I Will Sing of Mercy and Judgment
‘”’’ I zvill sijig of mercy and judgmejit: unto thee, O Lord, will I sitig
Psalm ci. i.
HIS resolution indicates a hopeful and happystate of mind. A song is the natural channel for the outflow of gladness. “Is any merry y let him sing psalms.” From a heart full of happiness this song flows, as a pure stream runs over the brim of a full well. He cannot hold in; his joy must have vent: “I will sing.”
This is not a common singer; this is not a common song. There is something here which the world cannot give, which the world cannot take away. It will be profitable for us to study his character, and endeavour to follow his steps. His experience is supernatural and peculiar: none but the Holy Spirit could have led him through it; but what he was, every one of us through divine grace may be. Two things about this man’s experience should give it a tender interest for us: first, it is very precious; and, second, we may reach it. Something
attainable may fail to interest us, if it is not of high value; something very valuable may fail to interest us, if it is unattainable. But here are both the blcssinos. This man enjoys a happiness on earth which is heaven already begun; and the path by which he reached it is equally open to ourselves. Those who have gone before us beckon us on. They seem to say, as Moses to Hobab, “Come with us, and we will do thee good.”
The text presents to our notice these three: the Singer, the Listener, and the Song. I. Who sings: David the king. II. To whom he sings: “Unto thee, O Lord.” III. What he sings: “Of mercy and judgment.” I shall not speak at present of the first. It will be best illustrated by an examination of the other two. The character of the singer will be best ascertained by inquiring, first, to whom he sings; and, second, what he sings.
I. Consider, then, for a little, to whom this man sings:” Unto thee, O Lord, will I singy — He turns to God when he sins: he sins when he turns to God. Conscious nearness to God, and exuberant joyfulness of spirit — these two have come together in the Psalmist. These two do not always go together: very often when they are brought near, they mutually destroy each other, like fire and water. Apart from regeneration and reconciling, you may have one of these two in human experience, but not both. In the multitude of his thoughts within him, an unconverted man may be brought, and for a time kept, consciously near the Holy One; but then there are great sadness and grief in his heart: or an unconverted man may experience great joy; but then he has turned away from God. You may bring such a man to the Lord; but as long as he is there, he has no song: or you may give him a song; but while he is singing, he has put God out of all his thoughts. To turn to the Lord, and in that attitude to sing for joy, belongs to the children — to those who have been made nigh by the blood of Christ, and are accepted in the Beloved.
Constantly and necessarily as the laws of nature, the guilty, unforgiven, unreconciled keep God out of their thoughts, while they seek and enjoy their pleasure. As the night-flowering cactus waits till midnight ere it opens its blossom, and closes it again before the dawn, a carnal mind, being at enmity with God, never opens into real enjoyment until the whole thickness of the world intervenes as a veil to hide the face of God. “The harp, and the viol, the tabret, and pipe, and wine, are in their feasts; but they regard not the work of the Lord, neither consider the operation of his hands” (Isa, v. 12). “My Lord delayeth his coming” (Matt. xxiv. 48).
This might supply a text for self-examination to those who really desire to discover whether they are disciples of Christ, or deceivers; or, being disciples, whether they are following the Lord fully, or sinfully conforming to the world. Look to your joys, recall the times and circumstances of your highest pleasure: in order to keep the pleasure up, was it necessary to banish the thought of God? If the memory of the Lord Jesus, his death and resurrection, his coming again to judge the world and to reign in righteousness, — if that memory comes in, does it drive away your joys as wind drives smoke away? Then you are either none of his, or, being his, you are crucifying him afresh. I do not say that it is inconsistent with a disciple’s place to take hearty delight in common worldly good; but if it is a right joy for a member of Christ, Christ’s incoming will not destroy it, will not diminish it. Your song is not a safe song, if by a sudden turning to the Lord it is choked in your lips. The fool saith in his heart, “No God;” and when he has thus cleared the space of his own heart — cleared it as far as his will is concerned — made it a world without a God, — then and there he invites a miscellaneous company, and begins to be merry: but when a knocking comes to the door, heard above all the revelry, and a message is sent in, “Thou fool, this night thy soul shall be required of thee,” all the gay thoughts vanish, the music is hushed, and the heart, so lately full of mirth, becomes still and damp as the grave. But the True One assures his own disciples, “Your joy no man taketh from you” (John xvi. 22). No one; neither death, nor life, nor things present, nor things to come. This fire, when once kindled, like the lamp in the temple, will never go out. Many waters cannot quench it.
