The Wandering Bird

“Without Christ. — Ephesians ii. 12.

TTTTE shall have two things to consider this evening — the misery of our fast estate, and (he great deliverance which God has wrought for us. I. As for the misery of our past estate, be it known unto you that, in common with the rest of mankind, believers were once without Christ. No tongue can tell the depth of wretchedness that is hid in this half a sentence. There is no poverty like it; no indigence or destitution that is comparable to it; for those who die so, there is no outlook, but dark desertion, dire despair, irretrievable ruin: all sorrow, no succor. Without Christ! If this be the description of some of you, we need not affright you with talk about the fires of hell; there is surely peril enough in the privation to startle you, when you are in such a desperate state as to be without Christ. Oh, what terrible evils lie clustering thick within these two words!

The man who is without Christ 2s without any of those spiritual blessings which only Christ can hestoio. Christ is the life of the believer, but the man who is without Christ is dead in trespasses and sins.

There he lies; let us stand and weep over his corpse. It is decent and clean, and well laid out, but life is absent, and life being absent, there is no knowledge, no feeling, no power. What can we do? Shall we take the word of God and. preach to this dead sinner? We are bidden to do so, and therefore we will attempt it; but so long as he is without Christ no result will follow, any more than when Elisha’s servant laid the staff upon the child — there was no noise, nor sound, nor hearing. As long as that sinner is without Christ we may give him ordinances, if we dare; we may pray for him, we may keep him under the sound of the ministry, but everything will be in vain. Till thou, 0 quickening Spirit, come to that sinner, he will still be dead in trespasses and sins. Till Jesus is revealed to him there can be no life.

So, too, Christ is the light of the world. Light is the gift of Christ. “In him was light, and the light was the light of men.” Men sit in darkness until Jesus appears. The gloom is thick and dense; not sun, nor moon, nor star appeareth, and there can be no light to illumine the understanding, the affections, the conscience. Man has no power to get light. He may strike the damp match of reason, but it will not yield him a clear flame. The candle of superstition, with its tiny glare, will but expose the darkness in which he is wrapped. Rise, morning star! Come, Jesus, come! Thou art the sun of righteousness; and healing is beneath thy wings. Without Christ there is no light of true spiritual knowledge, no light of true spiritual enjoyment, no light in which the brightness of truth can be seen, or the warmth of fellowship proved- The soul, like the men of Napthali, sits in darkness, and seeth no light.

Without Christ there is no peace. See that poor soul hunted by the dogs of hell. It flies swift as the wind, but faster far do the hunters pursue. It seeks a covert yonder in the pleasures of the world, but the baying of the hell-hounds aifright it in the festive haunts. It seeks to toil up the mountain of good works, but its legs are all too weak to bear it beyond the oppressor’s rule. It doubles; it changes its tack; it goes from right to left, but the hell-dogs are too swift of foot, and too strong of wind to lose their prey, and till Jesus Christ shall open his bosom for that poor hunted thing to hide itself within, it shall have no peace.

Without Christ there is no rest. The wicked are like the troubled sea, which cannot rest, and only Jesus can say to that sea — “Peace, be still.”

Without Christ there is no safety. The vessel must fly before the gale, for it has no anchor on board; it may dash upon the rocks, for it has no chart, and no pilot. Come what may, it is given up to the mercy of wind and waves. Safety it cannot know without Christ. But let Christ come on board that soul, and it may laugh at all the storms of earth, and e’en the whirlwinds which the Prince of the power of the air may raise need not confound it; but without Christ there is no safety for it.

Without Christ, again, there is no hope. Sitting wrecked upon this desert rock, the lone soul looks far away, but marks nothing that can give it joy., If, perchance, it fancies that a sail is in the distance lit is soon undeceived. The poor soul is thirsty, and around it flows only a sea of brine, soon to change to an ocean of fire. It looks upward, and there is an angry God; downward, and there are yawning gulfs; on the right hand, and there are accusing sounds; on the left hand, and there are tempting fiends. It is all lost! lost! lost! without Christ, utterly lost, and until Christ comes not a single beam of hope can make glad that anxious eye.

Without Christ, beloved, remember that all the religious acts of men are vanity. What are they but mere air-bags, having nothing in them whatever that God can accept? There is the semblance of worship, — the altar, the victim, the wood laid in order, — and the votaries bow the knee, or prostrate their bodies, but Christ alone can send the fire of heaven’s acceptance. Without Christ, the off’ering like that of Cain’s, shall lie upon the stones, but it shall never rise a fragrant smoke, accepted by the God of heaven. Without Christ your church-goings are a form of slavery, your chapel-meetings a bondage. - Without Christ your prayers are but empty wind, your repentances are wasted tears, your alms-givings and your good deeds are but a coating of thin veneer to hide your base iniquities. Your professions are white-washed sepulchres, fair to look upon, but inwardly full of rottenness. Without Christ your religion is dead, carrupt, a stench, a nuisance before God — a thing of abhorrence, for where there is no Christ there is no life in any devotion, nothing in it for God to see that can possibly please him. And this, mark you, is a true description, not of some, but of all who are without Christ. You moral people without Christ you are lost as much as the immoral. You rich and respectable people, without Christ you will be as surely damned as the prostitute that walks the streets at midnight. Without Christ, though you should heap up your charitable donations, endow your almshouses and hospitals, yea, though you should give your bodies to be burned, no merit would be imputed to you. All these things would profit you nothing. Without Christ, e’en if you might be raised on the wings of flaming zeal, or pursue your eager course with the enthusiasm of a martyr, you shall yet prove to be but the slave of your own passion, and the victim of your own folly. Unsanctitied and unblest, you must then be shut out of heaven, and banished from the presence of God. Without Christ you are destitute of every benefit which he, and he alone, can bestow.

