed of the Christian's hope — is ''not fading."

It may fix the word in memory to observe that it is the original of our English term — ''amaranth." As to the faithful elders, this same Peter, himself also an elder, gives the assurance that "when the chief shepherd shall appear, they shall receive an amaranthine crown of glory," so here he speaks of the object of our hope as the "amaranthine inheritance." It is eternally abiding !

In the same line of thought, the apostle says it is "reserved in heaven for you." Passing from negative descriptions, he thus briefly indicates the place of its keeping. His language is more suggestive than at first sight appears. Let me stay a moment only to uncover the charming scene from which in all probability

Peter's word is derived. Preceding holidays, birthdays, and other anniversaries, you will see parents and friends visiting the stores and shops, and buying presents and little remembrances for their children and other relatives. These prospective gifts are carefully stowed away, concealed not only from the sight, but also from even the knowledge of those for whom they are intended. This is one of the most delightful scenes of our home life. And we all know how glad the day, how exuberant and tumultuous the joy, when these safely hidden stores are brought forth and bestowed upon the surprised and delighted little folk. The custom descends from immemorial times. It had its place, there is reason to believe, even among the ancient Greeks. And the word which they used to describe the destined but yet hidden gift is the word by which Peter here describes the object of our hope, ''reserved in heaven for you," hid aw^ay for the present, but ''ready to be revealed in the last time."

The word is laden with the tenderest associations. Our Father bequeathes to us. His little children, an inheritance. He has bought it, not with money, but w^ith blood ! And now it lies beyond the veil, safely stored away. As children generally do, we have got some vague inkling of what it is even now; but it is only an inkling. Some day (how soon, who can tell?) our Father's loving hand shall put aside the curtain, and, amidst the holy joys of the grand household, shall surprise us with its glorious beauty and perennial worth. A world of thought is in the expression — certainty, for it is stored away for us; concealment, for we have as yet the most indefinite conceptions of it; surprise, for we shall awake most suddenly to a realization of its priceless value.

This, my brethren, is but a glance at the object of the Christian's hope. It is ''an inheritance, not corruptible, not defilable, not fading, reserved in heaven" for him. How simple, yet how suggestive, are the Holy Spirit's words t How^ beautiful are the original pictures which underlie the words of inspiration !

n. The Ground

The leading conclusion from the topic just considered is the abiding nature of the object on which the Christian's hope is fixed. The same thought comes into great prominence in the topic now to be examined. The ground of our hope is just as certain as its object. For, speaking generally, our hope of finally entering upon the heavenly inheritance is not grounded upon anything that we are able to accomplish, but upon divine grace alone. This is our perpetual thanksgiving, says the apostle, that the "God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ" has quickened w^ithin us this ''living hope," according to "His great mercy."

Then, considering this ground of our hope in a more particular analysis of the remainder of the text, we shall find its certainty to rest upon evidence of a twofold character — that which is external to ourselves and that which is found in our own souls.

First as to the outward evidence. Can we fail to remember what a shadow rests upon the minds of men who know nothing of Christianity, or who have no faith in its fundamental facts respecting a future state? This object of our hope, which we have seen to be so real and so eternal, so pure and so beautiful, to them dissolves into an unsubstantial dream. And so their darkened spirits are forever crying: "Is there any future life at all? Is it certain that this life is not the last of us? All that we see, either of ourselves or of others, does perish : is not the weight of evidence, therefore, against our living hereafter? Who can answer the question : If a man die shall he live again ? Who can give us any real information of another world? Has any one been there, and returned? Has any one brought tidings? Can he tell us that there is a world beyond the sepulchre? Can he say there is a God? Can he assure us that God hears prayer?" And so they stumble on in darkness, and doubting as to the existence of any real possessions beyond the gates of death.

To the Christian there is no such uncertainty. There is a heavenly inheritance, and he has a "living hope" of eventually being invested with its possession. That hope, says the apostle in the text, is grounded upon the great and solemnly certified fact of ''the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead." This one stupendous fact answers the queries of a troubled spirit, swelling with immortal aspirations. "Life and immortality are brought to light in the gospel." There is a future world. If a man die, he shall live again; for Christ died, and He lives again. He visited the world of spirits, and brought us tidings from the land that seems so far off. The object of our hope is a veritable reality. The external ground of it is in the fact of our Redeemer's resurrection.

But, admitting the existence of that blessed world, the reality of "the inheritance, not corruptible, not defilable, and not fading, reserved in heaven for us" — can we know that it is stored away beyond a doubt for us? Shall it one day become our own possession? This ground of the Christian's hope is to be sought and found in his own soul. With this thought, the analysis and exposition of the text will be complete.

The ground of hope is as certain as the object. That certainty rests upon evidence both external and internal. Passing now from the outward fact to the inward experience, suppose we join together the two great topics of the text. AVith the apostle's simple but mighty logic binding into one the object and ground of hope, we need once more the reminder that that object is an ''inheritance." Whose then is the inheritance, but the heirs' ? And who are the heirs, but the children? This is our firm foundation — the internal ground of our hope. We are children of God, "and if children, then heirs," says Paul, ''heirs of God, and joint-heirs with Christ." Peter states the same truth in the text, in different words, but not less clearly. God "according to His great mercy begat us again unto a living hope." Some are born to fortune and some are born to fame; but we are "born again" to the hope of "an amaranthine inheritance." These are two of the great certainties: there is a holy,

THE CHRISTIAN'S HOPE ig

happy, heavenly world; and we, the children, wait a little while to be invested with its complete possession.

