The Prayer of the Primitive Church
“And when they heard that, they lifted up their voice to God with one accord, and said, Lord, thou art God, which hast made heaven, and earth, and the sea, and all that in them is: who by the mouth of thy servant David hast said, Why did the heathen rage, and the people imagine vain things? The kings of the earth stood up, and the rulers were gathered together against the Lord, and against his Christ. For of a truth against thy holy child Jesus, whom thou hast anointed, both Herod, and Pontius Pilate, with the Gentiles, and the people of Israel, were gathered together, for to do whatsoever thy hand and thy counsel determined before to be done. And now, Lord, behold their threatenings: and grant unto thy servants, that with boldness they may speak thy word.” — Acts iv. 24-29.
PETER and John, providentially delivered from the hands
JL of the persecutors, plunged into a meeting of their fellow-disciples, and forthwith reported all that had happened. ] The company, as soon as they heard of the danger that had 5 threatened, and the deliverance that had been wrought, forthwith “lifted up their voice to God” and prayed. They )’ were neither cast down nor uplifted. They did not propose; to try this method or that method of improving their, circumstances. They proposed no plan. They lacked wisdom and strength, and in their need applied to God by prayer.
I Prayer is not the origin of a movement. It is the result i of one that preceded. You stand on the margin of a High-, 3 land lake, and hear a mysterious but distinctly articulate [ j sound coming from the dead wall of a grey ruined castle, i that stands on a miniature island not far from the shore.
The sound, however, was not generated in that ruin. I It could not generate a voice. The words of a living man
on the shore, wafted over the still water, struck the old silent keep, and its wall gave back the echo. If that living voice had not struck the wall, the wall would have remained dumb.
Prayer — man’s cry to God — is the second of a series of vibrations. The voice of prayer, on earth, is an echo awakened in ruined, dumb humanity, by God’s sweet promise coming down from heaven. In general, prayer is the echo of a promise; in particular, we may discover the specific promise to which this prayer replies (Isa. xl. 26, 27).
What a sublime position these suppliants occupy! They are admitted into the Divine counsel. “The secret of the Lord is with them that fear him.” They knew that all these events were foreseen, and would be overruled for good. They were able to mark in the Scriptures the precise spot they had reached in the scheme of Providence, as a ship-master marks his latitude on his chart. In the quiet confidence of faith they realise and confess that the combina-! tion of princes and peoples — of Jews and Gentiles — to put to death the holy child Jesus, only accomplished the gracious f purpose of God. These principalities and powers of the world imagined that they were quenching the kingdom of I Christ in its infancy; whereas they were the unconscious instruments of laying its foundations deep, and spreading its influence through the world.
Now, in verse 29th, comes the most important of all their 1 requests. Petitions sent to Parliament are sometimes of I considerable length. There may be a narrative of facts, long I and intricate; there may be the citation of precedents; there may be arguments and pleas; but it is common to pass over p all these when the document is presented, and read only k what is denominated “the prayer of the petition” — that is, i the clause at the end which declares articulately what the petitioners want — what they wish to be done for them, or given to them. Verse 29th contains the prayer of the petition. It expresses what the petitioners desire — what they would be at, if they had their will.
It is most interesting and instructive to mark what they really crave. Not a word of vengeance on their enemies. In the recital they have clearly described the cruel injustice of their adversaries; but they do not follow up that recital by a request for punishment. Neither do they plead for immunity from danger for themselves. There is a recital of their danger; but not a petition for safety. The request is, not that they may be shielded from persecution, but that they may have grace to be faithful under it. “Grant unto thy servants, that with all boldness they may speak thy word.”
It is a beautiful example of distrust of themselves and confidence in God combined. They feared lest the danger which threatened their persons should intimidate them in their work. Their anxiety was lest their natural shrinking from suffering should tempt them to conceal the pungent parts of their testimony in order to shield themselves from persecution. They were jealous over themselves with a godly jealousy. They were conscious that nature within them shrank instinctively from pain and shame. They
1 knew that to proclaim the whole counsel of God would gall the men who had the power of life and death in their hands. They feared, accordingly, lest they should be tempted to make the gospel more pleasant for the sake of peace.