Take it on the other side. We have already seen that a forgiven and reconciled man can afford to admit the presence of the Lord while he sings; and now let us see further, that when he turns to the Lord he can afford to sing. It is graven as with a pen of iron on the heart of the guilty, that to approach to God is terror and pain. This writing remains until it is blotted out in the blood of the Lamb. You may succeed in convincing a man’s judgment that God is just, and deserves the homage of his intelligent creatures; you may persuade him at certain times to come near the great white throne, and lift up his eyes towards the Holy One; but all the time, if he does not know the gospel, he counts the coming a penance, and never breathes freely till it is over. He may periodically return with his prayer; but he never enjoys the coming: he rather submits to come at certain seasons, that he may more fully enjoy other company and other occupations.
In this text we are on the footsteps of the flock. This man, too, is religious: he draws near to God, not to endure the penance of periodic sadness in order to secure a license for carnal mirth; he draws near to God that he may escape from his sadness, and taste for a moment here in the body those pleasures that are at God’s right hand for evermore. Said Jesus to his disciples once, “Ye now therefore have sorrow; but I will see you again, and your heart shall rejoice.” He promises them another visit, in order that thereby he may dispel their grief, and fill them with joy. At another time, it is recorded that when, after a period of absence, he returned, “Then were the disciples glad when they saw the Lord.”
Brethren, it is a real and not a rare experience, to fall into the habit of running to the Lord for relief and joy. Here, again, is a test whereby one might conveniently examine himself whether he be in the faith, or, bcincr in it, is living like his name and his place. It is a great turning-point when, instead of dutifully turning to the Lord in prayer, although the exercise throw a fear and dread over your spirit, you begin to seek the Lord in prayer, whether in season or out of season, as you seek the well-spring when you are thirsty, whether it be the meal hour or not, for the delight of refreshing your soul with the living water. It is one thing to go to the Lord dutifully, although the act is painful; and another thing to go to the Lord, as in compliance with an appetite, because going makes you glad. “Unto thee, O Lord, will I sing.”
There lies a lesson here, too, regarding our singing, in a more literal sense. It is good to have tasteful, skilful music, in our public worship; but something more is needed. Singing and the psalm constitute the body of our praise; but the body without the soul is dead. And the soul that gives the body life is this same singing to the Lord; the opening of the soul in gladness to the Lord — gladness because we have the Lord to open to, like flowers opening to the morning sun. The outeoino; of the soul to the Saviour, in the act of singing psalms, is the essence of the offering. Many touched the Lord that day when the burdened woman pressed in until she reached him. The multitude thronged and pressed him; but only the touch of that poor woman penetrated to his heart, and brought back healing as the answer. Her touch had a soul in it; whereas the pressing of the crowd, notwithstanding all their hosannas, was but a body dead. Our united praise is a sweet and precious privilege; but let us beware lest its life ooze out, and only a dead body be left in our hands. Under the folds of our song, let our souls in secret go out and up into His temple — let our souls thirst, and draw living water from its fountain in himself. He will be delighted, for he counts it more blessed to give than to receive. And even our singing will be stronger and more general, as the living soul puts vigour into the body that clothes it.
