“Ye will not come to Me, that ye might have life.”—John v.
40.
St. John tells us in to-day's Epistle[1] that “God hath given unto
us eternal life, and this life is in His Son. He that hath the Son hath
life, and he that hath not the Son hath not life.” Yet in the text the
Son Himself, our Saviour, sorrowfully and solemnly expostulates with
His own brethren, “Ye will not come to Me, that ye might have life.”
“He came unto His own, and His own received Him not.” We know from
history, as a matter of fact, that they did not receive Him, that they
did not come to Him when He came to them; but He says in the text that
they would not come, that they did not wish to come, implying that
they, and none else but they, were the cause of their not coming.
Does it not seem a plain natural instinct that every one should seek
his own good? What then is meant by this unwillingness to come for the
greatest of goods, life, an unwillingness, which, guided by the light
of Scripture and by experience, we can confidently affirm to prevail at
this day as widely and as fully as in the age in which Christ said it?
Here is no question of a comparison of good with good. We cannot
account for this unconcern about Christ's gift, by alleging that we
have a sufficient treasure in our hands already, and therefore are not
interested by the news of a greater. Far from it; for is not the world
continually taking away its own gifts, whatever they are? and does it
not thereby bring home to us, does it not importunately press upon us,
and weary us with the lesson of its own nothingness? Do we not confess
that eternal life is the best of all conceivable gifts, before which
none other deserve to be mentioned? yet we live to the world.
Nay, and sin also warns us not to trust to its allurements; like the
old prophet of Bethel, sin is forced to bear witness against itself,
and in the name of the Lord to denounce the Lord's judgments upon us.
While it seduces us, it stings us with remorse; and even when the sense
of guilt is overcome, still the misery of sinning is inflicted on us in
the inward disappointments and the temporal punishments which commonly
follow upon transgression. Yet we will not come unto Christ that we may
have life.
Further, it is not that God treats us as servants or slaves; He does
not put a burden on us above our strength: He does not repel us from
His Presence till we have prepared some offering to bring before Him,
or have made some good progress in the way of life. No, He has begun
His dealings with us with special, spontaneous acts of mercy. He has,
by an inconceivable goodness, sent His Son to be our life. Far from
asking any gift at our hands in the first instance, He has from our
infancy taken us in charge, and freely given us “all things that
pertain unto life and godliness.” He has been urgent with us in the
very morning of our days, and by the fulness of His grace has
anticipated the first stirrings of pride and lust, while as yet sin
slept within us. Is it not so? What more could have been done for us?
Yet, in spite of all this, men will not come unto Him that they may
have life.
So strange is this, that thoughtful persons are sometimes tempted to
suppose that the mass of mankind do not sufficiently know what their
duty is; that they need teaching, else they would be obedient. And
others fancy that if the doctrines of the Gospel were set before them
in a forcible or persuasive manner, this would serve as a means of
rousing them to an habitual sense of their true state. But ignorance is
not the true cause why men will not come to Christ.
Who are these willing outcasts from Christ's favour, of whom I
speak? Do not think I say a strong thing, my brethren, when I tell you
that I am speaking of some of those who now hear me. Not that I dare
draw the line any where, or imagine that I can give any rule for
knowing for certain, just who come to Him in heart and spirit, and who
do not; but I am quite sure that many, who would shrink from giving up
their interest in the Gospel, and who profess to cast their lot with
Christ, and to trust in His death for their salvation, nevertheless do
not really seek Him that they may have life, in spite of their fair
speeches. This I say I am too well enabled to know, because in fact so
it is, that He has shown us how to come to Him, and I see that
men do not come to Him in that way which He has pointed out. He
has shown us, that to come to Him for life is a literal bodily action;
not a mere figure, not a mere movement of the heart towards Him, but an
action of the visible limbs; not a mere secret faith, but a coming to
church, a passing on along the aisle to His holy table, a kneeling down
there before Him, and a receiving of the gift of eternal life in the
form of bread and wine. There can be no mistaking His own appointment.
