Awake, Awake!

“Oh, quickly come, dread Judge of all!
For, awful though Thine advent be,
All shadows from the truth will fall,
And falsehood die, in sight of Thee.
Oh, quickly come! for doubt and fear
Like clouds dissolve when Thou art near.”
TUTTIETT.

ISAIAH lii. 1.)

(HE thrice “Hearken” of the preceding paragraphs is followed by the thrice “Awake” of these. The first is addressed to the arm of Jehovah, which, with rich poetic licence, is imaged as asleep; the other two to Jerusalem, whether to the ruined city, or to her sons then by “the waters of Babylon” inion 17.3. hivsn):

Let us take the central paragraph first (li. 17). There Jerusalem is addressed as stupefied by some intoxicating potion. She has drained it to its dregs, and lies as one asleep. But her drunkenness is not of wine, nor of strong drink; she has drunk at the hand of the Lord “the cup of his fury.” Such imagery is often used by the prophets, of the cup of God’s wrath drunk down by those on whom it descends, and inflicting on them the insensibility and stupefaction with which we are but too familiar as the effect of excessive drinking.

The whole city has succumbed under the spell. Her sons have fainted, and lie strewn in all the streets, like antelopes snared in the hunters’ nets, from which their struggles have failed to extricate them. Amid such circumstances, the servant of Jehovah is introduced, crying, “Awake, awake! stand up, O Jerusalem, which hast drunk at the hand of the Lord the cup of his fury.”

As the tremor of light in the eastern sky stirs the life of the sleeping city; as the warm breath of the south wind dissipates the snow and frost of winter; as the whisper, “Talitha cumi,” aroused the sleeping maiden in the house of Jairus — so did that call awake the stupefied city of Zion, and all suddenly the pulse of life began to throb. Arousing herself, she thought God had been asleep, and called on Him to awake. She had to learn that it was not so. It was she that had been sleeping; and therefore the appeal was flashed back from God to her, “Awake, awake! put on thy strength, O Zion; put on thy beautiful garments, O Jerusalem, the holy city.”

There are other soporifics than the wrath of God: the air of the enchanted ground; the laudanum of evil companionship; the drugs of worldly pleasure, of absorption in business, of carnal security. By these we are all liable to be thrown into a deep sleep. The army of the Lord is too apt to put off the armour of light, and resign itself to heavy slumbers, till the clarion voice warns it that it is high time to awake. Not once nor twice in the life of the disciples did they become heavy with sleep. And we, too, lose the ardour of our zeal, the warmth of our love, the certainty of our faith, the enthusiasm of our service, and become benumbed and insensible. Merciful Awakener of souls, we adore Thee for so often standing beside us, and saying, “Awake, awake!” Often we have started from slumber, thinking that Thou hadst been asleep, whereas it was ourselves!

I, ZIon’s APPEAL TO God. — “Awake, awake! put on
strength, O arm of the Lord.”

The first sympton of awaking is a cry. It is so with a child. Wherever the mother may be engaged about the house, she is on the alert for the first sounds of her babe’s awakening. She says, “Did you hear the child cry?” it is so with the soul. When Saul of Tarsus was converted, the heavenly watchers said, “Behold, he prayeth.” It is so with the Church. The outpouring of the spirit of prayer is the first symptom of renewal and revival, just as the murmur of the streams in the valleys shows that the snows are melting on the Upper Alps.

The cry in this case was founded on a mistake. The prayer refers to what is familiar to us all in the Divine life. There are ebbs and flows; the winter and summer; the Transfiguration height, and the valley with its demoniac child. Sometimes God seems alert, alive, and energetic; the pulse of his energy stirs in us; his voice summons us to new and heroic tasks. At other times a heavy lethargy hangs over the landscape of earth, and intercepts our view of heaven. But our mistake is to attribute the cause to God instead of finding it in ourselves. If there are variations in our inner life, it is because our rate of reception differs from time to time. It is not God who sleeps, but we. It is not for God to awake, but for us. It is not necessary for the Divine arm to gird on strength, but for the human to take that which is within its easy reach.