Without Christ implies, of course, that you are without the benefit of oR those gracious offices of Christ tvJiich are so Tiecessary to the sons of men, you have no true prophet. You may pin your faith to the sleeve of man, and be deceived. You may be orthodox in your creed, but unless you have Christ in your heart, you have no hope of glory. Without Christ truth itself will prove a terror to you. Like Balaam, your eyes may be open while your life is alienated. Without Christ that very cross which does save some will become to you as a galloius upon which your soul shall die. Without Christ you have no priest to atone or to intercede on your behalf. There is no fountain in which you can wash away your guilt; no passover blood which you can sprinkle on your lintel to turn aside the destroying angel; no smoking altar of incense for you, no smiling God sitting between the cherubim. Without Christ you are an alien from everything which the priesthood can procure for your welfare. Without Christ you have no shepherd to tend, no King to help you; you cannot call in the day of trouble upon one who is strong to deliver. The angels of God, who are the standing army of King Jesus, are your enemies, and not your alHes. Without Christ Providence is working your ill, and not your good. Without Christ you have no advocate to plead your cause in heaven; you have no representative to stand up yonder and represent you, and prepare a place for you. Without Christ you are as sheep without a shepherd; with out Christ you are a body without a head; without Christ you are miserable orphans without a father, and your widowed soul is without a husband. Without Christ you are without a Saviour; how will you do? what will become of you when you find out the value of salvation at the last pinch, the dreary point of despair? and without a friend in heaven you must needs be if you are without Christ. To sura up all, you are without anything that can make life blessed, or death happy. Without Christ, though you be rich as Croesus, and famous as Alexander, and wise as Socrates, yet are you naked and poor and miserable, for you lack him by whom are all things, and for whom are all things, and who is himself all in all.

Surely this might be enough to arouse the conscience of the most heedless. But ah! without any of the blessings which Christ brings, and to miss all the good offices which Christ fills — this is only to linger on the side issues! The imminent peril is to be without Christ himself. Do you see there the Saviour in human form — God made flesh dwelling among us? He loves his people, and came to earth to wipe out an iniquity which had stained them most vilely, and to work out a righteousness which should cover them most gloriously; but without Christ that living Saviour is nothing to you. Do you see him led away as a sheep to the slaughter, fastened to the cruel wood, bleeding, dying? Without Christ you are without the virtue of that great sacrifice; you are without the merit of that atoning blood. Do you see him lying in the tomb of Joseph of Arimathea, asleep in death? That sleep is a burial of all the sins of his people, but without Christ your sins are not atoned for; your transgressions are yet uuburied; they walk the earth; they shall go before you to judgment; they shall clamor for your condemnation; they shall drag you down without hope. Without Christ, remember, you have no share in his resurrection. Bursting the bonds of death, you too shall rise, but not to newness of life, nor yet to glory, for shame and everlasting contempt shall be your portion if you be without Christ. See him as he mounts on high; he rides in his triumphal car through the streets of heaven; he scatters gifts for men, but without Christ there are none of those gifts for you. There are no blessings for those who are without Christ. He sits on that exalted throne, and pleads and reigns forever, but without Christ you have no part in his intercession, and you shall have no share in his glory. He is coming. Hark, the trumpet rings! My ear prophetic seems to catch the strain! He comes, surrounded by majestic pomp, and all his saints shall reign with him, but without Christ you can have no part nor lot in all that splendor. He goes back to his Father, and surrenders his kingdom, and his people are forever safe with him. Without Christ there shall be none to wipe away the tears from your eyes, no one to lead you to the fountain of living waters, no hand to give you a palm branch, no smile to make your immortality blessed. Oh! my dear hearers, I cannot tell you what unutterable abysses of wretchedness and misery are comprised here within the fullness of the meaning of these dreadful words — without Christ.

At this present hour, if you are without Christ, you lack the very essence of good, by reason of which your choicest privileges are an empty boast instead of a substantial boon. Without Christ, oil the ordinances and means of grace are nothing worth. Even this precious Book, that might be weighed with diamonds — and he that was wise would choose the Book and leave the precious stones — even this sacred volume is of no benefit to joxx. You may have Bibles in your houses, as I trust you all have, but what is the Bible but a dead letter without Christ? Ah I I would you could all say what a poor woman once said. “1 have Christ here,*’ as she put her hand on the Bible, “and I have Christ here,” as she put her hand on her heart, “and I have Christ there,” as she raised her eyes towards heaven; but if you have not Christ in the heart you will not find Christ in the Book, for he is discovered there in his sweetness and his blessedness and his excellence only by those who know him, and love hira in their hearts. Do not get the idea that a certain quantity of Bible-reading, and particular times spent in repeating prayers, and regular attendance at a place of worship, and the systematic contribution of a guinea or so to the support of public worship and private charities will insure the salvation of your souls. No, you must be born again. And that you cannot be; for it is not possible that you could have been born again if you are still living without Christ. To have Christ is the indispensable condition of entering heaven. If you have him, though compassed about with a thousand infirmities, you shall yet see the brightness of the eternal glory; but if you have not Christ, alas for all your toil and the wearisome slavery of your religion, you can but weave a righteousness of your own, which shall disappoint your hope, and incur the displeasure of God.