He said indeed, “He that cometh to Me shall never hunger;” but then He
explained what this coming was, by adding, “He that eateth Me, even he
shall live by Me.” If then a man does not seek Him where He is, there
is no profit in seeking Him where He is not. What is the good of
sitting at home seeking Him, when His Presence is in the holy
Eucharist? Such perverseness is like the sin of the Israelites who went
to seek for the manna at a time when it was not given. May not He who
gives the gift, prescribe the place and mode of giving it?
Observe how plain and cogent is the proof of what I have been
saying. Our Lord declares, “Except ye eat the flesh of the Son of Man,
and drink His blood, ye have no life in you:” no life, life being the
gift He offers in the text; also He says of the bread which He had
broken, “This is My Body;” and of the cup, “This is My
Blood,” is it not very plain, then, that if we refuse to eat that
Bread, and drink that Cup, we are refusing to come unto Him that we may
have life?
The true reason why people will not come to this Holy Communion is
this,—they do not wish to lead religious lives; they do not like to
promise to lead religious lives; and they think that that blessed
Sacrament does bind them to do so, bind them to live very much more
strictly and thoughtfully than they do at present. Allow as much as we
will for proper distrust of themselves, reasonable awe, the burden of
past sin, imperfect knowledge, and other causes, still after all there
is in most cases a reluctance to bear, or at least to pledge themselves
to bear, Christ's yoke; a reluctance to give up the service of sin once
for all; a lingering love of their own ease, of their own will, of
indolence, of carnal habits, of the good opinion of men whom they do
not respect; a distrust of their perseverance in holy resolves,
grounded on a misgiving about their present sincerity. This is why men
will not come to Christ for life; they know that He will not impart
Himself to them, unless they consent to devote themselves to Him.
In what way does He offer Himself to them in Holy Communion? through
the commands and sanctions of the Law. First, we are warned against
secret sin, and called to self-examination; a week's preparation
follows, then, when the time of celebration is come, we hear the
Commandments read, we are solemnly exhorted to put off every thing
which may offend God; we confess our sins and our deep sorrow for them;
lastly, after being admitted to the Sacrament, we expressly bind
ourselves to the service of our Lord and Saviour. Doubtless this
it is which the unrenewed heart cannot bear, the very notion of giving
up sin altogether and once for all. And thus, though a gracious voice
cry ever so distinctly from the altar, “Come unto Me, and I will
refresh you;” and though it be ever so true that this refreshment is
nothing short of life, eternal life, yet we recollect the words which
follow, “Take My yoke upon you, and learn of Me,” and we forthwith
murmur and complain, as if the gift were most ungracious, laden with
conditions, and hardly purchased, merely because it is offered in that
way in which alone a righteous Lord could offer it,—the way of
righteousness.
Men had rather give up the promise than implicate themselves in the
threats which surround it. Bright and attractive as is the treasure
presented to us in the Gospel, still the pearl of great price lies in
its native depths, at the bottom of the ocean. We see it indeed, and
know its worth; but not many dare plunge in to bring it thence. What
reward offered to the diver shall overcome the imminent peril of a
frightful death? and those who love sin, and whose very life consists
in habits and practices short of religious, what promised prize can
reconcile them to the certain destruction of what they delight in, the
necessary annihilation of all their most favourite indulgences and
enjoyments which are contrary to the rule of the Gospel? Let us not
suppose that any exhortations will induce such men to change their
conduct; they confess the worth of the soul, their obligation to obey,
and their peril if they do not; yet, for all this, the present
sacrifice required of them is too much for them. They may be told of
their Lord's love for them, His self-denying mercy when on earth, His
free gifts, and His long-suffering since; they will not be influenced;
and why? because the fault is in their heart; they do not like God's
service. They know full well what they would have, if they might
choose. Christ is said to have done all things for us; “Far from it,”
say they, “He is not a Mediator suited to our case. Give life, give
holiness, give truth, give a Saviour to deliver from sin; this is not
enough: no, we want a Saviour to deliver in sin. This is
our need. It is a small thing to offer us life, if it be in the way of
God's commandments; it is a mockery of our hopes to call that a free
gift, which is, in fact, a heavy yoke. We want to do nothing at all,
and then the gift will be free indeed. If our hearts must be
changed to fit us for heaven, let them be changed, only let us have no
trouble in the work ourselves. Let the change be part of the work done
for us; let us literally be clay in the hands of the potter; let us
sleep, and dream, and wake in the morning new men; let us have no fear
and trembling, no working out salvation, no self-denial. Let Christ
suffer, but be it ours to rejoice only. What we wish is, to be at ease;
we wish to have every thing our own way; we wish to enjoy both this
world and the next; we wish to be happy all at once. If the Gospel
promises this, we accept it; but if not, it is but a bondage, it has no
persuasiveness, it will receive no acceptance from us.” Such is the
language of men's hearts, though their tongues do not utter it;
language most unthankful, most profane, most sinful.