The cry ts short and earnest. Thrice the suppliant cries, “Awake!” When we are suddenly startled from sleep, conscious that something is wrong and needs mending, we cry vigorously to God. This is well, even though we shall learn presently that we are ourselves to blame because there has been a pause, a break in our receptivity. Still, earnestness is good, even though at first it may be in a wrong direction.

The best basis for our cry ts memory of the past. “Art thou not it that cut Rahab (ze. Egypt) in pieces, that pierced the dragon” (ze. of the Nile)? (9). It is well to quote past experiences as arguments for faith. Our past life will have missed its aim if it has not revealed God to us. Each incident is intended to show us some new trait in his character for us to treasure for all coming time. Not that we expect God to repeat Himself; but that we learn to say, if He did all this, He is resourceful, tender-hearted, wise, and strong: there is no emergency with which He cannot grapple, no need He cannot fulfil, He gave manna — He surely can provide water. He delivered from Egypt — He can certainly emancipate from Babylon. He dried up the waters of the great deep, and made the depths of the sea a way for his ransomed — then surely He can make the wilderness a pool of water, and all the mountains a way.

The arm of God ts strong. It stretched forth the heavens and laid the foundation of the earth (13). The same energy has left a lasting monument of its might in the works of nature. Surely, child of God, it is able to defend thee; to be thy bulwark and defence; thy fortress against thy mightiest foes. The fury of the oppressor may seem ready to destroy, but it shall break in vain on the arm of God; as the sea breaks on the long harbour wall, which is built out into the angry breakers, and behind which the smallest craft may shelter.

The arm of God ts far-reaching. It reaches down into the pit (14). There is no depth so profound to which it will not stoop. The psalmist said — ‘If I make my bed in hell, Thou art there.” Like Jonah, we may go down to the bottom of the mountains, compassed with the waters, and wrapped about with weeds; yet thence shall God bring us. “Nor depth... can separate us from the love of God which is in Jesus Christ our Lord.” However low we sink, underneath are the everlasting arms. They are always underneath.

The arm of God ts tender. It comforts us (12). It is what the arm of the mother is to the sick and tired child; what the arm of love is to the beloved, who leans on it with a sense of happy security! Those arms were stretched out on the cross, spread wide to encompass the world. They welcome to the tenderest bosom that heaves anywhere in the universe. John found it a soft place at the Last Supper. Let us not hesitate to lean back in that embrace and near that heart, to be comforted when our heart is sick and the flesh faints. None can pluck us thence.. ‘Safe in the arms of Jesus,

Safe on his loving breast,

There by his love o’er-shaded
Sweetly my soul shall rest.”

We are too apt to forget all this, to forget the Lord our Maker and Redeemer (13). We think more of the earth than of the over-arching heavens; more of the fading grass than of the tree of life; more of man than of God. The near. has “ut on the Lord Jesus.” - ray

obscured the distant; the flaring gas-lamps have dimmed the shine of the stars; the human has eclipsed the Divine. Oh, think of Him who sits at the right hand of God, the seat of his resistless and unceasing energy; and believe that He is between thee and all adverse circumstances, though they be ready to destroy. To fear continually all the day because of the fury of the oppressor, is impossible for those who dwell all day between the shoulders of Emmanuel, and are hidden in the shadow of his hand (16).

II, THE APPEAL TO ZION. — When we become thoroughly awake, and have time for reflection, we discover that the fault and blame lie entirely with ourselves. It is not God who has been lethargic: He can neither slumber nor sleep; we have slept.

It is blessed to be awaked out of sleep. Life is passing by so rapidly; the radiant glory of the Saviour may be missed unless we are on the alert, or we may fail to give Him the sympathy He needs, and an angel will be summoned to do our work. Besides, the world needs the help of men who give no sleep to their eyes nor slumber to their eyelids, but are always eager to help it in its need. Being awake, we shall discover two sets of attire awaiting us. The first is strength, the other beauty; and each has its counterpart in the New Testament, the one in Eph. vi., the other in Col. iii, Put on the whole armour of God. Put on the Lord Jesus Christ — his temper, spirit, and character.