And without Christ, dear friends, there comes the solemn reflection that ere long ye shall perish. Of that I do not like to talk, but I would like you to think of it. Without Christ you may live, young man — though, mark, you shall miss the richest joys of life. Without Christ you may live, hale strong man in middle age — though mark, without him, you shall miss the greatest support amidst your troubles. Without Christ you may live, old man; and lean upon your staff, content with the earth into which you are so soon to drop, though mark you, you shall lose the sweetest consolation which your weakness could have found. But remember, man, thou art soon to die. It matters not how strong thou art; death is stronger than thou, and he will pull thee down, even as the stag-hound drags down his victim, and then, “how wilt thou do in the swellings of Jordan,” without Christ? How wilt thou do when the eyes begin to close, without Christ? How wilt thou do, sinner, when the death-rattle is in thy throat, without Christ? When they prop thee up with pillows, when they stand weeping round thine expiring form, when the pulse grows faint and few, when thou hast to lift the veil, and stand disembodied before the dreadful eyes of an angry God, how wilt thou do without Christ? And when the judgment-trump shall wake thee from thy slumber in the tomb, and body and soul shall stand together at that last and dread assize, in the midst of that tremendous crowd, sinner, how wilt thou do without Christ? When the reapers come forth to gather in the harvest of God, and the sickles are red with blood, and the vintage is cast into the wine press of his wrath, and it is trodden until the blood runs forth up to the horse’s girdles — how wilt thou do then, I conjure thee, without Christ? Oh! sinner, I pray thee let these words sound in thy ears till they ring into thy heart. I would like you to think of them to-morrow, and the next day, and the next, AVithout Christ! I would like to make thee think of dying, of being judged, of being condemned, without Christ! May God in his mercy enable thee to see thy state, and fly to him who is able to save, even unto the uttermost, all them that come unto God by him. Christ is to be had for the asking. Christ is to be had for the receiving. Stretch out thy withered hand and take him; trust him, and he will be thine evermore, and thou shalt be with him where he is, in an eternity

II. Having thus reviewed the misery of our past estate, let us endeavor with the little time we have left, to excite the thankfulness of God’s people for what the Lord has done for them.

We are not without Christ now, but, let me ask you, who are believers, where you would have been now without Christ? As for some of you, you might, indeed you would, have been to-night in the ale-house or gin-palace. You would have been with the boisterous crew that make merriment on the Lord’s day; you know you would, for “such were some of you.” You might have been even worse; you might have been in the harlot’s house; you might have been violating the laws of man as well as the laws of God, “for even such” were some of you, but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified. Where might you not have been without Christ? You might have been in hell; you might have been shut out forever from all mercy, condemned to eternal banishment from the presence of God. I think the Indian’s picture is a very fair one of where we should have been without Christ. When asked what Christ had done for him, he picked up a worm, put it on the ground, and made a ring of straw and wood round it, which he set alight. As the wood began to glow the poor worm began to twist and wriggle in agony, whereupon he stooped down, took it gently up with his finger and said — “That is what Jesns did for me; I was surrounded, without power to help myself, by a ring of dreadful fire that must have been my ruin, but his pierced hand lifted me out of the burning.” Think of that, Christians, and as your hearts melt, come to his table, and praise him that you are not now without Christ.

Then think lokat Ids blood has done for you. Take only one thing out of a thousand. It has put away your many, many sins. You were without Christ, and your sins stood like yonder mountain, whose black and rugged cliff threatens the very skies. There fell a drop of Jesu’s blood upon it, and it all vanished in a moment. The sins of all your days had gone in an instant by the application of the precious blood! Oh! bless Jehovah’s name, that you can say —

“Now freed from sin, I walk at large,
My Saviour’s blood my full discharge;
Content at his dear feet I lay,
A sinner saved, and homage pay.”

Bethink you, too, now that you have Christ, of the loay in which he came and made you partaker of himself Oh! how long he stood in the cold, knocking at the door of your heart. You would not have him; you despised him; you resisted him; you kicked against him; you did, as it were, spit in his face, and put him to open shame to be rid of him. Yet he would have you, and so, overcoming all your objections, and overlooking all your unworthiness, at length he rescued you and avouched you to be his own.

Consider, beloved, what might have been your case had he left you to your own free agency. You might have had his blood on your head in aggravation of your guilt. Instead of that you have got his blood applied to your heart, in token of your pardon. You know right well what a difference that makes. Oh! that was a dreadful cry in the streets of Jerusalem, “His blood be on us, and on our children,” and Jerusalem’s streets flowing with gore witnessed how terrible a thing it is to have Christ’s blood visited on his enemies. But, beloved, you have that precious blood for the cleansing of your conscience. It has sealed your acceptance, and you can, therefore, rejoice in the ransom he has paid, and the remission you have received with joy unspeakable and full of glory.

And I would not have you forget the vast expense ivhicli it cost to procure this priceless boon. Christ could not have been yours had he lived in heaven. He must come down to earth, and even then he could not be fully yours till he had bled and died. Oh! the dreadful portals through which Christ had to pass before he could find his way to you! He finds you now quite easily, but before he could come to you he must himself pass through the grave. Think of that, and be astonished!

And why are you not left to he loithout Christ? I suppose there are some persons whose minds naturally incline towards the doctrines of free will. I can only say that mine inclines as naturally toward the doctrines of sovereign grace. I cannot understand the reason why T am saved, except upon the ground that God would have it so. I cannot, if I look ever so earnestly, discover any kind of reason in myself why / should be a partaker of divine grace. If I am not to-night without Christ, it is only because Christ Jesus would have his will with me, and that will was that 1 should be with him where he is, and should share his glory. I can put the crown nowhere but upon the head of him whose mighty grace has saved me from going down into the pit.

