By John MacDuff
"You have sorrow now, but I will see you again; then you will rejoice, and no one can rob you of that joy." --John 16:22
These precious words were uttered by our blessed Savior at a most eventful period of His history. It was the night of His betrayal. For the eighth time He had repeated the story of His coming sufferings, with deep and affecting solemnity. He had instituted the memorial of His death and passion; and, slowly and sadly, He drew up the curtain which was to reveal to the sorrowing disciples the things which were soon to come upon them.
Sorrow and anxiety filled the hearts of all in that lonely upper room. He who had "received the sop" had gone out, and was already communing with the Savior's murderers; for it was "their hour, and the power of darkness." But even then, when the tide of anticipated suffering and sorrow was rushing in upon His own soul--when He was hemmed in on every side by the malice of His enemies--and there was now only the brook Kedron between Him and the awful anguish of Gethsemane--our Lord thought not of Himself, but of those trembling followers whom He was so soon to leave in a dark and desolate world, full of sorrows, perplexities, and cares.
He comforts them by many gracious promises, and bids them be of good cheer. It must needs be that He should now depart. The Holy Spirit, in mysterious silence, awaited the return of Christ to the courts of heaven. "If I do not go away, the Comforter will not come unto you, but if I go away, I will send him unto you."
And while predicting their future sufferings, He promises a season of great and permanent joy. "Now, therefore," He says, "you have sorrow"--the season of suffering to you is at hand; you shall have sorrow, deep sorrow, during the short period of your not seeing me; "but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice, and your joy no man takes from you."
Christian, see in all this the love, the tenderness, the care of Jesus! We might have expected that His own anticipated sorrows would alone, at such a time, have occupied His mind--that the dark vista through which He was to pass would have concentrated His every thought, and served to exclude all efforts to soothe or mitigate the sorrows of others. But no! Fully aware of the tremendous responsibilities of His situation--feeling the weight of the load laid upon Him, the bitterness of the cup given Him to drink--and anticipating, as certain and just at hand, a heavier pressure and a bitterer draught--He still evinced as deep an interest in the anxieties and perplexities, in the fears and sorrows of the disciples, as if He himself had not been a sufferer.
He knew how they were troubled, and what anxious, desponding, despairing thoughts were arising in their minds, and He could not but be "touched with a feeling of their infirmities." The weight of anguish which overwhelmed His soul, no being in the wide universe could bear along with Him. He could not have the alleviation of human sympathy. He must tread the winepress alone. He must encounter the enemy, bear his assaults, and overcome alone. They could not enter into His sorrows, or aid Him in the coming struggle; but He--the generous, self-denying, magnanimous One--could fully enter into theirs. There was room in His large heart for their sorrows, as well as His own. He feels their griefs as if they were His own, and kindly comforts those who, He knew, were about to desert Him in the hour of His deepest sorrow.
And soon was the gracious promise made good in the experience of the disciples. The Savior did, indeed, come to see them again, and their hearts poured themselves out in one gush, "The Lord is risen indeed," as if all was summed up in that. Then their only difficulty was that their hearts were only too narrow for the greatness of their joy--and this "joy no man could take from them."
Much men might do--they might cast them into dungeons, and beat them with rods, and treat them as the offscouring of all things; but, with all their malice, they could not touch that which was the true treasure of their hearts. The Savior--true, loving, faithful--was ever near to them. They now knew and realized that, whether in the dungeon, or the wilderness, or the desert--they could find Him ever near--and that in His presence they would have all things necessary. And here, therefore, "their joy was fulfilled."
And beyond this, too--in their individual history and experience, as days and years rolled on, and as they entered into closer and more intimate communion with their Lord--revealing to Him their cares and sorrows--drinking in more largely of His grace and spirit--sheltering themselves from the crude blasts of persecution, and the fury of their enemies, in His loving bosom--they entered more and more perfectly into their joy--they came to know Him more intimately than they had ever known Him in the days of His flesh. A still closer relation--a more abiding presence, a more full participation of His nature, His strength, His guidance, His comfort--was given to them, than even when in the ship they could go and awake Him when he slept in the back of the boat; or when, if the wiles of Satan had baffled them, they could go and say, "Why could not we cast them out?"
