The Grace That Barnabas Saw
“When (Barnabas) came and had seen the grace of God.” — Acts xi. 23.
SCATTERED abroad by the persecution, the disciples of Jesus preached him in Antioch, the great Eastern capital of the empire. Here a wide field lay before the labourers. They cultivated it diligently, and soon were cheered by a harvest waving like Lebanon. Great numbers were converted, both Jews and Greeks.
This thing was not done in a corner. The rumour quickly spread. Friends and foes alike published the tidings. The world, at one of its great central marts, was turned upside down by these Galilean preachers. In such a case those
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who love the change and those who loathe it spread the report with equal diligence. It soon reached the ears of the believers who still remained in Jerusalem. The Church there immediately despatched a messenger to the spot, with instructions to examine and report. Barnabas was chosen for this important mission. “He was a good man, and full of the Holy Ghost.” He could discern between the chaff and the wheat. He was a man who might be trusted. He could observe with discrimination and report with faithfulness. It were greatly to be desired that modern Synods should adopt the same method in similar emergencies, and that they had equally judicious agents at their disposal. The plan was good, and it was well executed. Barnabas, sent by the assembled Church at Jerusalem as their commissioner, to examine and report upon the state of religion in Antioch, was the right man in the right place. The result is briefly recorded under three heads: —
1. What he saw: The grace of God.”
2. What he felt: “He was glad.”
3. What he did: “He exhorted them all”
I. What he saw. “When he came and had seen the grace of God.” What a man sees in any place depends in a great measure on what he looks for. Different persons observe different objects on the same spot. The taste of the observer goes far to determine what kind of sights he shall see. An architect visiting Antioch in those days would have seen many gorgeous edifices in the city. He would have found much to attract his attention in the commingling of Greek and Roman styles with the indigenous Oriental tastes of the people. A merchant would have examined the wares that were exposed in the market, and speculated on new openings for trade. A soldier would have scanned the fortifications, and measured their capacity to withstand a besieging force. In such a case a Christian too has an eye in his head, and a bias in his heart to turn it in a particular direction.
Barnabas had an eye to business as well as other people when he entered the Eastern metropolis. The edifice that arrested his regard was a holy temple built of “living stones.” To “win souls” was the gain he coveted. From the soldier’s view-point too he looked upon the city, and considered how its teeming multitudes might be made the subjects of Christ the King. Barnabas came to Antioch looking for the grace of God, and he found it in abundance there. He saw also other sights — sights that made him weep. The multitude of that heathen city was wicked, and the wicked are like the troubled sea when it cannot rest. The corruption that met his eye on every side grieved, but did not surprise him. Here and there in the desolation he observed portions of that “new earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.” These were the spots which he came to seek, and these accordingly arrested and absorbed his attention. When a navigator is sent out on a voyage of discovery, he observes wide tracts of sea; but he does not report that fact on his return. Green islands, great or small, protruding here and there above the level waters, — these are the objects for which he searched during the voyage, and of which he speaks when he comes home again. Such was the errand on which Barnabas was sent, and such the method that he followed. Of a sea of sin that was spread before his eyes at Antioch we read not a word. His report refers exclusively to the grace that rose above it. As the coral islands of the Pacific rise and bask in the light of heaven, flowery and fertile, while their base is surrounded by the barren, salt, angry waves of an unfathomable ocean, so the group of Christians that clustered together as a Church in Antioch were rich in all the graces of the
The Grace that Barnabas saw.
Spirit, although they had sprung from a dreary heathenism, and were surrounded by it still. He reports not the sin of men, but the grace of God.
Barnabas had grace in himself, otherwise he would not have seen it in others. When the Christian doctrine first spread in the empire, certain Romish philosophers, intelligent and impartial as matters go among men, reported to the government that a vile superstition was inundating the land. It was the truth as it is in Jesus that was so characterised. It was the pure gospel, as it came from the lips of the apostles, transfused into the hearts and lives of believing men. Those who called it a vile superstition did not intend to give a false representation. The thing that was exhibited before them was the very thing that Barnabas saw at Antioch. It appeared before them, but they did not perceive it. They did not see grace, because they did not possess it. Some persons among ourselves, not deficient in understanding and the power of observation, perseveringly and energetically represent earnest Christians as a set of loathsome, selfish hypocrites. They think that they are telling the truth, and doing good service to God and man; but they are in the main mistaken. Although they had entered Antioch in company with Barnabas, these men would not have seen the grace of God. They would have reported that they found the majority of the population living in undisguised vice, but that a knot of knaves might be observed in the crowd, who wore long faces, and spoke in snivelling tones, and were tenfold more detestable than other people, because they falsely professed to be holier. Grace — that is, God’s favour bestowed through Christ, and accepted in faith — is a spiritual thing, and it is “spiritually discerned.” It requires grace in one man to enable him to observe and own grace in another.
But this grace — this favour freely bestowed — is nothing less and nothing else than free pardon of all sin, given by God and accepted by men. He who has obtained it is forgiven through the blood of Christ, and renewed by the Spirit. He is reconciled and at peace. The quarrel between his conscience and the Divine law is settled. He is in Christ Jesus, and therefore there is to him now no condemnation. The man no longer dreads God as an offended King, but trusts and loves him as a Father. Now this grace, as it comes in the covenant from God, is an unseen thing. It is a secret in the soul. How then can it be seen by Barnabas, or by any other man? Like other things, both good and bad, it is known by its fruits. Life is invisible; and yet you know well where life is: you know life by the actions of the living. It is thus that grace in human hearts becomes known: it is known by its fruits in human life. Grace in its germ is invisible to all; but those who, like Barnabas, have tasted it themselves, can detect its presence by the fruits which it bears.
The Christians in Antioch had abandoned idols. They bore the name of Christ, although it might expose them to persecution. They lived “soberly, righteously, and godly” in the world. They were patient in tribulation, and instant in prayer. The rich gladly helped the poor, and the poor industriously helped themselves. “Faith, hope, charity, these three,” beamed in their eyes and moulded their actions. There was a great exhibition in the Eastern capital at this time, and Barnabas went down to see it. It was a noble palace, built of living stones, growing together into a holy temple. He scanned it from its foundation on the Bock of Ages up to the brotherly love that effloresced richly from its loftiest pinnacles; and while he acknowledged a beneficent change in the life of those saved men, he ascribed it all to the goodness of God their Saviour.