A Saviour's Farewell: The Father's House

Of the recorded discourses of our Lord, the two longest are the Sermon on the Mount, and His Address to the Disciples in the guest-chamber on that night when He was betrayed into the hands of sinners.

Between these discourses two years and a half had intervened* — years filled up as never was any similar term of human history. During that interval the Lord Jesus had been the source of countless benefits to the land of His sojourn. Betwixt the lost senses which He had restored to many, and the many whom He had cured of direful diseases; betwixt the demons whom He hadexpelled, and the dead whom He had raised to life, there was not a single mourner or sufferer on whose behalf the interposition of the Man of Mercies had been sought by Himself or His friends, who had not reason to remember Him with affectionate gratitude. But there were others wTho were His debtors still more deeply. There were many

* The Sermon on the Mount, Mr Greswell assigns to September, A.D. 27; the Farewell Discourse, to April 4, A. I). 30.

a saviour’s farewell. 201

whose spiritual diseases He had healed, many whom He had raised from the grave of sensuality, and given them the life of God in their souls. And if there be greater wonders, there is no mercy greater than this. To a soul sunk in corruption — apathetic as a clod, ignorant of God, destitute of all pure and holy aspirations, a mere assemblage of divers lusts and passions — to such a soul to impart acute moral sensitiveness, an adoring loyalty to the Most High, an avidity for truth and goodness, and thus to he it for a glorious immortality, is a greater boon than a resurrection to natural life a thousand times repeated. But that boon the Saviour was conferring on some one almost every day; and, rendering its cheating publicans honest and humane, its hollow Pharisees genuine and devout, its flagitious transgressors pure in heart and blameless in all holy conversation, He was leaving in that Holy Land numbers who, when He came to it, were so foul as to be only fit for destruction, but who, through His own benignant treatment and the Holy Spirit’s transforming, have long since gone to be the companions of angels. And, over and above, not a day elapsed throughout these thirty months when He was not living that life, uttering those words, radiating that influence, and achieving that work, of which we reap the priceless results to-day — of which the Divine perfections then revealed and vindicated shall reap the honour through eternity.

And now it was all but ended. To-night He would say, “Farewell” to His friends; to-morrow, to His work He would say, “It is finished.”

That mountain of Galilee and this guest-chamber in Jerusalem mark two important eras in the history of discipleship. Until Jesus opened His month and said, “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven,” it is likely the apostles hoped that the kingdom would consist in wealth and victory, in crowns and posts of honour: but the announcement of that hour went far to dissipate the delusion; for it was then plainly and authoritatively proclaimed, that God’s empire is spiritual; that the king among men is the man who by the completest subjection to God has obtained the greatest mastery over himself; and that his is the blessed life, not who has the most gold in his coffers, but the most good feelings in his heart — not who has the greatest number of retainers to whom he says, “Do this, and go thither,” but the greatest number of neighbours and acquaintances whom he blesses by his gracious deeds and benevolent prayers — not who has a palace for his abode, but who, having God for his Father, enjoys constant access to the King of kings. Never did warrior or statesman more distinctly explain his object than the Captain of Salvation then unfolded His mission. And, although the means by which it was to be attained were not yet ro fully made known, there need have been no doubt from that day forward as to the Saviour’s aim. A victory for righteousness — the expulsion from this world of all that is false, cruel, diabolic — the enthronement of the living God in the heart of every living man — the founding of a kingdom of truth, peace, and devotion, which should at last be universal — the empire of God upon earth — a mark no less sublime than this was pointed at on the Mount of Beatitudes when the Heavenly King unfurled His standard and invited all comers to gather round it.