Beloved, let us mention one thing more out of the thousand things which we must leave unsaid. ‘Remember loliat you have got to-night now that you have got Christ. No, no, no, do not be telling me what you have not got. You have not got a certain income, you say; you have not got a competence; you have not got wealth; you have not got friends; you have not got a comfortable house. No, but you have got your Saviour; you have got Christ; and what does that mean? ‘’He that spared not his own Son, but freely delivered him up for us all, how shall he not with him, also, freely give us all things? The man who has got Christ has got everything. There are all things in one in Christ Jesus, and if you once get hini you are rich to all the intents of bliss. What, have Christ Jesus, and be discontented? Have Christ and murmur? Beloved, let the chide you gently, and pray you to lay aside that evil habit. If you have Christ then you have God the Father to be your protector, and God the Spirit to be your comforter. Yon have present things working together for your good, and future things to unravel your happier portion; you have angels to be your servitors both on earth and in heaven. You have all the wheels of Providence revolving for your benefit; you have the stones of the field in league with you; you have your daily trials sanctified for your benefit; and you have your earthly joys hallowed with a blessing; your gains and your losses are aUke profitable to you; your additions and your diminutions shall alike swell the tide of your soul’s satisfaction; you have more than any other creatures can boast as their portion; you have more than all the world beside could yield to regale your pure taste, and ravish your happy spirits. And now, will you not be glad V I would have you come to this feasting table this evening saying within yourselves, “Since I am not without Christ, but Jesus Christ is mine, I do rejoice, yea, and I will rejoice.”

And oh, dear Christian friends, if you have lost your evidences, go to Christ to find them all. Do not go striking your matches to light your candles, but go direct to the sun and get your light from his full orb. You who are doubting, desponding, and cast down, do not get foraging up the mouldy bread of yesterday, but go and get the manna which falls fresh to-day at the foot of the cross. Now, you have been wandering and backshding, do not stay away from Jesus because of your unworthiness, but let your very sins impel you to come the faster to your Saviour s feet. Come, ye sinners; come, ye saints; come, ye who dare not

Bay that ye are his people; come, you whose faith is but as a grain of mustard seed; come, you who have not any faith at all; come now to Jesus, who says, “Whosoever will, let him come, and take of the water of life freely.”

May God grant that some who feel that they are without Christ because they have no enjoyment, nor any sense of communion with him, may now take hold of his name, his covenant, his promises with a lively faith, nay more, may they find him to the rapture of their souls, and he shall have all the praise.

As a bird that wander eth from her nest, so is a man that wander eth from his placed — Prov. xxvii. 8.

SOLOMON spoke from observation. He had seen certain persons of a vagrant kind; and lie perceived that they seldom or never prospered. Moreover, he spoke from inspiration as well as from observation, hence the sagacity of the philosopher is in this case supported by the authority of the preacher. We may, therefore, take this proverb, first, as the dictate of human wisdom gathered by long experience; and then next as the testimony of divine wisdom, commended to us by infallible revelation. The principle it inculcates is alike applicable to the common affairs of life and to the higher pursuits which belong to our spiritual interests.

I. In the common affairs of life we believe Solomon to be correct in his statement that “As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.” The unrest of that man’s mind and the instability of his conduct, who is constantly making a change of his position and purpose, augurs no success for any of his adventnres. Unless he maketh the change very wisely, and hath abundant reason for it, he will make a change for the worse, as the bird doth that leaveth her nest. Some people are eager to leave their country and fly from their native shores. This is not always an ill thing for men to do; for thereby nations have been formed and deserts have been peopled. When a man finds it impossible to provide bread for an increasing family in this country, one of the wisest courses he can adopt is to cross the sea and seek profitable employment in another land. But there are some spirits of such a roving caste that they seem never to be satisfied at home. They feel persuaded that if they were under other skies they would succeed; whereas, as a matter of general fact, a man who cannot prosper in England will not prosper anywhere, and many of those who have gone abroad would be but too glad to get home again. Without taking counsel from God, and weighing the matter long, it is perilous for a man to leave the Christian privileges of this country. Let alone other considerations, it is no light thing to turn aside from the land where sanctuaries are so numerous, and where the gospel is so clearly proclaimed, to go abroad, where there may be some pecuniary advantages, but where there must be much spiritual loss. Well may the man take anxious thought before he goes, or else, mayhap, when he finds himself in Australia, he will long to be in New Zealand, and when he does not prosper there he will pant for the United States, and not getting on there he will, perhaps, be wanting to come back to Old England, and so he will spend the best of his days in vacillating as to where he shall spend them.

The like is also true with respect to a change of occupation. Some persons are one thing to-day, but you do not know what they will be to-morrow. Evidently they were not cut out for this, and therefore they think they must have been ordained for that, and, as they have not thrived in one line of business, they feel certain that they must have made a little mistake, and that if they could get into another line they would prosper. Well, when a man is in error about his calling, if it really be not his calling, let him leave it; but let him first be sure that it is not his calling, for otherwise he will sin against the express words of inspiration. The apostle Paul says, “Let every man abide in the same calling wherein he was called,” — that is to say, the occupation or profession in life you were engaged in when you were converted need not be rashly abandoned. Therein you may enjoy communion with God. But if you go running before the cloud, and with presumptuous self-will get out of the path that Providence has assigned you, you will be sure to smart for it. It is ours to follow, never to lead. When we clearly see our way, let us walk therein; but unless we have that way clearly manifested to us, let us abide still in our nest.