These reflections I recommend to the serious attention of those who
live in neglect of Holy Communion; but, alas! I must not quit the
subject without addressing some cautions to those who are in the
observance of it. I would that none of us had need of cautions; but the
best of us is in warfare, and on his trial, and none of us can be the
worse for them. I need not remind you, my brethren, that there is a
peril attached to the unworthy reception; for this is the very excuse
which many plead for not receiving; but it often happens, as in other
matters also, that men have fears when they should not fear, and do not
fear when they should fear. A slight consideration will show this; for
what is the danger in communicating? that of coming to it, as St. Paul
implies, without fear. It is evident then, that, in spite of
what was just now said, when persons are in danger of receiving it
unworthily, they commonly do not really feel their danger; for their
very danger consists in their not fearing. If they did truly and
religiously fear the blessed Sacrament, so far they would not be in
danger of an unworthy reception.
Now it is plain when it is that persons are in danger of receiving
it fearlessly and thoughtlessly; not when they receive it for the first
time, but when they have often received it, when they are in the habit
of receiving it. This is the dangerous time.
When a Christian first comes to Holy Communion, he comes with awe
and anxiety. At least, I will not suppose the case of a person so
little in earnest about his soul, and so profane, as to despise the
ordinance when he first attends it. Perhaps he has no clear doctrinal
notion of the sacred rite, but the very title of it, as the Sacrament
of his Lord's Body and Blood, suffices to make him serious. Let us
believe that he examines himself, and prays for grace to receive the
gift worthily; and he feels at the time of celebration and afterwards,
that, having bound himself more strictly to a religious life, and
received Divine influences, he has more to answer for. But after he has
repeated his attendance several times, this fear and reverence wear
away with the novelty. As he begins to be familiar with the words of
the prayers, and the order of the Service, so does he both hear and
receive with less emotion and solemnity. It is not that he is a worse
man than he was at first, but he is exposed to a greater temptation to
be profane. He had no deeper religious principle when he first
communicated than he has now (probably not so deep), but his want of
acquaintance with the Service kept him from irreverence, indifference,
and wandering thoughts: but now this accidental safeguard is removed,
and as he has not succeeded in acquiring any habitual reverence from
former seasons of communicating, and has no clear knowledge of the
nature of the Sacrament to warn and check him, he is exposed to his own
ordinary hardness of heart and unbelief, in circumstances much more
perilous than those in which they are ordinarily displayed. If it is a
sin to neglect God in the world, it is a greater sin to neglect Him in
church. Now is the time when he is in danger of not discerning the
Lord's Body, of receiving the gift of life as a thing of course,
without awe, gratitude, and self-abasement. And the more constant he is
in his attendance at the sacred rite, the greater will be his risk; his
risk, I say; that is, if he neglects to be jealous over himself, to
watch himself narrowly, and to condemn and hate in himself the faintest
risings of coldness and irreverence; for, of course, if he so acts, the
less will be his risk, and the greater will be his security that his
heart will not betray him. But I speak of those who are not
sufficiently aware of their danger, and these are many.
