Joy Comes in the Morning

“Therefore that disciple whom J esus loved saith unto Peter, It is the Lord.”

Throughout His public ministry the Lord Jesus was constantly surrounded by His apostles. For nearly three years they were the companions of every journey, and, attending Him day by day, had it been needful, they could have told how every hour was filled up, and could have recorded night after night every place of His sojourn. But after His resurrection He had no personal attendants. He preached no sermons, He fed no multitude, Fie healed no diseases, He went to no festival, He visited no house of mourning; but where or how the forty days and forty nights anterior to His ascension were spent, no one could tell, nor does it seem as if any one had tried to conjecture.

Ten or eleven times during that interval He was seen by His former friends; and of these various appearances a primary object was to give infallible proof that He had burst the bonds of death, and returned from the grave’s dominion. These successive appearances did not cease till the anxiety as well as the incredulity of affection was abundantly satisfied; till the sceptical Thomas could cavil no longer; till every former associate was prepared to spend his years and lay down his life in proclaiming the all-important fact, “The Lord is risen.”

In these interviews another object was to give final instructions to the propagators of the Gospel and the planters of the Christian Church. Many of the things which formerly they could not bear He told them now; nor was it until He “had given commandments unto the apostles whom He had chosen” that He “was taken up.”

But in these successive appearances there was a farther purpose, and you will find it very instructive if you look somewhat carefully at the mode and circumstances in which they took place.

•TOY COMES IN THE MOKNINO.

Not only was Christ risen — to all practical effects He was already “taken up.” No one knew the place of His abode. To search for Him was vain. In neither temple nor synagogue was He any longer to be found; Bethany could give no account of Him; in that garden, of which it is said, “He ofttimes resorted thither,” He was never seen again. Yet, though unseen, He was not absent. He had only gone out of sight; He had not gone away ;* and it is interesting to observe how, from time to time, He made His presence palpable. It was the third day after His decease, and in Joseph’s garden a lowly follower, near the empty sepulchre, is weeping in bewilderment of sorrow. Aware of some one near her, but, in a world where there was only One she wanted, scarcely caring to see any other, she answered His question, and He might have gone away again, and the tear-tilled eyes and absent thoughts would never have surmised the Saviour. She would just have still supposed that the man who addressed her was the gardener, had He not

* See “Lessons from the Great Biography,” pp. 309 — 312. spoken again in that very voice which once on a time had made herself a new creature, and the like of which was not to be heard in earth or heaven. That afternoon two friends are travelling out into the country. A stranger joins them. Wonderfully intelligent, with a flood of unprecedented illumination making the Bible brilliant, chasing the sadness from their spirits, and making their bosoms burn with such mysterious fervor that they are no longer stumbled at their Master’s sufferings, and in the death of Jesus begin to see the dawn of Messiah’s glory; they still have no suspicion of the speaker, till from their “holden eyes” He sweeps the veil, and in that moment vanishes. The apostles are assembled. They are listening to the tale of Cleopas and his breathless comrade. They know not what to make of it. Such “strange things” are happening. Jesus is not in the sepulchre, and it almost looks as if God were not in the world — when they are startled by the apparition of Jesus in that very room. As He says “Peace be unto you.” the look and tones are His, but, in their terror, they can think of nothing save a spirit. However, as He shows His hands and feet, and sits down to the simple meal, and continues His discourse, panic yields to joy, and in the sober certainty reverence and rapture grow together. His words have come true; the sepulchre is empty; their Master is again in their midst, by this time their Lord and their God; and in preaching repentance and remission of sins they have now their great errand to the world.

But of all the instances in which the risen Saviour revealed Himself, no one is more instructive than this manifestation at the Lake of Galilee.