At first scarce able to realise this, in the delightful society of their Master the disciples were beginning to recover from the dislocation of old ideas and the unhingement of old hopes, when they were staggered by a new disclosure. Hard as it was to give up “the kingdom for Israel” and their own promotion, so blessed is it to be continually doing good, and so inspiring was the companionship of Jesus, that we may easily concede that a little longer and they would have been joyfully following their Leader in His world-bettering, sin- vanquishing campaign. But here was a new and stunning surprise. Their Leader was about to leave them: their Master was about to die! And if to earthly aspirations there were a check and a bitter disappointment on the Mount of Beatitudes, to their holiest affections and dearest hopes there was a sickening shock in the consummation which they could now conceal from themselves no longer. The former bend in their journey up the hill of discipleship had brought them out on a prospect sufficiently blank and dispiriting; and as they saw the crowns and sceptres vanish over the verge and disappear, and turning their eyes, as He had lately turned His own, from the kingdoms of this world and all their glory, as their Master bade them mount higher, they felt a pang, and for long kept up an inward protest. But now, this second bend — this higher landing-place — what is this which it discloses? Oh, horror of all horrors! A gallows tree! a death of infamy! a cross, and their Master on it! large as life, and close at hand, their Master’s cross, and in the misty background crosses for themselves! Truly it was with bitter herbs that on the eve of such a blood-stained morrow they ate their passover; and although they knew that it was of no use now to say, “Master, spare Thyself,” no wonder that, as with cold and tremulous fingers, they passed round the broken bread and raised to their pallid lips the prophetic cup, their Master could interpret the silence and the anxious looks of His already bereaved and orphan family.

He saw, and He sympathised, and, as was His wont, postponing His own more urgent case, He proceeded to comfort them.

But that discourse, who can expound? This adieu, as Divine as it is tender — this u farewell gleam of the Sun of Righteousness, tearfully smiling ere He plunged into the dark thunder-clouds waiting to receive Him“* — these parting counsels of a Saviour beneath the cross — how is it possible to translate into our weak words, or transfer to our coarse canvas? From the opening utterance, u Let not your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in me,” down to that unprecedented prayer in which the Great High Priest allowed disciples for once to overhear such int rcession as He still offers within the veil, the whole is fitter to be pondered in the still seclusion of a communion eve, or read over in the house of mourning, or whispered in the ear of the pilgrim on the banks of Jordan, than made the subject of our hard analytic handling.

The essence of the gospel is God’s love. The incarnation was God’s love coming forth from the viewless, and tabernacling palpably in the midst of men. The atonement was God’s love providing a satisfaction to God’s justice, and making it as consistent with His rectitude as it is delightful to His benevolence to pardon the sin and restore and renew the sinner. The New Testament dispensation is God’s love, so to speak, organised and acting through various institutions and ordinances — gently visiting us in Sabbaths with their hallowed calm, their tran-

* Brown Patterson.

quillising repose, their touching remembrances — more emphatically appealing in sacraments, with their solemn messages and Divine sanctions and pledges — articulate in the wiitten Word and its great and precious promises — diffused around us in Christian society and its softening influences — penetrating our very souls in the solicitations of the blessed Spirit, who, as God’s great heart of love, keeps moving, throbbing, yearning in every faithful saying to which we listen, and in every earnest prayer to which the feeblest saint gives utterance in the name of Jesus, and in communion with God. And this farewell address is, so to speak, a final effort of Incarnate Love to drown the remaining coldness and felt sinfulness and faint-heartedness of disciples in that confidence Godwards which, of all things, is the most sanctifying and sin-subduing, the most fortifying against hardships, the most animating to deeds of endurance and valour.

From His baptism at Jordan to this verge of Gethsemane, Jesus had lived in the uninterrupted smile of His Father. From the moment that heaven opened, and there came from the excellent glory a voice, “This is my beloved Son,” down to this moment, when His soul was soon to be sorrowful, even unto death — He had never once forgotten that God was His Father, and that He was the Father’s dear Son; but His whole career was overcanopied and brightened by this soul-gladdening assurance. Travelling in the a saviour’s farewell. 207

greatness of His strength, or rather, we may say, in the loftiness of His stature, the sod was often cold and wintry to His feet, He trod on many a thorn, and again and again felt the envenomed serpent at His heel. But above time’s clouds and earth’s harsh weather the heavens were open, and God was love; and although His steps were often through rugged paths and painful, it was in a pavilion of constant peace and brightness overhead that He ever looked forth and moved onward. And now He said to disciples, “Peace I leave with you, my peace I give unto you.” “If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.” l Come up into my own pavilion. Submit to have your weak souls carried in a Saviour’s strong arms. In the world ye shall have tribulation. That world hates me — it will hate you. It has hurt me all it could — it will hurt you more. But where I am, all is serenity, sunshine, peace. Keep near me, believe what I say, and the love with which the Father loves Me will include and environ you; and as I am about to take my last step out of the world, so be of good cheer, your tribulation will soon be ended also: your last step erelong will be taken, your Father’s house will be gained.’

