XXIII
THE ENDLESS QUEST
"Lord, teach us to pray."--Luke xi. i.
"He that cometh to God must believe that He is, and that He is a
rewarder of them that diligently seek Him (lit. that seek Him out)."--Heb. xi. 6.
I MUST not set myself up as a man able to mend,
and to make improvements upon, the English
translation of the Greek Testament. At the same
time, it seems to me to be beyond dispute that the
English of the text falls far short of the exact point
and the full expressiveness of the original. Remacu:
--touching the text with the point of needle,
Bengel exclaims: "A grand compound!" And it
is a "grand compound." The verb in the text
is not simply to seek. It is not simply to seek diligently.
It is to seek out: it is to seek and search
out to the very end. A Greek particle, of the
greatest possible emphasis and expressiveness, is
prefixed to the simple verb: and those two letters
are letters of such strength and intensity they
make the commonplace word to which they are
prefixed to shine out with a great grandeur to
Bengel's so keen, so scholarly and so spiritual eyes.
Ever feeling after God, if haply I may find Him,
in a moment I saw the working out of my own
salvation in a new light; and, at the same moment,
I saw written out before me my present sermon,
as soon as I stumbled on the Apostle's "grand
compound." "But without faith it is impossible
to please Him: for he that cometh to God must
believe that He is, and that He is a rewarder of them
that seek Him out" to the end; of them that seek
Him out saying, "Oh, that I knew where I might
find Him!" That seek Him out saying, "Verily,
Thou art a God that hidest Thyself." That seek
Him out with their whole heart. That seek Him
with originality, with invention, with initiation,
with enterprise, with boldness, with all possible
urgency, and with all possible intensity and strenuousness.
As also, to the end of a whole life of the
strictest obedience, and the most absolute and
unshaken faith, and hope, and love. "A grand compound!"
As we go on in life, as we more and more come
to be men and leave off speaking as children, and
understanding as children and thinking as children,
we come to see with more and more clearness what it
is to us,--what it must be to us,--to arise and return
to God, to seek God, to come to God, and to walk
with God. At one time we had the most unworthy
and impossible thoughts of God, and of our
seeking Him, and finding Him. We had the most
materialistic, and limited, and local, and external
ideas about God. But, as we became men, we
were led,--all too slowly, and all too unwillingly,
--yet we were led to see that God is an Infinite and
an Omnipresent Spirit: and that they that would
seek God must seek Him in the
spiritual world,
that is, in that great spiritual world of things into
which our own hearts within us are the true, and
the only, door. "Thou hast set the world in their
hearts," says the Preacher in a very profound
passage. The spiritual world, that is; the world
of God, and of all who are seeking God out till they
are rewarded of Him. "We do not come to God
upon our feet," says Augustine, "but upon our
affections." And thus it is that we, who are so
materialistically minded and so unspiritually minded
men, find it so distasteful, and so difficult, and so
impossible to seek out God till we find Him.
Were He to be found in any temple made with
hands; were He to be found in Samaria or in
Jerusalem, between the Cherubim on earth, or on a
throne in heaven,--then, we should soon find Him.
But because He has set the spiritual world, and
Himself as the God and King of the spiritual world,
in our own hearts,--we both mistake the only way
to find Him, and miss our promised reward of Him.
How can I go away from Him,--and how can I
come back to Him, Who is everywhere present?
"Whither shall I go from Thy spirit? or whither
shall I flee from Thy presence? If I ascend up
into heaven, Thou art there. If I make my bed
in hell, behold, Thou art there." A question, a
chain of questions like that, put continually, put
imaginatively, put day and night and in dead
earnest to a man's self, will be the beginning of a
new life to any man among us. Questions, problems,
psalms and prayers, like that,--raised, reasoned
out, understood, and accepted,--will open our eyes.
A man has no sooner stated these things to himself
than, from that moment, he begins to see as never
before, something of the greatness and the glory
of God; something of the Divine and Holy Spirituality
of God; and, consequently, something of the
pure spirituality of all his intercourse with God.
I see then, that it is not God who has turned away
and removed Himself from me in His omnipresence
and omniscience: but that I have gone away and
removed myself far from Him in all my thoughts
and words and deeds. I have gone away from
God
in my heart. And, as my going away from
God was, so must my coming back to Him be.
And thus we are told of the prodigal son that his
coming to himself was his first step back to his
father. And his whole return began, and was
carried out, by recollection, and by repentance,
and by confidence in his father's forgiveness, and
by a resolution, at once acted on, to return to his
father's house. The whole parable took place in
his own heart. The far country was all in that
prodigal son's own heart. The mighty famine was
all in his own heart. The swine and their husks
were all in his own heart. The best robe and the
ring and the shoes were all in his own heart. And
the mirth and the music and the dancing were all
also in his own heart. "He hath set the whole
world," says the wise man, "in their heart."