Christian! the same promise is made to you, and may be realized in your experience; for it was given not only to the first apostles, but to all "who would believe on Him through their word."
"I will see you again," is the assurance of Jesus to every troubled disciple. When the consciousness of guilt and wrong-doing burdens the soul, and causes it to tremble and be afraid, then does the vision of Jesus as the sin-offering, the Lamb of God, the burden-bearer, the all-prevailing Intercessor, impart peace and joy. The Christian is enabled to look at himself, even when he knows his own sinfulness, as accepted with the Father, because he can believe that he is joined by faith to Christ Jesus. He can take up the language of the apostle, "Who loved me, and gave himself for me." There is the happy, peaceful consciousness that sin is pardoned--that guilt is blotted out--that iniquity is done away; and, filled with a joy with which a stranger cannot understand, the believer starts afresh in the journey of life--having, like the fabled pilgrim, dropped his burden at the foot of the cross.
Nor is this all. The sense of pardon and acceptance through the blood and righteousness of Christ--of guilt forever cancelled--of sin freely forgiven--may well fill the heart with joy. But still there remain the seeds of evil, the sources of disquietude, in the best of God's children. All our doings are defiled with imperfection--the very holiest act we perform has need to be atoned for by the atoning blood of Christ, before it can find acceptance with God.
And it is only the vision of Christ which can remove the burden of self-condemnation and shame which presses on the renewed heart. Oh, how comforting is the thought--that, weak, sinful, erring as we are, "in the Lord our Righteousness we have strength!" Christ has obeyed the law for us--Christ has fulfilled its every tittle of demand, as well as its every tittle of penalty. He has completely obeyed the law for us, and "is made of God unto us wisdom and righteousness, sanctification and redemption."
Oh, Christian! cling to this blessed truth! Look ever to Jesus as your Righteousness, as well as atonement, and you will find that, in the exercise of a living faith, it will become to you the element of a joy such as earth can never give nor take away--a joy that is well described as "unspeakable and full of glory." It will impart to you the power of trusting ever to a Savior's faithfulness and grace--not in name, not in outward form, but in a true, inward living with Him--going to Him with that which you can reveal to none other on earth--the hidden mystery of your heart--going to Him in the deep of night, in the early morning--stealing times in the midst of a busy life to lift the burdened heart up to Him--seeing Him in all outward things--in the means of grace, and in His living Word--seeing Him even in crosses, temptations, sicknesses, and sorrows--seeing His permissive hand, and knowing that He is making all things to work together for your good--that every grief and care is but a necessary instrument in His hand, engraving upon you some feature which is to reflect His glory.
Christian, even this is but a foretaste of those nobler and more exalted joys--those far more glorious blessings reserved for them who are "the children of God by faith in Christ Jesus." Just like the first dawn of day, which is the sure harbinger and pledge of the full, meridian, noontide splendor--so this joy that fills the heart of the true believer is the very pledge of future glory, when all who have believed indeed in Jesus shall pass into His full presence, never again to lose sight of it--to be that which Peter desired to be, in the burst of his wondering heart, when he said, "It is good for us to be here; let us make three tabernacles"--when there shall be no more temptation to sin, and no more possibility of falling--when we shall be so near to the "Sun of Righteousness," that no cloud shall ever shadow it again--that we shall see Him, and know that we shall see Him forever!
Sick one, dear to Christ! is your heart full of fear and trembling? Instead of joy, are you filled with grief? Oh, look to Christ by the eye of faith!--see Him as the portion of your soul--your loving, faithful, and compassionate Redeemer; and "let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid." Draw near to Him in sweet and close communion, and you will soon find that "in His presence is fullness of joy"--that He can satisfy every desire, and every need, and every aspiration--and raise, and refine, and purify them even in satisfying them!
