The Elite of the Human Race

Revelation xiv. 4

“These are they which follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth.” Such are the words in which St. John describes the hundred and forty-four thousand redeemed souls who stand on Mount Zion. There is a point which I wish to emphasise at the outset. These hundred and forty-four thousand are not, in St. John’s view, the whole number of the redeemed. They are the elite among that number — the select souls, the picked men, the feet which stand upon an eminence — Mount Zion. St. John himself declares as much in this very passage; he calls them “the first-fruits.” He is not, in my opinion, thinking of the order of time, but of merit — that ground of precedence to which St. Paul alludes when he says, “Every man shall rise in his own order.”

And, you will observe, this is no new thing with the seer of Patmos. The passage be¬ fore us is a refrain of that other passage, Revelation vii. 13: “Who are these which are arrayed in white robes? and whence came they?” The men there described as arrayed in white robes are not the whole of the inhabitants of heaven; they are those “in front of the throne.” I think the simile which would best convey St. John’s idea to a modern mind, would be that of a brilliant assembly in which each is looking through an opera-glass, and asking, “Who are these?” We may think of St. John putting himself in the place of one of these spectators. He turns to different parts of the building. He asks, “Who are these in the side gallery?” He is told, “These are they who have got in, just by a little angle of the truth.” He asks, “Who are these at the back?” He is answered, “These are they who got in at the very end of the day.” He inquires, “Who are these in the centre?” He is informed, “These are they who had always a foot in both worlds, and struggled between the two.” He puts a final question: “Who are these in the front seats — those who have an immediate view of the throne?” He receives the reply, “These are they who went forward immovable, unchangeable, who from dawn to dark devoted themselves to a life of sacrifice. Theirs was the faith that faltered not, the love that altered not, the purity that paltered not; therefore they have the reserved seats in the general assembly of the firstborn; they are before the throne.”

I hold, then, that this is the same class which reappears in the passage before us as “Those who follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth.” It is the intensity of sacrifice which is described — the imitation of Christ in all spheres and in all circumstances. St. John says that these consistent and persistent imitators of the Christian sacrifice are those who will occupy the most commanding position — the typical eminence of Mount Zion. I understand this to be what St. John means when he speaks of the first resurrection, what

St. Paul means when he says, “The dead in Christ shall rise first.” To both St. Paul and St. John the thought is not that of time, but of merit; first means foremost. The dead in Christ are those who are hid with Christ in God, those who have buried self in love, and obliterated their own personality in a sacrifice of will. Therefore they have come to the front; they have a direct view of the throne; they stand upon Mount Zion.

You will observe, however, that this eminence is a result, not a reward. It is no more a reward than the eminence of a great poet is a reward. His reward is the perfection of his poetry; theirs is the perfecting of their service. They have begun by following the Lamb; their reward is to “follow the Lamb whithersoever He goeth,” incessantly, continually. Here again the parallel is with that other passage in the seventh chapter: “These are they that came out of great tribulation; therefore they serve Him day and night in His temple.” The serving day and night is the parallel to the following the

Lamb whithersoever He goeth. And the idea in each case is the same: “In the present system of things they have subjected themselves to a temporary crushing of will; therefore, in the completed state their reward will be to have this subjection of will made chronic and habitual — to serve day and night. In the life of this age they have followed the Lamb a few miles from home; their reward in the age to come will be the power to follow Him ‘ whithersoever He goeth!” The popular view is that the sufferings of this life are sent to prepare us for heaven by way of contrast. That is not St. John’s opinion. If men are asked now to follow the Lamb through a special path, it is that in the future they may follow Him through all paths. If the surrender of the will had nothing to do with heaven, it would be folly to practise it on earth. Contrast can never prepare one for any future. If you wished to make your son a geographical explorer, would you train him by keeping all maps out ot his way? If you desired him to be a poet, would you prepare iy2 THE ELITE OF THE HUMAN RACE

him by hiding his Tennyson? The common theory of compensation is absurd — “We weep now; we shall laugh yet,” “We go on foot now; we shall ride yet,” “We have vile raiment now; we shall have diamonds yet.” And why is it absurd? Because on this principle the weeping and the walking and the vile raiment are so much waste time. So far from preparing for their contraries, they are retarding that preparation. Sorrow unfits for sensuous joy; the longer it lasts, it unfits the more. If heaven be a state of animal happiness, the worst education for it is to follow the Lamb. But if to follow the Lamb be the essence of the life of heaven, if the perfection of the blessed life be the con¬ vergence of all paths into this main road, then the steps of tribulation are the steps of the ascent of man. It is by the service of the moment that we ripen for the serving day and night — the following of the Lamb whithersoever He goeth.