Take then, as the first illustration of this law of
our text, take the truly studious, or, as I shall call
him, the truly philosophic seeker after truth, if not
yet to say after GOD. Let that student be, at
present, a total stranger to God. Nay, I am bold
to say, let him be at secret enmity with God. Only,
let him be an honest, earnest, hard-working,
still-persevering, and everyway-genuine student of
nature and of man. Let him never be content
with what he has as yet attained, but let him love,
and follow, and seek out, the whole truth to the
end. Now such a true student as that will not
work at his studies with one part of his mind only;
but in the measure of his depth, and strength, and
wisdom, he will bring all that is within him, as the
Psalmist says, to his studies. He will bring his
heart as well as his head: his imagination as well
as his understanding: his conscience even, and his
will, as well as his powers of recollection and reasoning.
And as he works on, all the seriousness, all
the reverence, all the humility, all the patience and
all the love with which he studies nature, will more
and more be drawn out as he ponders and asks,--
who, or what, is the real root, and source, and great
original of nature and man? Who made all these
things? And for why? And by this time, that
true student has come, all unawares to himself,
under the sure operation of that great Divine law,
which is enunciated with such certitude in this
splendid text. For he that cometh seeking God,
whether in nature or in grace; whether in God's
works, or in God's Son, or in God's word: if he
still comes with teachableness, and with patience,
and with humility, and with faith, and with hope,
and with love to the end,--all of which are the
qualities and the characters of a true student,--
that man, by this time, is not far from God. Till
the very vastness, and order, and beauty, and
law-abidingness, and loyalty, and serviceableness of
nature; will all more and more pierce his conscience,
and more and more move, and humble, and break
his heart. And God will, to a certainty, reward
that man, that serious, and honest, and humble-minded
man, by putting this psalm in his mouth,
till he will join his fellow-worshippers here in singing
it: "The heavens declare the glory of God, and
the firmament sheweth His handywork." But it
is the law of the Lord that is perfect, converting
the soul: it is the testimony of the Lord that is pure,
enlightening the eyes. "It is true that a little
philosophy inclineth man's mind to atheism:
but depth in philosophy bringeth men's minds
about to religion: for while the mind of man looketh
upon second causes scattered, it may sometimes
rest in them, and go no further: but when it beholdeth
the chain of them confederate and linked
together, it must needs fly to Providence and Deity.
Then, according to the allegory of the poets, he
will easily believe the highest link of nature's
chain must needs be tied to the foot of Jupiter's chair."
We speak in that large and general way about
what we call great students and great thinkers
and great philosophers, as they feel after, and find
out God; and we do not speak amiss or out of place.
But there is no student in all the world like the
student of his own heart. There is no thinker so
deep and difficult as he who thinks about himself.
And out of all the philosophies that have been from
the beginning, there is none of them all like that of
a personal, a practical, an experimental religion,
and an out-and-out obedience to all God's commandments.
That is science. That is philosophy.
As the Book of Revelation has it: "Here is wisdom":
and "Here is the mind which hath wisdom." The
mind, that is, which seeks God in all things, and at all
times, and that seeks Him out till it finds Him. And
till God says to that man also, "Fear not, Abram:
I am thy shield and thy exceeding great reward."
Is there any man here then, this day, who is
saying: "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him!
That I might come even to His seat"? What is
the matter with you, man? What is it that has so
banished your soul away from God? What was
it that so carried you away into that captivity?
And what is the name of the chain that holds you
so fast there? Do you ask honestly and in earnest,
--"What must I do to be saved from this far
country, this hell-upon-earth into which I have
fallen?" O man! You are very easily answered.
Your case is very easily treated. You are not a great
thinker: you are simply a great sinner. It is not
speculation that has led you astray, but disobedience,
and a bad heart. You must not expect to be
flattered and fondled, and sympathised and condoled
with, as if there was some deep and awful
mystery about you. Oh no! there is nothing
mysterious or awful abut you. You are a quite
commonplace, everyday, vulgar transgressor. There
are plenty like you. "Say not in thine heart,
Who shall ascend into heaven? . . . Or, Who shall
descend into the deep? . . . But what saith it?
The word is nigh thee," That is the word of repentance,
and return to God, and a better life, and a
broken heart, which we preach to ourselves and
to you. Do you not understand? Do you not
know what it is in you, and about you, that lands
you in such nakedness and famine and shame and
pain and death? You know quite well. It is
sin.
It is nothing but sin. It is the sins and the faults
of your heart and your life. Now,
this is wisdom.
This is the mind that hath wisdom. To put your
finger on yourself and say: It is in
this, and in
this,
and in
this, that I always go away from God.
It is in the indulgence of this appetite. It is in
this wicked temper. It is in this secret envy and
ill-will. It is in this sour and sullen heart. It is in
this secret but deep dislike and evil mind at that
man who so innocently trusts me, and who so
unsuspiciously thinks me his friend. It is in this
scandalous neglect of prayer; this shameful, this
suicidal neglect of all kinds of personal religion
in the sight of God. Believe the worst about yourself.
