Christ the Revealer of Sin
“Thou hast set our secret sins in the light of Thy countenance.”’ — Psa, xe. 8.
HE secret sins here spoken of are sins secret
from myself. They may be quite visible to others. It is a very difficult thing to “see ourselves as others see us.” One would think it would be otherwise. We often say of a man, “He knows best his own mind.” But that is not true of any man. A man knows everything better than himself. I travel over the whole world before I reach my own home. I gaze on every fire before I stand by my own fireside. I look at the lights of Nature; they reveal much, but they do not reveal me. I survey the lights of history; they mirror my own soul, but I do not recognise myself. I study the lights of society; I see a picture of my own sins, but I say, “What bad people these are; I am glad I am not like them!” We often breathe the prayer, “O send forth Thy light and Thy truth!” But I do not think we know the light we most need. We imagine that our greatest obscurity is the curtain hanging over our future. No; it is the curtain hanging over our present. It is not the throne of God’s judgment that wants unveiling; it is the throne of our judgment — the sight of our own sin. No man can see his sin by looking at it; he can only see it by looking away from it. Only by the vision of purity can I learn my impurity. I never find that I am in rags until my Father brings forth the best robe. I never know that I am in discord until my Father’s house reveals its music. I never realise that I am hungry until my Father says, “Let us eat and drink and be merry!” I never am conscious that I am a prodigal until the voice of my Father cries, “This my son was dead and is alive again, was lost and is found!”
Therefore, O Son of Man, I first need Thee. Only in Thy rest shall I learn what it is to be weary and heavy-laden. Do not let me think that I must feel my sin before I come to Thee! Do not let me wait till I can be conscious of my poverty! Let my first consciousness be of Thee! In the light of Thy countenance alone, shall I see my sin. How shall I learn my rags except by Thy radiance! There is no storm heard upon my sea until Thy footsteps touch the wave. There are those who say I must feel myself to be fallen. Yes, but I cannot feel my fall until Thou hast lifted me. I saw a child trip one day and come to the ground. It never meant to cry; but somebody lifted it, and there followed a great shower of self-pity. So is it with mysc ul. It is when Thou raisest me that I feel my pain. It is when Thou warmest me that I feel my cold. It ‘is when Thou greetest me that I feel my solitude. It is beside Thy waters that I thirst. It is in sight of Thy manna that I hunger. It is before Thy beauty that I tremble. It is in front of Thy smile that I weep. It is in view of Thy love that I loathe myself. It is Thy pardon that pierces me; it is Thy Cross that crucifies me; it is Thy redemption that rends me; it is Thy mercy that makes me remorseful. My penitence shall be the gift from Thy forgiveness; I shall learn my sins in the light of Thy countenance.