This also applies to those who want to be always changing their situation and their acquaintance — masters never satisfied with their servants, and servants always discontented with their employers. We know many who say, “There are so many temptations in the place where I am; I will try another.” Well, I am not at all sure, dear friends, that you are right. As for the temptations that trouble me, I would rather endure them than encounter any fresh ones. I may know something about my weakness in the present trial, but I cannot tell how I might stagger under another. I should recommend you to be rather chary of changing your trials. To exchange one trial for another is all the relief you will get in this world. All is vanity under the sun. The whole creation groaneth together. Amidst sorrow and sighing thus universal our lot is cast. From the sick man’s bitter experience we cannot escape —

We toss from side to side in pain
But ’tis a poor relief we gain,
To shift the place but not the pain.”

You may change your position o’er and o’er again, but you will always be exposed to temptation. Until you get beyond yonder azure sky you will never be out of gunshot of the devil. Evil spirits molest every rank in life. The poor man is sore beset with grievous hardships, and the rich man is encompassed with seductive snares. He who toils with his hand may have some cause to complain, but he who toils with his brain will become the victim of a sorer complaint. Should you fly to the utmost verge of the green earth, temptation would still pursue you. Everywhere, while you are in the body, you must keep guard, for temptations and trials are the common portion of all that on this earth do dwell. Be not in a hurry, therefore, to fly from one scene of temptation to another. If God ordains that your lot should be altered, be it so. It is yours to accept his allotment either with resignation or with gratitude. But be not hasty or heedless in running from one place to another, lest in yielding to the impulse of a moment you forfeit the comfort of a lifetime.

It may be that these remarks are peculiarly applicable to some people here present. I cannot tell. When talking about such homely things, our words have sometimes proved to be like an oracle for the guidance of those that have come up to God’s house to inquire in his temple. At any rate, dear friends, when the mind is unhinged, or the feelings chafed, it is not easy to exercise a wise discretion. Wait upon God for guidance as to any change in your life you may determine, and if the two things be equal — to remain where you are, or to remove elsewhere — choose to abide still, for the chances are, speaking according to man’s judgment, in its favor. Reason seems to say that, as it is unwise for the bird to wander from her nest, so it is not desirable for you to wander from your place.

Still keeping to the common use of these words, let us now turn them to another account. This is most certainly true in changing one’s religious service in the cause of God. We have a niche, perhaps, in which God has placed us, and we have had some little honor in filling it; but by-and-by another sphere of labor opens up before us, and, like children, easily charmed with novelty, we think we could be more useful in doing something else, and leaving our old work. Let us be very careful in this matter, for “As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.” I admired one thing greatly in our deceased friend, Mr. Worcester, who for so long a time kept the gate outside. When I once asked him whether he could not be serviceable to the church as an elder, he said that if he were elected to it he should decline the office, because, he said, “I can do my work as a gate-keeper, but I do not know what I could do as an elder.” So he resolved to stick to the work in which he was acknowledged to do good service. I would have each Christian man do the same.

Some brethren, we know, have such an itching to get into the pulpit that they are impatient of any other office than the preacher’s. But there are many in the pulpit nowadays who had better have kept out of it. They were excellent people at prayer-meetings; they were very serviceable indeed to give a little address now and then at a cottagemeeting; they would have been useful deacons, exemplary visitors of the sick, and perhaps good city missionaries.. But they thought within themselves that the pulpit ought to be blessed by their distinguished abilities, and so they crept up the pulpit stairs, as little to their own comfort as to the church’s edification; and now, had they but the wisdom and the humility to come down again, never more to mount them, it would be well. If you be really called to the ministry, then, in God’s name, do not stand back from it; and if a new sphere of labor opens to you, accept it, resting on your God, who can make his strength perfect in your weakness; but be not forever panting after the highest seats in the synagogue: do not always want the uppermost place at the feast, lest, when the King cometh in, thou shouldst have, with shame, to take a lower room. Wait till the King says — “Friend, come up higher;” never go up higher till you have the King’s friendly admonition that the higher place is yours by a call other than your own choice, remembering that “As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place,” — from his place, from his proper place in the Church of God, his proper position in the ranks of the Lord’s hosts.

Again, I will use it as a proverb very often applicable to ministers. There may be some here to whom this may come as a powerful rebuke. It is a crying evil just now, especially in our own denomination, that ministers are changing their places. The good old ministers used to occupy one charge for fifty years, and the people used to love them, and to hold fast to them. They did not think of moving; they never spoke of resigning, any more than fathers speak of resigning their fatherhood because their boys and girls are sometimes disobedient. They weathered the storm. They knew that all parts of the sea are rough, so they did not want to get out of one bay into another as soon as a little storm came on. 1 do not know but that some preachers are better moving; and probably they would be better if they were moved off altogether. I think when a man seldom or never remains in service at one place for more than about two years he has need to question whether he was called into the ministry at all. Our heavenly Husbandman does not generally plant trees in his vineyard that need shifting every two years. God’s trees are full of sap, the cedars of Lebanon which he hath planted. They can stand on the bare mountain’s brow, and see the ages of mortals swept away into the tomb. And so a God-sent minister may stand many years in one place, and see man-made ministers swept away, like generations of lichens and mosses, because they have no divine life in them. I love to see a Christian minister, I must say, standing fast in his place. We are not to get into a great pet because there was a little disagreement at a church meeting, or turn round offended because some deacon will not be quite as pliable as we could wish, or because the neighborhood does not seem to increase, or because there are not quite so many conversions as we want. No, sirs, if God shall move us, let us move; but if he doth not move us, let not the devil do it. Do you know what happens when the bird wanders from her nest. Why, there are her own eggs in the nest, and there is no bird which can sit so well on the eggs as the bird that laid thera. And BO a Christian minister should recollect that there are some young converts who are his own spiritual children. They are of his own bringing in, through divine grace, and, ordinarily speaking, there is no man who can by any means nurture the young converts like the man who was the means of their conversion. It is well for infants to be brought up by their own mother, and it is a good thing for young converts to be fed under their own spiritual parents. I should not like to trust mine to anybody else for any great len-gth of time. There is always a fear when the parent bird is away that the eggs will grow cold and addled, so that when she comes back she will find that she has lost all her trouble. And so when the minister leaves his people and goes away to some other place, there are many of those who did seem to run well who will turn back. This is a sad result — a tale of wasted labor. Besides, the bird knows that, however uncomfortable its nest may be, there is no other nest in the world so comfortable as the one which it has made itself And the Christian minister must know that there is no other church so comfortable for him as the church which he was the means of forming. “I dwell among mine own people,” saith the Shunammite. That is my happiness and my joy to dwell among my own people, and if any man should say to me, “Is there anything in life that thou desirest? Wouldest thou be spoken for to the king, or to the captain of the hosts?” I would answer. No, there is nothing I desire under heaven but to dwell among my own people; if I may but seek their good, and see the Church of God prosper here, it shall be all that I ask of