We use the language of undoubting certainty. Is there no possible mistake? Not all who are born to earthly things do actually enter upon their inherited possessions. May we not also fail of the full fruition of our hope? The apostle seems to anticipate the question; and in a word he dissipates the doubt. Whoever else may come short, we cannot fail who "by the power of God are guarded." ''By the power of God are guarded!" The world sleeps in His hands; the eternally saved rest in His bosom. Who can guard us as does God? It was God who kept Elisha, when the mountains were full of horses and chariots round about the prophet. This is the divine keeping; for Peter's word signifies "being guarded as with a military force." Children of God, as a father would guard and die for his children, so our Father, God, wih guard our believing spirits, though to accomplish that keeping He must take defenders from the battlements of glory, and send the royal cohorts of angels, principalities, and powers to stand unceasing guard around the beleaguered and believing children of His love and likeness.

I say believing children, for the principle that governs the keeping is ''faith." The inheritance is reserved for those "who by the power of God are guarded through faith." God's guarding promises no immunity from temptation. The Lord prayed for this same Peter, not that Satan might not sift him, but that his faith might not fail ! It is, indeed, a pecuHar but a grand war. The guard does not keep out the enemy — no need of that — but it does keep in the faith. And, while faith fails not, there can be no doubt that her sister, hope — grounded upon the resurrection of Christ, and the new birth of the soul — shall realize her object in "the inheritance, not corruptible, not defilable, not fading, reserved in heaven." For this guarding, says Peter, who speaks whereof he knew by a painful but blessed experience, is ''unto salvation" —

"Where faith is sweetly lost in sight, And hope in full supreme delight, And everlasting love."

There is one obvious conclusion from this exposition. It leaves us where the apostle began. In a world that indulges in delusive expectations or is stricken with hopelessness, if to us has been given such a hope, with such an end and such a foundation, shall we not heartily join the apostle's anthem of praise? "Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ !" It was a grand outburst of sacred joy as it came from Peter's Hps — a noble and fitting doxology, with which to begin his loving letter to the strangers who were scattered abroad.

As fittingly may we renew the song from day to day, an ever blessed prelude to our blessed work of giving hope to hopeless men. We are the children of hope! It is the God of hope who sends us forth ! It is the Almighty Saviour, who has risen from the dead, and gone to the right hand of God the Father, who says to you and me, "Lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world."

Saviour Divine ! endow us with faith and hope in Thy blessed work.

I that speak unto thee am He. — John iv : 26.

A passing interview, with consequences stretching over many years! Two strangers meeting by the way, to separate as hfelong friends! The young student's coveted conference with a master, whether in reUgion, science, or hterature, whence proceed subtle and powerful influences, which shall mold the young life and shape the forming character! Who cannot recall illustrations of all these, in the circle of his observation — possibly in the sphere of his own experience?

Who does not find in these momentary, and, as men call them, accidental encounters in life, a fruitful subject for speculation and inquiry, — concerning the long chain of occult causes by which they were brought about, or the far-reaching, pregnant, and inter-bound results? Greater than any of these, in suggestiveness of thought and marvel, both as to its character and its consequences, is the illustration furnished by this wayside interview between a sinner and her Saviour — the culminating words of which are given in the text.

The place was historic ground. It was between Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim — the ancient peaks of alternate cursing and blessing. At the intersection of the beautiful vale of Shechem with the larger plain of Moreh, is found the well of the patriarch Jacob. Here rested on the well-curb, in that noontide hour, a foot-sore pilgrim,

''Strange and Kingly, Never such was seen before."

A weary Saviour, He was about to give rest to a weary soul! Thirsty Himself, He was yet a living fountain to this thirsty spirit ! ■ Hungry, He fed upon invisible and heavenly food !

Thither went the woman, who was a sinner of Samaria. Here, as never before, she is to meet that ''true, poor, and tender man, Jesus of Nazareth." She came in blindness to receive her sight ! All unconscious of her destiny, she came asleep — enshrouded in the darkness of the night — to be thoroughly awaked, and to enter upon a new and glorious day! This is the aspect of the narrative, which deserves our thoughtful consideration. The awakening of a soul is here described by the evangelist in language of inimitable simplicity and power. The story dwells upon four steps in the process. We have,

I. The Awakening of Attention

A most difficult thing to do, as all who have tried it will admit — the Lord does it in the most simple and natural, yet effective manner, by asking for a drink of water. The woman knew Him to be a Jew. She had reason to believe that He knew her to be a Samaritan. His request, therefore, excited her surprise and arrested her attention.

The alienation between the Jews and Samaritans had spanned the changing centuries, an unchanging and irreconcilable controversy. They were neighbors only in geographical location; in all community of interests and closeness of fellowship they might better have been at the ends of the earth. Theirs was one of many implacable religious quarrels — the most tenacious and venomous of all controversies, next to the family feud, in which men can suffer themselves to become involved. But the gracious Lord here breaks over all the barriers built up by the quarrels of race, extracting the sweetest honey from the bitterest flowers of religious prejudice and national alienation, and so wins the attention of the woman whose soul He came to save.