H. The psalm that he sung. It is a psalm about ‘’mercy and jiidgmentr — These are the two sides of the divine character, as it is revealed by God, and apprehended by men. They are the two attributes which lie over against each other, for conflict or in harmony, according to the conditions in which they are exercised, or the point from which they are viewed. They intimate that God is merciful, and that God is just. On the one hand, both these attributes are ascribed to him throughout the Scriptures; and on the other hand, both are more or less clearly mirrored in the human conscience. Most men stand too little in awe of his justice, and obtain but feeble glimmers of hope in his mercy; yet a conception both of mercy and justice as attributes of God seems innate and universal in humanity. Assuming generally a knowledge of what these two attributes are, I shall offer no illustration of their nature, but rather proceed to notice how they stand related in David’s psalm. The subject of the song is not one or the other, but both united. Their nature, as manifested to men, is essentially determined by their union. Neither mercy nor justice alone and apart could become the theme of praise in the lips of men. We could not sing them separately.
Suppose divine justice were taken by itself and presented to the creature. Beings perfect in holiness might sing it; but the sinful could take no part in the chorus. The unfallen who stand round the throne may say, “I will sing of justice: to thee, O Lord, will I sing.” But the sinful who are outcast could not rejoice in God’s justice. The devils believe in it, and tremble. Men in the body, who have sinned, can sing of justice, only because there is mercy to meet it still.
Some people very ignorantly wonder and complain that their children or neighbours should be thrown into a state of profound alarm by a conviction of sin and an apprehension of judgment. Ah, if they had for one hour the conception on their minds of God’s justice waiting to meet them, without a glimpse of mercy, their wonder would be turned all the other way. They would wonder that either themselves or others could ever have permitted a day of mercy to pass unheeded, lest the next morning’s dawn should bring a sentence,” Depart from
me.”
But turn now to the other side. You think, if guilty creatures could not sing of justice, they could gladly sing of mercy if it should appear dissociated from justice. No; mercy could no more constitute the theme of a song for human beings than justice. When we sing of mercy intelligently, we sing of it as it rests on righteousness. But mercy apart from righteousness, I do not say could not be satisfactory, for it could not even be. Mercy that should override justice, would overthrow mercy too. If the superstructure could and should bend down, and draw out the foundation, itself would instantly fall. It is because of its foundation in righteousness that we can sing of mercy. A God that should offer mercy to sinners, without honour to his justice, could neither give them happiness nor heaven. A human heart with sin uncondemned within it, would be a cage of unclean birds; and a heaven with sinners unrenewed admitted, would be a cage of unclean birds too. Both the heaven and its inhabitants would be wretched.
A song cannot be constructed out of justice or mercy separately. Neither can they become the subjects of praise, if they meet in mere conflict to neutralize or destroy each other. It is not that God is less just because he is also merciful, and less merciful because he has undertaken to be just. When these two meet in the eternal covenant, they kiss each other. Justice is greater because mercy meets it: mercy is greater because justice is satisfied and assents. Justice is made more just because mercy keeps it company: mercy becomes more merciful in presence of a righteousness that never bends. They so meet as to support each other. Isaiah proclaimed Jehovah a just God and a Saviour: David sang of mercy and judgment.
But this union takes place in Christ crucified. In him the promises of God are yea and amen. Had Christ not covenanted from the beginning, and come in the fulness of time, the justice must have been poured out on the same persons for whom the mercy was needed. In that case, mercy, though it lived in God, could have had no exercise toward the sinful. Justice would have swept all the fallen away; and when Mercy issued forth, she would have soared over the waters like Noah’s dove, and, finding no rest for the sole of her foot, would have returned on weary wing to the ark again. Mercy, although it went forth upon the world after justice had done its work, would never have found an object. It would have been as if a flood, with no ark floating on its waters, had covered the world. After the flood, it would have been in vain to send an ark for saving. By that time all were dead, and the ark would come home without a tenant.
In Christ the process is reversed. It is first the ark, and then the flood. You have mercy to sing of first, and judgment following. The flood devoured only those who refused to enter the ark. You have a picture of these two in their order in Ezekiel ix. First, the priest
(512, I’i with the linen ephod, to mark all who are on the Lord’s side; and the destroyers are commanded to go after him, and slay.