my God this side heaven. Brethren, let those of us who are in the ministry, as far as possible cling to our churches, and to our fields of labor, remembering that, “As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place.”

This is equally true (and I am still keeping to the common sense of the passage) of our hearers. Oh! there are some hearers who are sad, sad vagrants. We can have no objection to our hearers going to listen to other ministers, if ever they can be edified thereby, for the bird that sits best on the nest must come ofi* sometimes, especially if there is any food to be had elsewhere. Hear anybody that can profit you. I am sure nothing can gratify me more than to know that you grow in grace, and that your souls are fed on the pure word of truth. If a Church of England minister preaches the gospel in your neighborhood better than the Baptist minister does, do not go and hear the Baptist; and if you find either Baptist or Independent treating you to free-will instead of free-grace, do not listen to them, but seek out the Presbyterian and hear him, if you find him more sound in the faith; for, after all, your souls must be fed. That is a matter of necessity. Where you can have all the points of truth, prefer it, prefer it infinitely; but if you cannot have them all, give your chief care to those which possess the greatest importance. Seek first, in this case, those things which make most for your soul’s prosperity. But what I do not like is this — certain people will join a church, and then after about six months will remove their membership to another church, and then another, and so they flit about. They ought to have no moss on them, and I suppose they have none, for they have been always rolling stones. And then, if the minister should die, how many there are who go off directly, for now that the church is in a little difficulty they will all get out of it. Brave sailors these! They want to get out of the boat when the ship is in a little bit of a gale, and they leave the Church of God just when their help is most wanted. Oh! they will come and join the church when the church prospers; yes any quantity of them: but I wonder, if the pastor went away, whether we should find them all remaining faithful? Too many London churches are a sort of flying camp, congregations composed of people always flying from one place to another — a set of gypsy-christians who have no settled abode and no local habitation. They are about as respectable as the gypsies with whom 1 have compared them. Oh! let not this ever be said of any of you who love your Lord, and who consequently love his church, but when you are united with his people say, —

“Here would I make my settled rest,
While others go and come;
No more a stranger, or a guest,
But like a child at home.”

If you are willful in your wandering, you will constantly make worse and worse your condition. By a permanent adhesion to the Church, and a diligent casting in of your whole efforts into the cause of God you shall, through the Holy Spirit, get peace to your own soul and bring prosperity to your companions in Christian fellowship.

II. But now 1 shall take my text in another way, and try to use the general principle in another sense. There are some men who wander from their place in spiritual things.

Where is the “place” for a sinner? The place for a sinner is always at the foot of the cross, looking unto Jesus. Alas, then, the tendency in us all is to be looking for evidences, signs, marks, experiences, graces, and coincidences of one kind or another. Having begun in the Spirit, we are so foolish and so bewitched that we try to get perfect in the flesh. We know that at the first our only comfort came from simply depending upon the finished work of Jesus, and yet we are so demented that we try to get comfort from that poor flesh of ours, which has already been our encumbrance, and will be our plague till it dies. The moment a

Christian wanders away from his place, — that is, from the simplicity of his faith in Jesus, — that moment he departs from his safe shelter in the solid rock. What Christ did, what Christ is, what Christ has promised we cling to as the home of our faith. The sinner that seeks solace elsewhere, that moment he is like a bird that wanders from her nest. The bird away from her nest has no comfort; the instincts of nature make her feel during her incubation that the nest is her proper place. And when the Christian gets away from the cross, the new-born instincts within him make him feel that he is out of his proper position. The cross is the true rest of a Christian. We are like Noah’s dove, there is no rest for the sole of our feet except in the ark; we may search the world around, and fly over the great waste of waters, but there never shall be found rest for ns anywhere but at the cross. I confess I sometimes get into that sorry / state of feeling, rather as a Christian professor, / or a minister, than as a sinner saved by grace; I but I find that I have to come back again to that same place, and to sing the old ditty over again, —

“Nothing in my hand I bring;
Simply to Thy cross I cling;
Naked, come to Thee for dress;
Helpless, look to Thee for grace.”

There is no living comfortably, there is no living with the peace and joy of the Holy Spirit in the

/ heart, if we once wander from the simplicity of our confidence in Christ.

