Christians
A tried saint brings more glory to God than an untried one; a believer in a dungeon reflects more glory on his Master than a believer in paradise; a child of God in the burning fiery furnace, whose hair is yet unscorched, and upon whom the smell of the fire has not passed, displays more the glory of Godhead than even he who stands with a crown upon his head, perpetually singing praises before the eternal throne.
Grind the diamond a little, and you shall see it glisten. Do but put a trouble on the Christian, and his endurance of it will prove him to be of the true seed of Israel.
Better to have a Christian’s days of sorrow than a worldling’s days of mirth. Better to have a Christian’s sorrows than a worldling’s joys. Ah! happier to be chained in a dungeon with a Paul than reign in the palace with an Ahab. Better to be a child of God in poverty than a child of Satan in riches.
There are times when a Christian will be ready to creep into a mousehole if he might but get into heaven; when he would be glad to throw anything away to get into the smallest crevice to escape from his fears; when the meanest evidence seems more precious than gold; when the very least ray of sunlight is worth all the riches of Peru; and when a doit of comfort is more sweet than a whole heaven of it may have been at other seasons.
The saint may well speak of his ancestry — he may exult in it, he may glory in it — for he is the son of God, positively and actually. His mother, the Church, is the Bride of Jesus; he is a twice-born child of heaven, one of the blood royal of the universe.
Whatever other insignia belong to monarchs saints shall have. They shall have robes of whiteness; they shall have harps of glory; they shall have all things that become their regal state; so that we are indeed monarchs, you see; not mock-monarchs, clothed in purple garments of derision, and scoffed at with “Hail, king of the Jews!” but we are real monarchs.
A Christian man’s religion will keep its colour in the night. What a mighty deal of silver-slipper religion we have in this world. Men will follow Christ when every one cries, “Hosanna! hosanna!”
Has a saint a palace? Yes. I have a palace! and its walls are not made of marble, but of gold; its borders are carbuncles and precious gems; its windows are of agates; its stones are laid with fair colours; around it there is a profusion of every costly thing; rubies sparkle here and there; yea, pearls are but common stones within it Some call it a mansion; but I have a right to call it a palace too, for I am a king. It is a mansion when I look at God, it is a palace when I look at men; because it is the habitation of a prince.
Have Christians a crown? Oh yes; but they do not wear it every day. They have a crown, but their coronation day is not yet arrived. They have been anointed monarchs, they have some of the authority and dignity of monarchs; but they are not crowned monarchs yet. But the crown is made. God will not have to order heaven’s goldsmiths to fashion it in after-time: it is made already, hanging up in glory.
Saint of Jesus! heir of heaven! thou hast high and honourable privileges which the world wots not of!
There is not a Christian who has enjoyed perpetual happiness; there is no believer who can always sing a song of joy. It is not every lark that can always carol. It is not every star that can always be seen. And not every Christian is always happy. Capuan holidays do not suit Koman soldiers; and they would not agree with Christians.
The strength of a Christian is divine strength; the sinner has no power of himself, except that which is given him from above; if I were to stand with my foot upon the golden threshold of heaven’s portal, if I could put this thumb upon the latch, I could not open that door, after having gone so far towards heaven, unless I had still supernatural power communicated to me in that moment.
Christian! let slander fly, let envy send forth its forked tongue, let it hiss at you, your bow shall abide in strength. shielded warrior, remain quiet, fear no ill; but, like the eagle in its lofty eyrie, look thou down upon the fowlers in the plain; turn thy bold eye upon them, and say, “Shoot ye may, but your shots will not reach half way to the pinnacle where I stand.”
That strength which God gives to his Josephs is real strength; it is not a boasted valour, a fiction, a thing of which men talk, an airy dream, an unsubstantial unreality, but it is real strength. Let the foes of the church expect a hard struggle if they attack an heir of life.
Mightier than giants are men of the race of heaven; should they once arouse themselves to battle they could laugh at the spear and the habergeon. But they are a patient generation, enduring ills without resenting them, suffering scorn without reviling the scoffer.
Every saint of the Lord is a priest at God’s altar, and is bound to worship God with the holy incense of prayer and praise. We are priests, each one of us, if we are called by divine grace; for thus we are priests by divine constitution.
It is only the Christian who despises customs, who does not care for conventionalisms, who only asks himself the question, “Is it right, or is it wrong? If it is right, I will be singular: though they bind me to the stake, yet I must do it; I will be singularly right; if the multitude will not follow me, I will go without them.”
You may despise a child of God now, sinner; you may laugh at him; you may say he is a hypocrite; you may call him a saint, a methodist, a cant, and everything you like; but know that those titles will not mar his dignity — he is the honourable of the earth, and God estimates him as such.
I am not a prince of Inde — I have no inheritance in any far-off land that men dream of — I have no El Dorado, or Home of Prester John; but yet I have a substantial palace. Yonder, on the hills of heaven, it stands. I know not its position among the other mansions of heaven, but “I know that if the earthly house of this tabernacle be dissolved, I have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.”
Christians are not so much in danger when they are persecuted, as when they are admired. When we stand upon the pinnacle of popularity, we may well tremble and fear. It is not in the cold wintry wind that I take off my coat of righteousness, and throw it away; it is when the sun comes, when the weather is warm, and the air balmy, that I unguardedly strip off my robes and become
The Christian overcomes the world. A tough battle, sirs, I warrant you: not one which carpet knights might win: no easy skirmish that he might win who dashed to battle on some sunshiny day, looked at the host, then turned his courser’s rein, and daintily dismounted at the door of his silken tent. Nay, sirs, it is a life-long war, a contest which shall want all our strength, if we are to be triumphant.
Could you enter God’s secret treasure-house, what wealth would you see! “Are there so many monarchs,” you would say, “so many crowns, so many princes V 9 Yes, and some bright angel would say, “Mark you that crown? It is yours;” and if you were to look within, you would read, “Made for a sinner saved by grace, whose name was.”