Delightful as it would be to dwell on that great legacy of peace, and that great promise of the Comforter which this memorable sermon included, we must pass away from it, leaving most of its topics untouched. But as “life and immortality” are so special a distinction of the gospel revelation, we may be permitted to meditate a little on that suggestive name which the Saviour here gives to the future residence of His people — “My Father’s House.”

* In my Father’s house are many mansions: I go to prepare a place for you.”

The present state is a state of discipline, and part of that discipline consists in the limits of our knowledge. Some knowledge we have lost, and some we never had the means of gaining. And among other subjects of inquiry none can be more interesting than the future abode of our immortal selves, and the mode in which we are to reach it. For instance, many would have felt it a satisfaction had the Saviour told us the precise region of the universe which is to be the residence of His ransomed, so that, looking out on the starry firmament, we might have been able to fix on the moon or some planet, and say, u Yonder it is. Yonder is the world to which the spirits of my fathers have already gone, and to which erelong I myself am going.” And many would have liked to know more precisely the manner in which the transit is effected. Is it an angel guard which convoys the spirit home? Or does the Lord Jesus receive it direct? And how does that disembodied spirit hold intercourse with its glorified companions? and, in the absence of all material organisation, how does it perform the acts ascribed to it in the glimpses of the better country which the Bible gives? And on all these points it would have been a great enjoyment to possess clear and assuring information. But on these points the only book which could have solved our queries is silent. Thomas did say to Jesus, (‘How can we know the way?” and Jesus answered, “I am the Way.” Instead of telling how the transit is effected from the clay tabernacle to the house eternal, the Saviour virtually said, i Leave it to me. I shall see to it, that where I myself am, there my disciples shall also be. See you to it that your souls are safe in my keeping now, and when the time arrives I shall see to it that they are safely brought home to my pre3ence., And in the same way in regard to the place. Christ could have told. He had come from it, and was soon going back. He knew all regarding it, and could have superseded a world of speculation by simply naming it. l Is it a planet of our system? Is it the sun’s own orb? Is it some fixed star? or some region so remote that no twinkle of its glory can reach these outskirts of immensity? Or is it here? Is it within our world’s own confines? Coincident with our old and evil earth — as it were, simultaneous and superimposed upon it, like the atmosphere of vapour which fills our atmosphere of air, and the atmosphere of electricity which fills them both, impalpable to our gross senses — are there a new heaven and a new earth already here? On the site of some busy Babel, where all is smoke and din and vanity, has there already come down the New Jerusalem, bright and happy as a bride adorned for her husband? And in the very scenes where we plod through leafless forests, and gaze on torrents brown with winter and its decomposing vegetation, do happier beings gather fruit from the tree of life, and wander along the banks of the crystal river? Are heaven and earth so near that, although ten or twenty years have severed me from a sainted sire or a believing sister, there is not a league of space between us? — so near that, to bring the soul and the Saviour together, it only needs the breaking down of a dark partition, and, absent from the body, I am present with the Lord?’ On all these matters the Saviour was silent; but just as all curious questionings as to the transit were dismissed by His own sufficient assurance, “I am the Way,” so all surmisings as to the place are superseded by His telling us that it is the Father’s house, the Saviour’s home.