Further: there are many believers who also wander out of their place. What, now, is a believer’s place? A believer’s place is in the bosom of his Lord, or at the right hand of his Master, or sitting at his feet with Mary. Now, some of us have had times in which we did come very near to the Lord Jesus Christ. Ah! some of you never woke in the morning without thinking of him and all day long a sense of his presence was in your heart. How you grudged the world the hours you had to give to business; and when you locked up your heart at night, you always gave Jesus Christ the key. How sweet his ordinances were to you then, because you could see Christ through them, as through windows of agates and gates of carbuncles! How delightful were prayer-meetings and Bible-classes then, because you saw Jesus there, and talked with him! But what about your present state? Perhaps, my dear friend, you have wandered from your place; you are not living near to Christ, as you used to do. Hence ordinances have but very little comfort in them; they are dull and tedious; and services which were once as marrow and fatness to you have now become as dry bones. Your closet, too, is much neglected; your Bible is not studied as it was. You have lost your first love; and, I appeal to you, have you not also lost your first comfort? Are you not like a bird that has wandered from her nest? Believe me, there is no solid joy, no seraphic rapture, no hallowed peace this side heaven, exc’ept by living close under the shadow of the cross, and nestling in the wounds of Jesus. Oh, that we should be so foolish! The bird doth not forget her nest, but we do forget our Lord. We have need to say with the Psalmist — “Return unto thy rest, 0 my soul, for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee!” We have need to cry to-night —

“Keturn, oh holy Dove! return,
Sweet messenger of rest!
I hate the sins that made Thee mourn,
And drove Thee from my breast.”

We have wandered from our place, you see; for our place is at Jesu’s feet with Mary, or on Jesu’s bosom with John, or at Jesu’s lips with the spouse in the Canticles, saying — “Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth;” but, roaming hither and thither, we are like a bird that has wandered from her nest.

And does not this wandering imply a lack of watchfulness? Do I not observe the Christian who was so jealous of himself once that he did not haste to put one foot before the other for fear he should take a step away; he would not even talk without saying — “0 Lord, open Thou my lips!” But now he thinks that he is sure to stand, and he forgets to guard himself with jealousy. He thinks, perhaps, that his experience has made him so wise that he will not fall into his former errors, and so he getteth a carnal confidence, and forgetteth to

302 STORM SIGjVALS.

stand upon his watch-tower day and night, and watch against his foes. Do you know what sometimes happens to the bird if it leaves its nest? Why, while the bird is away the cuckoo comes and drops its Qgg in, and so the poor bird when it comes back has to hatch its enemy. And oftentimes when we are not watchful, and permit the enemy to take an advantage over us, Satan comes in, and drops some foul temptation into our nest, which our hearts help to hatch, and which will give us trouble all our lives. As sure as ever we wander in the matter of watchfulness it will be for our hurt. We may sleep, bat Satan does not. Never was he detected napping yet. There is slothfulness among believers, but there is no slothfalness on the part of their adversary. He ever watcheth, going “about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” Though you should leave off watchfulness, he never will. Oh, Christian! do not leave your nest; for you do not know what may come of it, what good things may be destroyed, or what bad things may be deposited, while your heart is away.

Some Christians, too, wander in a yet more melancholy manner as to its outward effect, for we see them wander from holiness. Unhappy church that hath in it many such inconsistent professors. But, alas! they are too common in the world. They “did for a time run well; what, then, did hinder them that they should not obey the truth?” The root of the matter was scarcely in them, for they brought forth fruit only for a season, and by-and by they withered away. Ah, well! if there be a Christian here — a real Christian — who has backslidden and gone into the world, he never will be happy in his sin. A reprobate, after making a profession, may perhaps go back and be comfortable, but a Christian never can. Tell me that you are happy in your sin, and I tell you at once that you are dead in sin, for he who puts on guilt must cast ofi’ shame. You are in your own element; like a fish in the water you will find it suits your constitution. As a bird could not be happy down in the depths of the sea, it must drown, unless it soon be delivered, so the saint of God is wretched in the depths of iniquity; he must speedily perish unless he is brought out. If he falleth into sin through infirmity, or be dragged into it through the force of sudden temptation, he yearneth to be delivered, and groaneth and crieth unto God, till once more the bones that were broken are made to rejoice. If you wander from holiness, you wander from your place. I have known some people who, in order to avoid trouble, have committed a trespass. A Christian man, for instance, has kept his shop open on a Sunday to prevent bankruptcy, and a mass of troubles rolled in upon him ten times heavier than those he had sought to avert. We have heard of some who have done violence to their conscience just once. In sheer despondency they shut their eyes, and swallowed the bitter pill. It did not take five minutes to do it. Their friends said it was wise. Jll-advisers told them it was necessary. They thus attempted to extricate themselves from some trying position. But the consequence was that to then- dying-day the worm of conscience still did gnaw their soul. They have made the rod wherewith God hath scourged them. Mind what you are at, then, lest in wandering from holiness you prove yourself like a bird that wandereth from her nest. Oh, how blessed it will be if you and I shall be kept by mighty grace, simply relying upon Christ, constantly communing with his person, watchful against the inroads of temptation, and persevering in holiness even to the end! Without this there can be no comfort to us.

III. And now, what persuasions shall I use to make every one of you who is a true Christian cling close to his nest?

Consider, dear friends, the joy which you and I

Jbave had when we have been clinging close to

Christ. Where else can such sweetness be found

as we have found in the love of Jesus? Will a

man leave the cool, flowing waters from Lebanon

to go and drink of the muddy river of another

place? Shall a man turn away from the bubbling

fountain to seek out for himself a broken cistern?

Oh, let it not be! We who have fed on angels’

food cannot be content with the husks that swine

. eat. Let us say with Rutherford —” Ever since I

have eaten the wheaten bread of heaven my mouth

has been out of taste for the brown bread of earth, which is full of grit and gravel-stones. I can no longer find sweetness in this world’s joys, for I have tasted of joys celestial that are beyond all that earth can give.” Let the joy we have had in Christ constrain us still to cling to him.