I return now to the point from which I started. These hundred and forty-four thousand are not the complete number of the redeemed. They are a special class, the possessors of a particular quality, which places them above their fellows — on Mount Zion. What is that quality? Wherein consists that element of force which has lifted these men to the top of the hill? In what respect are they distinguished from the other heavenly forces? I think St. John himself enables us to answer that question. It seems to me that in his

visions of the coming age there is seen the

operation of three distinct forces — those which go before, those which produce rest, and those which follow. Each has its representation in the scenes of the great allegory.

The first is represented by the angel of the everlasting gospel flying over the face of heaven. It is the life of the pioneers of

progress — of those who go before their fellows towards the promised land. They are the John Baptists of their age — in advance of

their day, and therefore much alone. The second class is represented by the souls under the altar in Revelation vi. 9. They are eager 194 THE ELITE OF THE HUMAN RACE

for enterprise, but they are commanded to wait The obedience to such a command itself requires mental force. They are in the position of many an invalid with whom the spirit is willing, but the flesh weak, and to whom the voice keeps saying, “Thy time is not yet come.” The third class is represented by those in the present passage. They are the opposite of the first. They do not lead, but follow. They are not pioneers, but imitators. They do not fly in advance with the solitary angel; they keep on the ground, and come after. These are they whom St. John places on Mount Zion; and it is worth while to notice their peculiarities. There are three things to be observed about them — their mark, their sphere, and their boundary. Let us look at each of these.

First. Their mark is sacrifice — the Lamb. They are distinctively the self-effacing souls of humanity. Perhaps it may occur to us to ask, What is there distinctive in this, from a Christian point of view? Is not sacrifice the condition of all Christian life? Is it not itself the mark of the Lord Jesus? Yes; but there are two ways in which a man can get it — by nature or by grace. There are some men who are born with the sacrificial spirit; there are others who acquire it by suffering. No man can study human experience without being impressed with the fact that there are important differences in the nature of sacrificial power. We see these differences best in the stages of early life. We speak of some boys as being well-bred and polite; they will rise instinctively and offer you a chair. In truth, however, it comes oftener from the birth than the breeding — rather from the spirit of sacrifice than from the cultivation of politeness. Just as there are some who are endowed with an ear for music, there are some who are endowed with a bent for helpfulness. St. Paul says that he was a Christian from the very hour of his birth. He means that from his earliest years the spirit of sacrifice was in him. And what St. Paul says of himself may be said of many. There are Christians who, like poets, are born, not made. It is the difference between a gift and a grace, between an election and a call. They come into the world with their mission written on their hearts, and when the outward occasion arrives they fly to it as a bird to its nest.

So is it with these men on Mount Zion. They are those to whom sacrifice is innate, to whom it comes naturally — as a gift of birth. I think this idea is distinctly brought out in verse 3. We are there told of a song which is sung by the harpers, and there is added this remarkable statement: “No man could learn that song but the hundred and forty and four thousand.” What is the meaning of these words? Is it not clearly this: that to learn easily the joy of sacrifice we must be born to it? To those who get it by struggle it comes at first as a pain, not a song. There are some with whom praise is the last thing. The Divine life comes to them as a foreign land, in which there is no water. They feel as if God had prepared for them a table in the wilderness — a feast in which they are not at home. It is a long time before they can say, “My cup runneth over.” The religious life has come to them as a duty, a task, a burden. But the men of Mount Zion have not reached the spirit of sacrifice by struggle. They have not reached it at all; it has reached them. It can say to them, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you.” They have been born to it, not bred to it. It is as much a part of their nature as their love of music. They require to learn music, like others; but the learning of it is a joy. Even so, they get their prescribed duty, like others; but it is almost immediately transfigured — it be¬ comes a privilege, a delight, a song. The half of the lesson is already within them; their sacrifice becomes a joy.

