Christ the Light to a Higher Life
He many writers who have sought to set “the gates ajar” have not been able to add to our positive knowledge of the heavenly state. Some have conjectured it to be only a glorified condition of happy souls; others have pictured it as a place — a stupendous city of splendours, filled with everything that delighteth. Some of these latter writers have made it but little in advance of the Mussulman’s Paradise.
But there is one thing we know about heaven: God has revealed it to us. We know what is the supreme attraction and the crowning glory of the celestial world: Christ is the Light thereof, “I saw,” said the inspired disciple John, “that the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to lighten it; for the glory of God did lighten it, and the Lamb is the Light thereof.” This is the essential blessedness of the Christian’s everlasting home. Christ is enthroned there. Christ reveals Himself there. Christ instructs His ransomed ones until they “know even as they are known; J’ and oh, how many mysteries He will make plain! Christ will lead His followers to living fountains of waters. This win be the consummate glory ‘of that city whose maker and builder is God. Christ’s presence will he heaven’s effulgence; His love our bright ecstasy; and “we shall be like Him, for we shall see Him as He is.”
If this be so, then the chief characteristic of a Christian’s life in heaven ought to be the characteristic of his life on earth. Heaven is “begun below” to a real follower of Jesus. The celestial world casts its sweet smell afar oflf to the pilgrim who is approaching its pearly gates. And the one grand feature that makes a Christian’s life on earth resemble his life in heaven is “the Lamb is the Light thereof.”
Christ is the light thereof in every system of spiritual truth, in every triumph of converting grace, in every comfort under trial, in every wise reform and work of philanthropy, in every closet of devotion, in every consistent and godly life. Christ is the Alpha and Omega of all true religion. It begins with Him just as surely as the day begins with the rising of the sun. Your new birth, my brother, took place at the cross of Jesus. In that hour of conversion Christ was the light thereof. The new song that was put into your mouth
was,
“Jesus, lover of my soul,
Let me to Thy bosom fly!”
What is true of the beginning of your Christian life is true ever afterwards. There is not an actual grace that is not copied after Him, not a holy emotion which is not inspired by Him, not a victory over sin but is won in His strength, and you do not take a single step toward a higher life unless Christ be “the Light thereof.”
When you get overburdened with a load of anxiet) or discouragement, you probably betake yourself to prayer. But the devil mocks you and makes sport of you. “How absurd,” jeers Satan, “that your prayer should have any effect on God!” Your closet seems to be as black as midnight. You are overhung with a pall of discouragement. All at once the idea strikes you, “I have an advocate in heaven; Jesus Christ ever liveth to intercede for me. He has said, Whatsoever ye shall ask the Father in my name, He will give it you.” You grasp hold of the love of the Intercessor as a drowning man clutches the rope. You seize on His love for you, and on His love for those who lie upon your hearts. Faith sees with new eyes. Your dark closet of prayer brightens in a moment. The Lamb is the Light thereof, You rise from your knees strengthened, and go on your way rejoicing.
One day there arises a perplexing question of duty. You know not what to do. Self-interest counsels one course. Perhaps friends advise the same thing. They tell you “it will pay,^ or it will promote you. You are half inclined to decide for it. But conscience whispers, What will Christ say? What would He have you do? What will please Him? Then your better self, your converted judgment and affections, spring up, and demand of you that you take the pat)i which shall most honour your Christianity, even though it be up the steepest cliffs and through briers that tear the garments of your pride. But as you tread the rugged furlongs, up the hills and lYvtow .^ .lk.k.ets you find the blessed Jesus your companion on the road, and His smile is “the light thereof.”
I do not believe that there is a doubtful question in morals or in practice on which the life and the teachings of the divine Saviour do not shed sufficient light. If Christ is wholly in your hearty and rules that heart, you will decide rightly. You will engage in the right callings. You will find the right fields of labour. You will seek out and enjoy the right kinds of recreation. If Christ has full possession of a man’s soul, he will have no lustings after the indecencies of the licentious stage, or the revelries of the ball-room, or the reckless gambling operations of stock-boards or “the street,” or for any pleasure or pursuit into which he cannot take Christ with him.
This glorious presence of Jesus with His own can brighten the darkest hours of trial. I used to visit an aged blind woman, whose sightless eyeballs rolled in vain to find the day. She could not see the sweet grandchildren who read to her God’s Word. But hers was one of the sunniest rooms in Brooklyn. “The Lamb was the Light thereof.”
I have gone into a nursery where a mother was wringing her hands over the crib in which her treasure lay — smitten with the touch that turned its cheek to snow. “For this child / prayed,’* exclaims the agonized mother. “Thy prayer is heard,” replies Jesus the Comforter; “this child I will keep for thee. Forbid it not to come to me. It was mine before it was thine. Follow me, and thou shalt find tb.^ treasures in heaven.” And so the shaft of heaven’s glory seems to fall on the silent crib, and the child is no longer dead, but sleeping!
Ah, my fellow-Christian! you will find, when you reach the dark valley yourself, that “in the even time it shall be light.” Christ’s countenance will gild the waters of death with glory. It is a “shinifig shore,” because the Son of God is “the Light thereof.” And there shall be no night there! Neither shall there be any more pain, or sorrow, or crying; for the former things have passed away.
Then “faint not: for the miles to heaven are few and short There are many heads lying in Christ’s bosom; but there is room for yours among the rest”