Fix on the constantly sinful state of your own
heart, and an the secret springs of sinful thought
and feeling within you:
seek yourself out, as the
text says, and you are thus seeking out God. And
the more evil you seek out of yourself,--and put it
away,--the nearer and the surer you will come to
God. Fight every day against no one else but
yourself; and against nothing else but every
secret motion of pride, and anger, and malice, and
love of evil, and dislike of good. Every blow you deal
to these deadly things of which your heart is full
is another safe and sure step back to God. At
every such stroke at yourself, and at your own sin
God will by all that cane back to you; till, at last,
He will fill your whole soul with himself. That was
the way, and it was in no other way, that Enoch
"walked with God" in the verse just before the text.
And you too will walk with God, and God with you,
just in the measure in which you put on humility,
and put off pride; and fill your hot heart full of the
meekness and lowly-mindedness of the Son of God;
and, beside it, with the contrition, and the penitence,
and the watchfulness, and the constant prayerfulness
of one of His true disciples. To hold your
peace when you are reproved,--that is a sure step
toward God. To let a slight, a contempt, an affront,
an insult, a scoff, a sneer, fall on your head like an
excellent oil, and on your heart like your true desert
--"with that man will I dwell," says the God of Israel
and the God and Father of our Lord Jeans Christ.
Every step you take out of an angry and wrathful
heart, and out of a sour, sullen, and morose heart,
and into a meek and peace-making heart; out of
envy and uneasiness, and into admiration and
honour: on the spot your heavenly Father will
acknowledge and will reward you.
Seek Him out:
and see if He will not!
And, then,--remaining always at your true post,
within yourself,--come out continually in that mind,
and seek out God in all outward things also. For, be
sure, He is in all outward things as well: and He
is in them all for you to seek Him out till you are
rewarded of Him. In every ordinance of his grace
and truth He is to be sought out by you. On every
new Sabbath, and in every psalm, and prayer, and
scripture, and silent and secret hour of that Sabbath.
In every week-day providence also. He is in every
providence of His for many more beside you: but
He is there for you, just as much as if He were
there for no one but you. In public providences,
in domestic providences, as well as in all those more
secret and personal providences that have been so
many perfect miracles in your life. And in every
change and alteration in your circumstances.
God, all-wise, does not make a change in your
circumstances just for the love of change. It is all
for His love to you, and to make you seek out a fresh
proof of that love, as well as to draw out some new,
and warm, and wondering love out of your renewed
heart to Him. After you have appropriated to
yourself all the reward He had prepared for you in
one age and stage of your life, He leads you on to
another age and another stage; and He hides
Himself and His grace there for you again to
seek Him out. And this goes on, all through
your life, till He teaches you to say, "One
thing do I desire, and that will I seek after, and
that is God, my God, my Life, my Joy, my Blessedness."
Men and women! What are you living for?
What is your life yielding you? If you are not
finding God in all parts of your life--what a fatal
mistake you are making! And what a magnificent
reward you are for ever missing!
But, when all is said, it is not to be wondered at
that so few of us seek, and seek out, God. For His
greatness passes all comprehension, and imagination,
and searching out, of men and angels. His
holiness also makes Him a "consuming fire" to
such sinners as we are. And then, His awful
spirituality, omnipresence, and inwardness,--we
would go mad, if we once saw Him as He is, and at
the same time saw ourselves as we are. "And He
said, There shall no man see Me, and live." We
must grow like God before we can both see Him and
live. And thus it is that it is only His very choicest
and chiefest saints who do seek Him out to the end
either in His Son, or in the Scriptures, or in their
own hearts, or in Providence, or in nature, or in
unceasing prayer. It is only one here, and another
there, who ever get the length of crying out with
Job, "Oh, that I knew where I might find Him."
And with Isaiah, "Verily Thou art a God that
hidest Thyself." And with Paul, "Dwelling in
light which no man can approach unto: Whom no
man hath seen, or can see."
But, just in the depth and adoration of their
cry; and just as their sight and sense is of the
greatness and the glory of God,--just in that kind,
and just in that degree, will their reward be, when
He shall reveal Himself at last, and shall Himself
become their exceeding great and everlasting Reward.
And though we are not worthy to stoop down and
unloose the latchet of the shoes of such great, and
such greatly rewarded, saints of God: yet, if we
also seek God, and seek Him out to the end of our
life,--feeble as our faith is, and smoking flax as
our love is,--yet by His grace, after all our partial
discoveries of God, and all our occasional experiences
of Him, we also in our measure shall receive,
and shall for ever possess, and enjoy very God
Almighty Himself for our own Reward for ever.
"Oh, the depth of the riches both of the wisdom
and the knowledge of God! . . . For of Him, and
through Him, and to Him, are all things." "Whom
have I in heaven but Thee? And there is none
upon earth that I desire beside Thee." "My soul
longeth, yea, even fainteth: . . . my heart and
my flesh cry out for the living God. . . . They go
from strength to strength, every one of them in
Zion appeareth before God."
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