Two years and a half ago, this very party had spent a similar night. They had toiled till dawn, and taken nothing. Their boats had been already beached, when, with a crowd of people pressing round Him, Jesus came down to the shore, and, stepping into Simon’s boat, begged that he would thrust out a little from the land. In this floating pulpit having finished His address, He bade Simon lower the net. Listlessly and languidly the weary fisher let it down, when, instead of coming home empty as before, it tumultuated e 2 with burnished perch or ponderous carp, a wallowing load, to whose frantic efforts at escape the net was yielding, when the other boat pushed off, and secured the precious spoil.*

That morning was memorable; for whilst it was momentary wealth to the boatmen and their families, it was also an epoch in their personal history. It was then that they left all, and became stated attendants on Jesus. And, likely enough, this other unsuccessful night brought to their remembrance the former, with its wonderful sequel. At all events, we may be sure that through the dreary hours their thoughts often reverted to the Master. On this very lake, what wonders the;y had seen! On that coast the demoniac dispossessed, the famished congregation fed; on this watery expanse the tempest stilled, or Ilis wonderful steps pacing over the billows. And here He may yet be found again; for had He not said, “After I am risen, I will go before you into Galilee” T t

Daylight comes, and fond imaginations fly. This is Galilee; but there is yet no Jesus. * Luke y. 1 — 11. See Note D. f Matt. xxvi. 32.

No one has come to them walking on the water, and now that it is morning, their boats are empty enough; but there is no excited throng coming down towards the shore, crowding and crushing and eager for more of those gracious words to which they have already been listening, and preceded by the wonderful Teacher. On that strand there is merely to be seen a solitary figure, nowise noticeable — perhaps an intending customer, come down to purchase for his morning meal; and to his question, “Any food ]” they can only answer, “No.” But ITe bids them cast the net on the right side of the ship, and now it heaves and undulates with such a heavy shoal, that it would be destruction to the meshes to lift it from the water. That other memorable morning, and that other miraculous draught, are so instantly suggested, that John says to Peter, “It is the Lord,” and leaving it to others to look after the fishes, Peter plunges overboard, and is straightway with his Master.

A weary night; but Christ came in the morning. So at first we are apt to say; but it would be putting it more correctly if E 3

JOY COME IN THE MORNING.

we said that Christ, who had been present all the night allowed Himself to be seen in the morning. He was now risen from the dead, and had put bn that glorious body which evades our grosser sense, and needs an act of will to make it visible.* In His ubiquitous Godhead everywhere present, at any moment or in any place He could emerge to view and reappear in corporeal guise, so that former intimacy was able to exclaim, “It is the Lord,” and so that He Himself was able to say, “It each hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side”; and as soon as the purpose was fulfilled, without necessarily quitting the spot, the glorified body ceased to be seen. In its escape from the sepulchre more entirely transfigured than it had been on the Holy Mount, it was only when the Lord J esus so willed, that in flesh and blood, as of old, that body stood revealed; and when the design was accomplished, it again retired into the supersensual sphere of its habitual invisibleness.

It was “on this wise that Jesus showed

* “After His resurrection, Christ’s body was only visible by a distinct act of His will.” — Chrysostom, quoted by Trench.

Himself” when at any period after His resurrection He was seen at all. It was not by entering an apartment or by arriving from a journey, but by coming forth from the impalpable and viewless, that, whether to longing disciples or to the startled persecutor, He stood disclosed; no phantom, no mere vision, courting severest scrutiny: “Handle me and see” — and into that materialism reembodied by His own Divine volition, the normal state of His glorified humanity was such as mortal sense cannot grasp; and just as when the body was “earthy,” the thing supernatural was for His “face to shine as the sun,”* so now that it was “heavenly,” the thing supernatural was for that body to come out appreciable by untransfigured organs — perceptible to eyes and ears which were not yet immortal like itself.

Such being the character, of those manifestations of the unseen Saviour recorded here and elsewhere, it is easy to see the indirect or secondary object accomplished by them. They not only proved the reality of His resurrection, but they prepared the disciples,

* Matt. xvii. 2. 1 Cor. xv. 40 — 54. gradually and efficiently, for that new kind of life which they were to be henceforward leading — a life associated with the Saviour’s more sacredly than ever, but a life of entirely’ new conditions — a life in which He was to become to them at once more brotherly and more Divine, but in which memory and faith must supply the place of oral intercourse and open vision, — a life in which they who had known Christ after the flesh were thus to know Him no more, — but a life in which those who held fast His own promise, “Lo, I am with you,” need perform no pilgrimage except in His company, and pass on to no region, however new or unknown, without expecting His presence.