The application of this Scriptural example to our own circumstances is attended with some difficulty; and yet it may be made with certainty and success. It is difficult to :lear our way here, but not impossible. The circumstances of our place and time seem to be so
t liverse from those of the first preachers, that no direct lesson
Gr
g 8 The Church in the House.
from their experience can be transferred to ours. JNo persecutor dare raise a hand against a minister here and now, to prevent him from declaring the Gospel in all its fulness. We are free: and yet the pressure which tempts to timid unfaithfulness is only removed from one side and applied to another. The fear of man bringeth a snare; and ever since Peter said, “I know not the man,” the feet of even true witnesses have, in all generations, been often entangled miserably in its toils. But snares are not all of one shape or of one material — either the bodily snares of the fowler, or the snares set for the spirit by the wiles of the wicked one. They may be of iron or of silk. They may be varied indefinitely in matter, form, and position, according to the character of the victim, and the opportunities of the ensnarer. A force that is diffused and soft, may exercise a greater pressure than one that is sharp and hard, as the atmosphere over a man’s body lies heavier on him than any other burden he ever bore.
To threaten a witness for Christ with the prison or the scaffold is one way of turning him aside from faithfulness; to set before him the favour of a polished but worldly circle is another. You may, if you please, pronounce that the man who should weakly yield to these soft seducements is a far less noble specimen of humanity than those men who quailed j before a scaffold, and held their peace to save their lives; although, even here, something might be said on the other, side. But the distinction is of no practical importance. If y the seductions of modern society do, in point of fact, deflect the compass of the witness as far aside as the ancient persecutions, the difference in the character of the instrument: makes nothing in the result.
If two ships are lost at sea by the false pointing of their 8( compasses, it will make no difference either as to the loss of rproperty or trie loss of life, that the compass of the one ship was prevented from pointing truly by a nail that fastened it to the deck, and the compass of the other ship secretly drawn aside by a mass of iron concealed in the hold. In both cases, and in both alike, the compass failed to declare the truth, and that faithlessness caused the loss of the ships. Thus an ancient minister of the gospel who held back the truth for fear of the dungeon, and a modern minister who softens and disguises the truth because a gay, worldly, critical congregation listen to the Word, must stand side by side, repenting and pleading for the pardon of their unfaithfulness. On the other hand, an ancient minister who proclaimed the whole truth with a halter round his neck, and a modern minister who, fearing God and having no other fear, declares the whole counsel of God to every class and every character, will stand together at the great account to hear the approving sentence, “Well done, good and faithful servants: enter ye into the joy of your Lord.”
The request is simple, specific, and full: “Grant unto thy servants that with all boldness they may speak thy word.”
1. That they may speak, and not be dumb. Speech is a chief gift of God, a chief prerogative of man. Where there is a living spring, it finds or makes a channel through which it may flow; and where there is a living soul, it finds or makes an avenue of egress. A soul cannot be imprisoned 1 in a body of flesh, as a spring cannot be imprisoned among ’ the mountains. Either life, according to its nature, must I have a means of outflow. On the other hand, where i there is no spring, no channel is needed, and none is found. Among living creatures, accordingly, where there is not a soul, there is not speech; but in that one creature who was l made in the image of God — into whom God breathed a living soul — there is speech, the open channel for its forthgoing. Reverence human speech. It is the mark of a being who has been made, and may be re-made, a child of God. Reverence human speech, for it is a divinely formed capacity for a divinely prescribed use. Dread false speech, proud speech, impure speech, profane speech, — for these are the bright weapons with which the King has accoutred us wielded against the King. High treason!
“That they may speak;” for why should they be silent who have tasted that the Lord is gracious? Let them tell to all who are willing to listen what the Lord hath done for their souls. Let the compressed love which glows in renewed hearts find utterance in spoken praise. Bless the Lord, 0 my soul, and forget not all his benefits!
In another aspect it behoves all who hear to speak. Silence is sin, if your cry might prevent a neighbour from stumbling over a precipice. Silence is sin, if neighbours are treading the broad path that leadeth to destruction, and your word might lead their steps into the way of life. Silence is sin, if a believing brother is sliding back, while your loving reproof might become to him a healing balm. Silence is sin, if a believing brother is oppressed with doubts and fears, while your lips might pour the consolations of God into his weary heart.