Here, too, let me mention another sin of a similar character into
which communicants are apt to fall; viz. a forgetfulness, after
communicating, that they have communicated. Even when we resist the
coldness which frequent communion may occasion, and strive to possess
our minds in as profound a seriousness as we felt when the rite was new
to us, even then there is often a painful difference between our
feelings before we have attended it, and after. We are diligent in
preparation, we are careless in retrospect; we dismiss from our memory
what we cherished in our expectations; we forget that we ever hoped and
feared. But consider; when we have solemn thoughts about Holy Communion
only till we have come to it, what does this imply, but that we imagine
that we have received the benefit of it once for all, as a thing done
and over, and that there is nothing more to seek? This is but a formal
way of worshipping; as if we had wiped off a writing which was against
us, and there was an end of the matter. But blessed are those servants
who are ever expecting Him, who is ever coming to them; whether He come
“at even, or at midnight, or at cock-crowing, or in the morning;”
whereas those who first come to Him for the gift of grace, and then
neglect to wait for its progressive accomplishment in their hearts, how
profanely they act! it is as if to receive the blessing in mockery, and
then to cast it away. Surely, after so great a privilege, we ought to
behave ourselves as if we had partaken some Divine food and medicine
(if great things may be compared to ordinary), which, in its own
inscrutable way, and in its own good time, will “prosper in the thing
whereunto God sends it”—the fruit of the tree of life which Adam
forfeited, which had that virtue in it, that it was put out of his
reach in haste, lest he should take and eat, and live for ever. How
earnest, then, should be our care lest this gracious treasure which we
carry within us should be lost by our own fault, by the unhealthy
excitements, or the listless indolence, to which our nature invites us!
“Quench not the Spirit,” says the Apostle; surely our privilege is a
burden heavy to bear, before it turn to a principle of life and
strength, till Christ be formed in us perfectly; and we the while, what
cause have we to watch, and pray, and fulfil all righteousness, till
the day dawn, and the day-star arise in our hearts!
Nor let us suppose that by once or twice seeking God in this
gracious ordinance, we can secure the gift for ever; “Seek the Lord and
His strength, seek His face evermore.” The bread which comes down from
heaven is like the manna, “daily bread,” and that “till He
come,” till His “kingdom come.” In His coming at the end of the world,
all our wishes and prayers rest and are accomplished; and in His
present communion we have a stay and consolation meanwhile, joining
together the past and future, reminding us that He has come once, and
promising us that He will come again. Who can live any time in the
world, pleasant as it may seem on first entering it, without
discovering that it is a weariness, and that if this life is worth any
thing, it is because it is the passage to another? It needs no great
religion to feel this; it is a self-evident truth to those who have
much experience of the world. The only reason why all do not feel it
is, that they have not lived long enough to feel it; and those who feel
it more than others, have but been thrown into circumstances to feel it
more. But while the times wax old, and the colours of earth fade, and
the voice of song is brought low, and all kindreds of the earth can but
wail and lament, the sons of God lift up their heads, for their
salvation draweth nigh. Nature fails, the sun shines not, and the moon
is dim, the stars fall from heaven, and the foundations of the round
world shake; but the Altar's light burns ever brighter; there are
sights there which the many cannot see, and all above the tumults of
earth the command is heard to show forth the Lord's death, and the
promise that the Lord is coming.
“Happy are the people that are in such a case!” who, when wearied of
the things seen, can turn with good hope to the things unseen; yea,
“blessed are the people who have the Lord for their God!” “Come unto
Me,” He says, “all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give
you rest.” Rest is better than toil; peace satisfies, and quietness
disappoints not. These are sure goods. Such is the calm of the heavenly
Jerusalem, which is the mother of us all; and such is their calm
worship, the foretaste, of heaven, who for a season shut themselves out
from the world, and seek Him in invisible Presence, whom they shall
hereafter see face to face.
[1] First Sunday after Easter.