We must put on our beautiful garments. There should be a bloom and beauty about us. Not only garments, but deaudzful garments. The emblem of the life to which we are called is the bridegroom decked with a garland, or the bride with her jewels, or the garden filled with blossom (lxi. 10, 11). We must not only do right things, we must do them beautifully; not only speak the truth, but speak it in love; not only give to the poor, but do it unobtrusively, without the appearance of patronage or ostentation. The beauty of the Lord our God must be upon us. The apostle’s enumeration of the clothing of the redeemed soul is largely occupied with its temper and disposition, what might be called its bloom — “compassion, kindness, humility, meekness, long-suffering.”

We cannot weave these. We are not able to spin such a cocoon out of our own nature, nor are we required to do so. They are all prepared for us in Jesus; we have only to put them on, by putting Him on. Assume the meekness, gentleness, and purity of Jesus. Be a partaker of the kingdom and patience which are in Jesus (Rev. i. 9). Or, to state the same truth in a different way, take Jesus to be what God has made Him — wisdom, righteousness, sanctification, and redemption.

This can only be done when the heart is at leisure. There must be deep recollection of soul in the Master’s presence; then the reverent and glad attiring of the soul with the qualities of his glorious nature, and the reckoning that they are assumed in response to the act of faith. The beautiful garments await the poorest, weakest, unlikeliest. None of God’s own need go in rags; none need be arrayed in anything else than the light with which God is said to cover Himself. “Thou coverest Thyself with light, as with a garment.” “Let us put off the works of darkness, and put on the armour of light.”

We must put on strength. “Put on thy strength, O Zion.” God provides strength for every possible emergency or demand in life. Whatever call is made upon us, there is always a sufficiency of grace by which it may be met. Undoubtedly, temptation and trial are permitted to come so that we may be compelled to appropriate supplies which lie within our reach, but of which we should not have availed ourselves, unless hard pressed and put to it. Always the danger is that, even under such circumstances, we should fail to put on the strength which is stored for us in Jesus Christ our Lord.

We are not bidden to purchase strength, or generate it by our resolutions, prayers, and agonizings; dwt fo put zt on. It is already prepared, and only awaits appropriation. Put on thy strength, O tempted one! Before passing from the quiet morning hour into the arena which has so often witnessed failure and defeat, put on the might of the risen Saviour. Do not simply pray to be kept, or to be helped, but arm thyself with the whole armour of God; take hold of his strength and “@be Boly City.” 129°

be at peace; wrap thyself about with the mail of Him who is

stronger than the strong man armed. Reckon that it is thine.

Dare to believe that thou art more than a match for thy worst

foes. Say with David, “I will not be afraid of ten thousands

of people who set themselves round about. The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? the Lord is the strength of my life, of whom shall I be afraid?” We must expect to be delivered from the dominion of sin. Babylon had been bidden to descend from her throne and sit in the dust; Jerusalem is commanded to arise from the dust and sit on her throne. The bands of her neck were to be unloosed, her gates were never again to be passed by the uncircumcised and the unclean. So entire was to be the deliverance of Jehovah, that she was henceforth to be “the holy city,” separate for the exclusive service of God.

These words have an application for us. The inner citadel of the heart is intended to be God’s alone. He purchased the site; He built and reared its walls; He claims it as the seat of the royal residence. The heart is the Holy See. And if we are thoroughly yielded to Him as our Judge, our Lawgiver, and our King, He will save us. The walls shall be salvation, and the gates praise. There shall not enter the abominable, the unclean, nor the lying thought. Diabolus shall be driven from Mansoul, and Emmanuel shall be enthroned in His glory and beauty. Then the bells shall ring, and the streets shall be filled with chorister-bands, and white-robed priests, and shining ones with harps and vials full of odours.