The prayer points mainly to a public ministry, and yet nothing is said about sermons — nothing said even about preaching: “Grant unto thy servants that they may speak.” Whether the address be long or short, whether the audience be many or few, whether the style be eloquent or stammering, the pith and marrow of the whole matter is, that one man, hoping in Christ and loving his neighbour, speaks to that neighbour about Christ’s redeeming love. All preaching may be reduced to this. Out of this, as the germ, all true preaching springs. If its whole mass were by some chemical process reduced to its elements, this would be found the essential residuum remaining indestructible after all ornaments and accessories had been melted away. I suppose Philip preached pretty fully to the anxious Ethiopian in the desert; but the Spirit in the “Word performs that chemical analysis which we have imagined, and retains only that ultimate and indestructible essence of the discourse, which is small in bulk and easy of transmission — Philip “preached unto him Jesus!’
2. The prayer of these primitive Christians is “that they may speak thy word.” The word of God supplies alike the authority and the material of preaching. The seed is the word; the sower need not scatter any other in his field. This alone is vital — this alone will grow.
3. Their ambition is to speak the word of God “with boldness.” Let no man assume too readily that he has attained this qualification of a witness. In this department, all is not gold that glitters. Beware of counterfeits in these payments, for a considerable quantity of base coin is in circulation. To rasp like a file on other people’s tender points, because you have no tender points of your own, is not the boldness for which these disciples prayed. In that species of courage some of the inferior creatures greatly excel us.
An essential constituent of courage is tenderness. In feudal times, when military valour held the supreme place in universal opinion, the prevailing conception, although disfigured by some foolish and grotesque features, contained a basis of truth. Battle courage was held to be only one half of a knightly bearing; the other half consisted of a tenderness, in some cases almost feminine. Tenderness is as essential to spiritual as to secular heroism. The boldness of speech which costs the speaker nothing is neither beautiful in itself nor successful in its object. It is like a stroke on hollow wood; instead of penetrating the beam, it rebounds in the face of the operator.
Paul was a bold man, but he was not an unfeeling one. It was a bold word that he addressed to certain professors at Philippi, and he spoke it once and again —” Ye are enemies of the cross of Christ but he wept as he spoke. These tears did more to make a way for the reproving word into the joints and marrow of the culprits than all the sharpness of the reproof itself. Observe a mechanic boring through a bar of iron. He has a properly-formed instrument of steel. This he turns quickly round, under a strong pressure, upon the bar which he desires to perforate. But this is not enough. If only on the hard beam of iron a harder point of steel were pressed and turned, they would set each other on fire. But the skilful operator quietly drops oil on the point of contact, while he plies his task. This anointing keeps the instrument from heating, and carries it through. These tears of Paul served the same purpose for the Philippian backsliders that the mechanic’s oil- drops served for the iron beam. Human tenderness baptized by the Spirit poured on the point of contact, when the sharp sword of the Word is pressed against a brother’s heart, prevents the pressure from begetting a burning heat, and carries the weapon home. i
To my mind there is hardly a more melancholy spectacle in this world than that of a man, orthodox in faith but coarse in the natural grain, who rattles out his censures on all and sundry who differ from himself without an effort and without a pang; looking down, meanwhile, with contempt on men of greater modesty as unfaithful to the truth. The? stream of words that condemns a neighbour, without scalding j the speaker’s own skin as it flows, is like the clack of a windmill set up to frighten birds — as hard and as wearisome, and as powerless. The greater the boldness any man ventures to exercise, the greater tenderness he needs to attain. The boldness which those primitive confessors asked and obtained was saturated with a sanctified human tenderness; and this was the secret of their power.
4. In their eagerness for effective work, they desire to speak with all boldness. Even courage may be partial and one-sided. This virtue vanishes whenever it begins to show respect of persons. That is not true courage which is severe to the poor but quails before the rich. As the water of a reservoir will be completely lost unless the circle of its lip be kept whole on all sides, all the dignity and power of boldness vanishes when it fails on one point.
Perhaps the weakest point of all the circle for every man is himself. If courage is needed to speak the truth to a neighbour, it is still more needed in dealing with ourselves. A surgeon needs firmness. If he faint at the sight of blood, he has mistaken his profession. He needs a stout heart when he is called to operate on other men; but he is much more liable to flinch if he need to operate upon himself. Alas! we lack courage to press the sword of the Spirit home to the root of the ailment when it is seated in our own souls. Strike, and spare not for the patient’s crying. This old prayer is a word in season still: grant unto thy servants boldness. Nerve this arm to strike this blow.