u I adore the fulness of Scripture,” said Luther; and the devout student has reason to add, u I adore its reserve.” Every saying is significant; but there is also significance in its silence. On the subjects now hinted it could have been copious: it has chosen to say little. And that silence, what does it say? Leave secret things to the Lord, but attend you to those that arc patent and practical. Make you salvation sure, and that salvation will make you sure of heaven. Be you a child of God, and the Father will take you in due time to the Father’s house. The expression, as we ponder it, suggests — 1. Home Education. We are apt to fancy that on the glorified spirit knowledge is at once to burst in its fullest flood, and inundate the soul with immediate and boundless information. But this is not the analogy of God’s procedure. Doubtless, from the moment of entering the world of light, the soul will be raised above the clouds of error — above prejudice and ignorant prepossession; but it will be the work of a whole eternity to go forward along the vistas of ever-widening inquiry, and come forth into landing-places of ever-larger and ever-wealthier revelation. And just as betwixt the vastest finite understanding and Omniscience there exists the interval of a whole infinitude, so we can easily perceive how to the soaring celestial there is room for boundless aspirings, as stage by stage and platform by platform lie mounts, and still finds that it is but the lowest step to the all-surveying throne — the alpha of that science where no created mind can reach the omega. Bnt just as a kind father takes care that under his eye his children learn what is likely to do them most good, so it will at once “be the instinct of these heavenly alumni and the care of their Father, that they learn the most excellent knowledge. Much of the knowledge, for whose poor grains we tug and strain with ant-like industry in our present state, is of little intrinsic value. As one confesses who had amassed an enormous library, and gleaned a huge amount of rare and curious information: “After all, knowledge is not the first thing needful. Provided we can get contentedly through the world and to heaven at last, the sum of knowledge we may collect on the way is more infinitely insignificant than I like to acknowledge in my own heart.”* But of the knowledge which we acquire under the tuition of the Comforter, and of that knowledge where God Himself is the subject, it is impossible to possess too much. And such is the knowledge of the glorified. God Himself is known. Not comprehended — but apprehended: — much of His procedure understood, none of His perfections misunderstood. The plan of redemption is made plain, and the grace of Immauuel is made so manifest, that it will be almost a regret of the glorified that it was not sooner realised — that they did not trust His tenderness

Southey’s Life, vi. 192.

more, and resort to His atonement more habitually and more joyfully. And the mystery of Providence is made plain: and, like one who has been conducted through a tangled forest by some skilful guide, and who is often tempted to strike out near paths or smooth paths for himself, but who at last, emerging from the thicket and looking down from some lofty eminence on the leafy wilderness, concedes his conductor’s skill; so, escaped from the thicket of this world’s toils and trials, and looking down from the hills of immortality on the way by which the Lord has led us — that road which we often thought so round-about, and often felt so rugged — how affecting and surprising to see that it was the only right way — the only way that would have brought us thither! i That tempting avenue past which I was so roughly hurried, had I entered on it I must have been bemired in worldly lusts, and might have been plunged into perdition. That grassy opening, which I so preferred to the path through pricking thorns, would have led me to the lion’s den. And that near-cut, as I deemed it, would have given me the whole journey to retrace. The rough way turns out to be the only right way.” And so, extending to all the events of mortal life, the story of nations as well as men, there will be no end to the wise counsel and wonderful working of Jehovah, as recorded by the historians of the skies. And then” How great to mingle amities With all the sons of reason, wherever born, Howe’er endow’d! to live free citizens Of universal nature!

To call heaven’s rich unfathomable mines Our own! to rise in science as in bliss, Initiate in the secrets of the skies! To read creation — read its mighty plan In open vision of the Deity! To see all cloud, all shadow, blown remote, And know no mystery, but that of love Divins !*

Now we see through a glass darkly; but then shall we see face to face: now we know in part; then shall we know even as we are known.”

2. The Father’s house suggests Holiness. A person may be constrained to live in a bad neighbourhood; but he will not let bad neighbours live in his house. David lived in a time of great depravity, and Palestine was full of deceitful, dishonest, and violent men: but, setting up house for himself, the monarch said, “I will suffer no wicked thing before mine eyes. He that worketh deceit shall not dwell within my house: he that telleth lies shall not tarry in my sight. Mine eyes shall be upon the faithful of the land, that they may dwell with me: he that walketh in a perfect way, he shall serve me.” And so, in filling up His great house on high, our heavenly Father has laid down that rule, Holiness becometh my house for ever, and without holiness no man shall see the Lord. And He has perfect power to enforce that ordinance. Nothing that defileth or worketh abomination shall ever cross His palace gates; or, in Rutherford’s homely words, “No unclean dog shall ever set foot in the fair streets of the New Jerusalem.’’ And, what is more wonderful still, if ourselves are admitted, even when we go in no sin shall enter. Washed and made white and purified, redeeming blood and the renewing Spirit will secure that heaven shall be holy whosoever he be that enters there. This makes it so good to be there. This should make us so thankful when we have reason to hope that friends of our own are there. Like Jesus, u they have gone into the holy place.” Sometimes, when you send a child away from home, you have fears and misgivings. He is gone to be with good people; but even there you cannot be sure what company he may sometimes encounter. But gone to the Father’s house, you are sure he is safe. There there is nothing to hurt or destroy; and there he will have no company but what will do him good. And, looking forward to the place, if you have got that new nature to which sin is the sorest burden and sanctity the sweetest luxury, how pleasant the thought, that in a little while you shall be done with evil! Yet a little while, and I shall have sinned my last sin. Yet a little while, and I shall have prayed my last wandering prayer, and kept my last cold imunion. Yet a little while, and even from me the Ever-Blessed shall receive praise without murmuring, and love without alloy. Yet a little while, and temptation cannot touch me, and even if Satan could come he would find nothing in me. Yet a little while, and I shall be in the climes of purity, in the home of goodness — in that native land of excellence to which, if not all the talent and all the learning, at least all the piety and all the virtue, of the universe are tending, — as every particle of vital air returns to the atmosphere, as every drop of rain will again be found in the ocean.