Think again of the sorrow we have felt whenever we have wandered. You and 1 have had backsliding times; let us confess it mournfully. But what wretched times they have always been! What have we ever gained by going away from our Lord but broken bones and sorrow of heart? As we have been burned, let us dread the fire; and as we have had to smart for our wanderings when the watchmen have plucked off our veil and smitten us, let us henceforth cling close to our Beloved. What reason has he ever given us to be discontented and go away? Has he been unfaithful to us? “Have I been a wilderness unto you?” he asks, in what respect has he aggrieved us? Has he ever smitten us in his wrath, or treated us harshly for our follies? Never has a friend behaved better to his friend than Christ has behaved to us; and as we can never find a better Saviour, let us cling to him all our days. Or can you think that the outlook is dreary? When we think of the joy that is yet to come, we have a yet stronger motive to cling to the Saviour. We may have to walk with him to-day when the snow blows in our faces; but, oh! what will it be to walk with him in the sunshine? It may be hard work to keep pace with him; faint may be our heart, and flesh and blood are frail, walking, as we now do, with him throug’h the mire and dirt, but what will it be to walk in silver slippers upon the golden pavement of the celestial city? It is not so easy to stand with him in the pillory when the multitudes are hooting him; but, oh! how joyous it will be to be with him when the angels are rending the heavens with acclamations, and all the saints are casting their crowns at his feet! To be with him in his trouble is not very palatable to our natural feelings, I know; but what will it be to be with him in his triumph? To be partners in his cross — from that we may shrink; but to sit with him upon his throne — for that we must eagerly long. Well, as we cannot be crown-bearers without being cross-bearers, let us espouse his cross as we would enjoy his crown. Yet be it known that his cross droppeth with myrrh, and that they who carry it will find it so sweetly perfumed that they shall love the very cross itself because Christ has touched it. From this nest let us never wander, because of the “rest” which “remaineth for the people of God.”

Wander from this nest — methinks we cannot if the love of Christ inflames us and our love to Christ sustains us. What, wander from him who died for us, that we might never die; who lives for us, that we might ever live? What base ingratitude is ours that we do not cling closer to him! Can we give him up? Christians, he gave you the light that cheered your darkness, and can you turn away from the brightness of his face? With pitying eye he saw you when you were lying in your blood, an outcast all forlorn, and he said unto you, “Live,” and can you ever forsake him? He passed by thee, he looked upon thee, he spread his skirt over thee, he covered thy nakedness, he sware unto thee, he entered into a covenant with thee — and canst thou now prove treacherous? He redeemed thee, he opened his veins that he might pour forth the purple drops of his precious blood as the price for your inestimable ransom, and can you turn away from him? “Despised and rejected of men” as he was, will you hide your face from him? And while he is still pleading for you, will you cease to plead for him? Now that his chariots are making haste to bring him in the glory of his second advent, will you turn away from him when his kingdom is so near? Shall the wife leave a husband who cherishes her with utmost tendersness? Shall the child neglect its parents, under whose roof his every want is supplied? Shall the limbs of one’s body abhor the head? Such strange vagaries were not half so unnatural as for a Christian to turn vagrant and forsake his Saviour. Ah me 1 unnatural and brutish as it must seem, you and I would do this, and more also, did not grace prevent. The love which has made us one with Christ must keep us one with him, or else we shall never hold on our way. Be it then your constant prayer, “Hold Thou me up, and I shall be safe.” Let this be your heart’s cry, “Abide with us;” for except he abide with us, and make our hearts his nest, we shall never abide with him, but shall be as a bird that wandereth from her nest.

Mayhap I speak to some poor bird which has wandered from its nest. You are a stranger, and you have strayed in hither. You recollect a nest in some happy family circle where prayer was wont to be made. You remember the nest in which you were wont to nestle — a little village church where you worshipped God with kindred dear. But you have wandered from your nest. You have lost your friends; you have gone into the world; you are a sinner. Conscious you are that you scarcely dare to face the home of your childhood. You have come away from your old haunts, for you are ashamed to continue in them. You have wandered from your nest. And do you mean to wander on? Is yours to be forever the flight of a bird that hath no roost? “Foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests;” will you never have a place to lay your head? Are you condemned, like the unclean spirit, to wander through dry places, seeking rest and finding none? Are you a pilgrim who shall never have a city that hath foundations, whose Builder and Maker is God? Are you like the phantom ship of which the mariners talk, which flits across the sea for aye, but never reaches a port? Nay, friend, you are not so to account yourself, though the devil hath told you that there is no hope; though he hath driven you to desperation, and persuaded you that you are given up of God and man. It is not so; it is not so. The Eternal Father, bending from high heaven, looks down upon you, and by these lips talks to you. Little as you were thinking that you would be found out, he saith to you, “Return, return, return.” ‘Tis he who makes you say, ‘* I will arise and go unto my Father.” He meets you, prodigal; he falls about your neck; he gives you the kiss of reconciliation. He cries to-day to the messengers of mercy, “Take off his rags, and bring forth the best robe, and put it on him; put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet, and let us eat, drink, and be merry, for he that was dead is come alive, and he that was lost is found.” The bird has come back, and has found her nest; and as the mother-bird is happy when that little fledgeling which she thought had fallen on the ground, or had been swallowed by the hawk, comes back, and she covers it with her feathers, and bids it nestle under her warm bosom, so is the Eternal Father happy; and as she rejoices, so, nay infinitely more, does the Eternal Father rejoice when the wanderer comes back to him, and finds comfort in his love.

Believe thou in the Lord Jesus Christ. Trust thou in the Father’s grace as manifest in the Saviour’s wounds, and so thou shalt find an eternal nest from which thou shalt never wander till thou shalt build thy happy nest in heaven. Amen.