Reader, all other joy is transitory--only the joy of the Christian can remain. All other is but for a season; and even here, when least expected, the golden cup of worldly delight may be dashed in pieces from the lips--but this is a treasure which none can take away. All outward comforts may fail--friends, prosperity, health, fame--but this promised blessing, this "joy and peace in believing," is beyond the reach of men or evil spirits. When flesh and heart fail--when life departs from the material clay--then the joys of Christians are only increased. Not even that irresistible hand which tears us from all that is earthly, and consigns us, bereft of every human honor, joy, and consolation, to the cheerless grave--even the hand of Death itself cannot deprive us of the pearl of great price. On the contrary, it robs us only of that which we would not wish to keep, and admits us to the full fruition of those pleasures of which the foretaste is so delightful, that the believer desires "to depart and be with Christ, which is far better."
And what will constitute the joy of believers in glory? Methinks their chief joy will be seeing Christ, and being made more and more "like Hm." I know not what nobler, more illustrious idea can be entertained of the glory and happiness of a saint than that of sinfulness being eradicated both from flesh and spirit, and holiness ingrained into his nature, his humanity pure and unsullied--made like to Him who was "holy, harmless, undefiled, the brightness of the Father's glory, and the express image of His person." You may sketch far more gorgeous things, and crowd the vision with imagery more striking and radiant; but the summit of man's nobleness is resemblance to his Lord--and of his bliss, unreserved consecration to God. He touches the topmost point of dignity when delivered from all corruption--for then he rises to the state of his original nature--made "in the image of God." A creature can be glorious only as he is pure--happy only as he is devoted to the service of God.
And thus will it be with the redeemed in heaven. It will not be the robe of light, though it be brighter than the sun; not the palm and the harp that shall inspire them with joy, and render them glorious--though the one shall have grown on the trees of Paradise, and the other been strung by seraphic hands. No! it will be "seeing Christ" without an intervening cloud, and being conscious that the heart is now and forever undivided in His service--that every power and faculty of soul and body are employed in His business, and will be so throughout eternity; and that "reflecting, as in a glass, the glory of the Lord, we shall (in a far higher sense than we can yet comprehend) be changed into the same image from glory to glory."
O Father of mercies and God of all comfort, our only help in time of need, I fly to You for support. Look upon me, O Lord, with the eyes of Your mercy; give me comfort and sure confidence in You; defend me from the danger of the enemy, and keep me in perpetual peace and safety. Grant that the sense of my present weakness may add strength to my faith, and seriousness to my repentance; that if it shall be Your good pleasure to restore me to my former health, I may lead the remainder of my life in Your fear and to Your glory--or else give me grace so to take Your visitation, that, after this painful life ended, I may dwell with You in life everlasting.
Be pleased, O Lord, to give me a right discerning of the things belonging to my peace. May I share in the joy which the Savior promised as the portion of His disciples--the joy which no man can take from me. O let not pain, or distress, or trial of any kind, sink me into despondency, or render me impatient or fretful! But may I have grace to improve every visitation, so that I may be brought nearer to You, and be more conformed to the image of my blessed Redeemer. Give me to feel that there can be no greater comfort than to be made like unto Christ, by suffering patiently--adversities, troubles, and sicknesses. Help me ever to bear in mind that my Savior Himself first He suffered pain, before joy; that He entered not into His glory before He was crucified. May I be brought to know that even thus our way to eternal joy is to suffer here with Christ, and our door to enter into eternal life is gladly to die with Christ; that we may rise again from death, and dwell with Him in everlasting life.
O gracious and merciful God, wash and cleanse my soul with the blood of Your Son, and the graces of Your Spirit, that it may be delivered from all the defilements which it has contracted in this present evil world, and be found safe and happy in the hour of death, and in the great day of our Lord Jesus Christ. Fit me, O Lord, for living or dying, that it may be unto me Christ to live, and gain to die; and that in all things I may find cause to glorify Your name. If You shall be pleased to release me from my present distress, and to add to me a yet further term of life, oh, that I may live to You, to do You better service, and bring You greater glory! Or if You have determined that this sickness shall be unto death, prepare me, O merciful God, by Your grace for Your blessed self; and grant me a safe and peaceful passage out of this mortal life to a heavenly and immortal eternity. Carry me safe through the valley of the shadow of death, and let me find a joyful admission into the everlasting kingdom of my Lord.
Let me be Yours in life and death, and for evermore, through the all-sufficient merits and mediation of Your dear Son, Jesus Christ, our most prevailing Advocate and Redeemer. Amen.