3. The Father’s house suggests the Father’s presence. This world is not the Father’s house; but it is the school in which He has some of His children training for glory. A severe school to many of them, where they have often bread of affliction and tears in great measure — a severe school, where some of the tutors appointed by the great Teacher are stern masters, and where the lessons are hard to learn. And what makes the Gymnasium of Meshech so dreary is, not only the bad companions, but the rareness of the Father’s visits. God is a stranger in this world, and it is not often that even His own children are cheered by His conscious presence.

“But there they see His face,
And never, never sin;
And from the rivers of His grace
Drink endless pleasures in.”

Here believers often complain that they cannot get access to their God. They try to pray, but feel as if He did not regard. They cry in the night season, but He heareth not. But there there is no withdrawment of His presence, no hiding of His face, no frown, no forsaking: but all is perennial peace — for they are made exceeding glad with the light of His countenance for evermore.

4. The Father’s house suggests the Family; — not only the filial but the fraternal affection — not only love to God but love to one another. In that better country God will be better loved, because better known; and our believing brethren will be better loved, because they are become more lovely and we ourselves more loving. There are many good men whom here on earth it is arduous to love. They are whimsical; they are taciturn; they are opinionative and dogmatical; they are imperious and self-indulgent; they are severe and satirical; they are beset with strong prejudices or evil tempers; and their excellence is as inaccessible as the fragrance of a thorny rose or the nectar inside an adamant shell. But in that genial region, the spirits of the just are perfect. Jacob is not wily, Thomas is not obstinate, Peter is not precipitate; but, like those plants which grow tall enough to leave all their youthful spines behind them — like those wines which grow old enough to outlive their original austerity — the flaws, the failures of earthly piety all have vanished in that perfect world.

But apart from the growing gainliness of the celestial citizens, the grace of love has also grown. Freed from the false fire which so oft intermingled with it in former days, it becomes a pure and God-like affection, going forth to all that is holy, and acquiring fresh force constantly from the exhaustless aliment of heaven. And whilst capable of specific attachments and congenial communings, it has all the confidence of the widest good-will; no shyness to the new-come denizen — no stiffness, no mien of strangerhood, to the redeemed of other countries; — but assuring looks and words of welcome to all who, from east and west and north and south, arrive and sit down with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob in the kingdom of God. 5. May we not add, that the many mansions suggest the many occupations? The earthly temple Jesus sometimes called his Father’s house; and within the precincts of that temple there were many chambers where priests and Levites and singers lodged, and perhaps such devout worshippers as Simeon and Anna, who departed not from the temple night and day, serving God.* And so says the Saviour: — ‘As all around this earthly fane there are many residences, so in the heavenly temple there is accommodation not for one or two — not for myself alone, its great High Priest, who am now departing thither; but there are many mansions — there is space for a mul-