So, after His resurrection, instead of returning to the stated society of the apostles, as before, and then at the end of forty days abruptly ascending from their midst — nay, instead of rising from the dead and taking farewell of earth on the self-same day, the Lord Jesus was content to let six weeks intervene, during which by successive appearances He was reminding disciples that, although out of their sight, He was still in their midst; and so by the easy stepping-stones of these successive appearances, He joined Calvary to Olivet. By gentle progressive lessons He prepared the daily associates of the last three years for living still more intimately in His unseen presence.

Thus, too, although it looks like a detached appendix to the Gospel — although coming after the apparent finis of the verse foregoing, it starts afresh, and almost seems to say that, when he had dropped the pen, the disciple whom J esus loved had been directed to resume, and transmit to all time this touching incident — you see what a charming epilogue to the evangelic history this chapter makes, and what an appropriate prelude to the apostolic annals. It is not only the isthmus which joins the labours of the first missionaries to the life of Jesus, but from its high eminence as we gaze on what we fancy a final flush of the Sun of Righteousness, just as we think Him in rich and tender beauty about to disappear, lo! His course again bends upward, and we find that to the happy dwellers in this region He is a Sun that sets no more.

4G A Saviour habitually recollected and realized was the distinctive of apostolic piety. Not to the eye-witnesses alone, but to all who believed their testimony, and to whom the Holy Spirit revealed the things of Jesus, Christ was ever presen: — the spectator of their conduct, the guardian of their path, the president of their home, the light of the dungeon, the solace of earth, the attraction to heaven. And we cannot read their writings or the record of their lives without feeling that of their Christianity the key-note was struck on occasions like this — perhaps this very morning; and whether feeding the sheep or following the Master — whether toiling for a maintenance or “catching men,” we cannot but admire the simplicity and grandeur, the seriousness and happiness, in their deportment so blended, as of those who had never quite forgotten the sweet surprise at the Lake of Galilee, and to whom it might any moment again be whispered, “It is the Lord.”

And whilst a true life and a thorough — oh, how delightful, through the Remembrancer’s teaching, to have the great fact of Christ’s presence so impressed as to fear no evil, and tamper with no sin! — motives purified, and the whole person filled with light in the pervasion of the flame-bright Eye — unity given to existence, and a centre to the soul, by the “For me to live is Christ,” which responds to His own, “Follow me;” — the emancipated life of one inheriting the earth and redeemed from all evil, — the circumspect life of one whose terror is sin, and whose Master is served in the beauty of holiness, — the intent and hopeful life of one who has a calling so high, and a Forerunner so glorious.

Over Mr. Simeon’s fireplace hung Henry Martyn’s picture. Looking at it, he used to say, “There, see that blessed man! What an expression of countenance! Ho one looks at me as he does. He never takes his eyes off, and seems always to be saying, ‘ Be serious. Be in earnest. Don’t trifle.’” Then smiling at the picture, and gently bowing, he would add, “And I won’t — I won’t trifle.” But if the remembrance of a fervent spirit, or the image of an earnest friend, is thus fitted to arouse us, how solemnizing, how comforting, how* inspiring should be the thought of that omniscient and heart-searching Spectator who sees His servants beneath the cloud of night, as well as in the cold and hungry dawn; who alike descries the feeling in an apostle’s mind, and the finny flock as it wanders deep beneath the wave; and who with equal precision, asking a question or giving a command, “Cast the net on the right side:” “Lovest thou me]” brings to land the watery spoil — brings to light the good confession. Ho one looks at you as He does, and ‘ Be in earnest, follow me,’ is what He is always saying.

If any one is burdened with a sense of sin, he need carry that load no longer. All power in heaven and earth is given to the world’s Redeemer, and the salvation He purchased He lives to bestow. In quest of forgiveness there is no distant spot to which you need travel, no distant day for which you need tarry. That pardon you may have at once, and you may have it here. A Saviour ever-present waits to be gracious, and it only needs that you realize your own wretchedness, and withal His grace and power, in order to taste the blessedness of the man to whom it is authoritatively spoken, “Go in peace: thy sins be forgiven thee.”