But how can mercy come first with the free offer, since all have sinned and come under condemnation? Because man in the person of the Redeemer has already met and satisfied justice. The Substitute has borne our sin. Justice is satisfied, and mercy has free course (Rom. iii. 24-26). In him mercy and justice meet. Christ is the unspeakable gift: God is love. Christ was sacrificed for sin: God is righteous. Now his mercy has found a way to flow on the guilty. The design and effect of the sacrifice of Christ is, that God may be just, and the justifier of him who believeth on Jesus.
Brethren, we do not reach our hope by a process of reasoning. It is by revelation; and that, too, by the revelation of a fact. We do not work our way to hope by a series of laborious efforts. It is one fact, and it may become ours in a moment. A divine Substitute has taken our place to bear sin; and we are invited to enter on his right, and become God’s dear children. We escape from the curse, because Christ our Substitute bore it in our stead. The law demands blood; and if it did not make and exact the demand, it would no longer be law; and if there were not law in the universe, God’s righteousness would be dishonoured, and his throne overturned. The law demands blood; but God’s Israel in every age go in beneath the blood of the Lamb, and when the judgment comes, the destroying angel sees the blood of the Lamb, and passes over those who shelter under it. We are saved, because Christ our passover was sacrificed for us.
It is a song that is needed now, this song to the Lord — a song about mercy and judgment, from the ranks of the redeemed. For their own comfort this is needed; for the honour of God, and as a witness to the world.
When Moses and Israel had experienced in union the mercy and judgment of God, — when the sea had opened to let them through, and closed upon the pursuing enemy, — then sang Moses and the children of Israel this song unto the Lord: “Sing unto the Lord; for he hath triumphed gloriously!” If you had been there and had asked Moses, “Have you reached the promised land, that you are so jubilant t” he would have answered, “No; we are in the wilderness. All its breadth lies between us and rest. We must now begin our marchings and our jfightings. But we are free; we are rescued from bondage, and cannot be enslaved again. Therefore we praise our Deliverer, and we praise him now. This is the time and the place for our song.” No thanks for singing when you get to heaven. Open in gladness to the Lord that bought you even now. When Joseph took his brothers into his own chamber, and was reconciled to them, there was a great weeping. It was a joy too deep to be expressed in laughter. It burst from pent-up hearts in a great flood of tears. It was a great and exuberant joyfulness. From the inner chamber the Egyptians and the house of Pharaoh, though they stood 18o MERCY AND JUDGMENT.
ill the outer court, heard the weeping. The tears of joy were common to Joseph and the brothers whom he forgave and accepted; but doubtless their joy in being forgiven was mingled with a tender grief for their own past sins. Thus, too, when the redeemed now rejoice with Christ, a vein of sadness runs through their joy, not lessening but enhancing its happmess, because themselves had crucified the Lord. It is meet that the song of redemption should be raised here, and meet that the surrounding world should hear our song, as Pharaoh’s house heard the weeping when Joseph was reconciled to his brothers. There is a sense, true though subordinate, in which the disciples of the Lord now are enabled to sing to him of mercy and judgment. They endure affliction like other men. But faith turns the suffering even into joy. It is the wont of their Lord to give unto them that mourn in Zion beauty for ashes, and the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. When their cup is full, they give thanks. When chastening comes, they still give thanks. They do not look on the one dealing as their Lord’s kindness, and the other as his neglect. They count all love, and love him in return. The rod is but love’s instrument, and all works together for good.
Once more mercy and judgment come very near each other, and once more the redeemed weave both into the texture of the song. But the veil still hangs over that last meeting. Ear hath not heard yet the psalm that the saved sing unto the Lord, after that final union of tender
MER CY AND y UDGMENT. 1 8 1
love and righteous judgment. With bated breath we speak of it; and yet it should not be passed altogether in silence. “Come, ye blessed;” — behold the last gleam of mercy, at the winding up of redemption: and hark the judgment that sharply follows it, — “Depart from me.” There is perhaps not a sadder scene exhibited in Scripture than the parable of the virgins at its close. There we hear only the wailing, because it is the scene outside of the shut door that lies within our view; but within there is a glad song. They sing of mercy and judgment when the door is shut. Unto thee, O Lord, do they sing.