•Dr J. Brown, “Discourses of Our Lord,” iii. 27- fitude which no man can number; room enough, I assure you, for all of you, and for all who shall believe through your word. And as, amidst your love to myself and my Father, you may be conscious of different tastes and aptitudes, so there shall still be scope for these. You shall all dwell in my Father’s house; but just as among the occupants of these temple-chambers, there are some whose special business it is to offer sacrifice, whilst others lead the psalmody — there are some who read the law, and others who trim the lamps and deck the tables: so in my Father’s house are many mansions, for there arc many ministers: — a several office for each, and room for all.’ God has given to each his talent and his temperament, and in the Church below He has made this diversity of gifts not a discord but a symphony — a source not of confusion and disorder, but of beauty and stable symmetry. And so, doubtless, will it continue on high. The lily, when you rescue it from among the thorns, or when from the windy storm and the tempest you take it into the sunny shelter, does not become a palm or a cedar, but only a fairer, sweeter lily than before. And a topaz or a hire of earth, if taken to build the walls of the Jerusalem, does not become an emerald or an amethyst, but remains a topaz or a sapphire still. And, translated from the tarnish and attrition of time, it is easy to understand how each glorified nature will retain in a higher sphere its original fitness and inherent affinities; and how for the many mansions there will not only be many occupants, hut every occupant may have his own office even there. It is easy to imagine that Isaac still wfll meditate, and that the sweet singer of Israel shall neither be at a loss for a golden harp, nor good matter in a song. It is easy to imagine that Paul will find some outlet for his eloquence, and Peter for his energy; and not easy to conceive that John the divine will be the same as Philip or Matthew, or Martha the busy housekeeper the same as Mary the adoring listener. To every precious stone there remains its several tint; to every star its own glory; to every denizen of the Church above his own office; and to every member of the heavenly family his own mansion.

Our meditation has been of the Father’s house; and the great concern with each of us should be, Am I going thither? Heaven is the Father’s house — but the Father’s house is the children’s house. Am I a child of God? Can I say, Abba, Father? Have I that love to God, that where He is it would be my wish and joy to be? It is the holy place. Would a holy place please me? Do I delight in holy employments now? Do I love the Sabbath-day? Do I love the house of God below? Do I love my brothers and sisters — those meek and humble ones with whom God’s great house is filling? And am I on the way? or, rather, am I in the way? Jesus is the way to Heaven. Am I in Christ? Is He to me “the hope of glory?” Do I seek to be found in Him, not having my own righteousness, but His?

If through grace you have good hope of this — if you believe in God and in Jesus — then cherish home-like feelings towards the Father’s house. Like an ocean pilgrim who espies a speck of dimness, a wedge of vapour, rising from the deep, and in the cold evening he scarcely cares to be told that it is land — chill and sleepy, he sees no comfort for him in a little heap of distant haze — but, after a night’s sound slumber, springing to the deck, the hazy hummock has spread out into a green and glittering shore, with the stir and floating streamers of a holiday in its villages, and with early summer in the gale which morning fetches from off its meadow flowers: so many a believer, even, has far-off and frosty sensations towards the Better Land; and it is not till refreshed from time’s tumult — till waking up in some happy Sabbath’s spiritual-mindedness, or skirting the celestial coast in tha proximity of sickness and decline — that the dim speck projects into a solid shore, bright with blessed life, and fragrant with empyreal air.

“Thou city of my God,

Home of my heart, how near,
At times, to faith’s foreseeing eye
Thy pearly gates appear!

“Oh, then my spirit pants
To reach the land I love,
The fair inheritance of saints,
Jerusalem above.”

And as with its remoteness, so with its attractions. You might imagine a man who had come far across the seas to visit a father whom he had not seen for many years, and in a house which he had never seen at all. And, coming to that part of the country, he espies a mansion with which he is nowise prepossessed, so huge and heavy does it look: but he is told that this is the dwelling, and a gruff ungainly porter opens for him the grand avenue gate; — and no sooner does he find himself in the vestibule than a home-glow tells him he is right, and his elder brother hastens out to meet him, and conducts him to his chamber, and soon ushers him into the presence of friends whom he is amazedand overjoyed to meet. So, in the thought that we must put off these tabernacles and pass away we know not whither, there is something from which nature secretly recoils, and which gives to the earthward side of the Father’s house a blank and heavy look; and at the avenue gate Death, the grim porter, none of us can like. But still it is the Father’s house; and by preparing an apartment for us, and decorating it with His own hands, and by introducing us to dear kindred already there, our Elder Brother will do all He can to make it Home.