Is there anything you want? — anything which you do not possess, anything which you yourst If are unable to perform 1 Christ has it, Christ can do it for you. It is a pity to toil with such dejected looks and drowsy eyes; for close at hand is One who can in a moment fill the net, and who, even if the net were continuing empty, can still feed the fisherman. As soon as the disciples were come to land, they saw that it was not for His own sake but theirs that Jesus had asked, “‘Have ye any meat 1” for “they found a fire of coals, and fish laid thereon, and bread;” and although He allowed them to make their own addition to the banquet — “Bring of the fish which ye have now caught they saw

that, even if they had continued to catch nothing, their Master would not have suffered them to starve. Let us learn to trust in Him who can prepare a table in the wilderness, and who, when His people have been forced to acknowledge, “We have nothing of our own,” loves to surprise them with the invitation, “Com 3 and dine.”

However, still better than the meal, is the company, and the converse which follows. In His Word Christ speaks to all His disciples, and in prayer He invites us all to speak to Him; and hallowed for ever will be the scene, pebbly strand or fragrant hill, lonely chamber or crowded church, where it may be given you to enjoy communion high and sweet with the Son of God and the Saviour of your soul. This is a fellowship which no believer need forego; for, in virtue of His Godhead, the Lord f Jesus, if of beings the most majestic, is withal the most condescending, and no one finds it easier to give undivided heed to a solitary suppliant than that only Potentate, whose undistracted mind administers immensity, and whose boundless essence fills the praises of eternity.

And, in looking out for the Lord J esus, do not look too high. To the apostles it had been said by Himself and the angel at the sepulchre, “He goeth before you into Galilee.” They were now in Galilee, and had seen nothing of Him yet; and if this was the time when He was about to restore the kingdom to Israel, they might naturally expect that it would Lj surrounded with a splendid escort, and with a crown upon His head that they next should see Him. Well as they knew Him, and much as they loved Him, they little guessed that the inconspicuous stranger in the pale morning light was He. And so, to this hour, it is strange how the unseen Jesus disguises Himself, and (so to speak) how He is distributed.

“A poor wayfaring man of grief

Hath often crossed me on my way,

Who sued so humbly for relief,

That I could never answer, * Hay.’

I had not power to ask his name,

Whither he went, or whence he came;

Yet was there something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.

“Once, when my scanty meal was spread,

He entered; — not a word he spake; —

Just perishing for want of bread,

I gave him all: he blessed it, brake,

And ate, — but gave me part again.

Mine was an angel’s portion then;

For while I fed with eager haste,

That crust was manna to my taste,

“’Twas night; the floods were out; it blew A winter hurricane aloof;

F 2

& ev l;.L U&
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof;

I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,

Laid him on my own couch to rest;

Then made the hearth my bed, and seemed In Eden’s garden while I dreamed.

“In prison I saw him next, condemned To meet a traitor’s doom at morn;

The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,

And honoured him ’midst shame arid scorn. My friendship’s, utmost zeal to try,

He asked if I for him would die.

The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill,

But the free spirit cried, * I will! *

u Then, in a moment, to my view

The stranger darted from disguise;

The tokens in his hands I knew —

My Saviour stood before mine eyes.

He spake, and my poor name He named;

* Of me thou hast not been ashamed;

These deeds shall thy memorial be;

Fear not — thou didst them unto me! ’” *

Strangely disguised and strangely distributed: in the South Sea Islander and the ragged scholar, in the bed-rid invalid and the starving household, in the burdensome task

James Montgomery. See Note E. that tries your patience, in the ungrateful pupil who makes poor requital to your pains. Still, under every mask by which faith is tested, and on which love’s labour can be lavished, “it is the Lord.” His is a service in which there are no failures; His a gratitude by which nothing is forgotten. “Fear not; thou didst it unto me.”