Second. We come now from their mark to their sphere. It is expressed in two words: “They follow.” The idea is that their position is not in the van, but in the rear, of the Christian army. So far as appearance goes, they are the farthest behind in the 198 THE ELITE OF THE HUMAN RACE

march. They are the ambulance corps of the forces. They have nothing to do with the fighting, no seeming share in the glory. Their task is to come in where the glory goes out. They have to receive those who have been disabled in the fight, and who are brought, wounded and bleeding, to the rear. Their work is essentially one of repair, of putting right. They receive the box of ointment after it has been broken. They have to gather together its shattered fragments after its fragrance has been dissipated. They have to recruit the weary strength, to stimulate the fainting energy, to bind the bleeding heart. It is a work that does not show. It is not seen by those outside the camp. It brings no honour or glory.

And yet, these are the men of Mount Zion. These are they who stand upon an eminence — are distinguished even among the great. “God shall be thy rearward,” are words which have become familiar to every Christian ear. They have their special application in this vision of St. John. It is in the rear of this celestial army that God supremely dwells; His kingdom is everywhere, but His metropolis is here. Here, in the ambulance corps of humanity, amid the camp-followers of the great army, is the work He loves the best. The last judgment reverses previous judgments. Earth had placed them at the back; heaven puts them in the front. Earth had assigned them the valley; heaven gives them the mountain. Earth had depreciated their powers; heaven says there was a song which they alone could learn.

Third. This brings us to the final peculiarity of these men of the mountain — their boundary. The boundary of the Christian life has always been a subject of the greatest interest. Some have pronounced it narrow, some wide. The truth seems to be that it is varied by the amount of Christianity. The largest boundary is assigned to the men of the mountain; they follow “whithersoever the Lamb goeth.” The idea is that to them there is no local boundary at all. Their boundary is not one of space, but of spirit. They are at liberty to go wherever they can carry, or can find, the spirit of sacrifice. Their test of permission is not locality, but motive. If they came to the communion-table with a worldly mind, they would feel themselves debarred from it; if they came to a place of entertainment with a helpful mind, they would be told to enter. There is, to them, as sharp a separation between God and the world as there is to any other Christian; but it is not a separation in place or in time; it is in the thoughts of the heart. Their world is selfish¬ ness, wherever it may be found — in the church as in the market-place. Their world is not got rid of by locomotion, but by emotion — not by fleet wings, but by self-surrendering wishes. There is no spot which may not be Vanity Fair; there is none which may not be the house of God, the very gate of heaven.

For is not this latter point the express teaching of Christ’s historical gospel? What is the life of Jesus but a demonstration of the fact that the Lamb may go everywhere — that the sacrificial cross of Christ may be raised on any soil? There is no sphere of life known to me which has been left out from the scene of the gospel ministry. From the marriage feast of Cana to the shadows of Calvary, we may say, with the apostle of the Gentiles, that Christ has filled all things. There is not a phase of worldly experience which He has not made the home of sacrifice. The years of childhood have been consecrated by Nazareth. The visions of youth have been glorified by Jordan. The choice of manhood has been vindicated by temptation. Every form of fortune has been wrestled with and blessed — festivity and mourning, the city and the desert, the masses and the individual, the mystical and the commonplace, the life of nations and the life of the fireside, the day of judgment for all men, and the day of a picnic in the wilderness to refresh a famished few. Even the most unlikely phase is not omitted — the scene of intellectual perplexity, “Now is My soul troubled”■ — a scene which is conquered, not by solution of the problem, but by the cry of self-surrender, “Father, glorify Thy name.” To follow whithersoever He goeth is to follow Him everywhere, for there is no spot where He has not gone. He has reconciled the world unto Himself by showing that the world, and not the flight from it, is the altar of sacrifice.