The True Sphere of Faith
“They could not enter in because of unbelief.” — Heb. hi. 19.
It is not an entrance into heaven that is here spoken of, but an entrance into earth. The writer is speaking of a physical Canaan, a land of human rest. I think we lose the significance of the words by not keeping this in mind. We always associate belief with the salvation of the soul; it is here made a provision for the well-being of the body — a qualification for success in life. And the remarkable thing is that it is recommended for the entrance into life. The common view is that we should gain belief by our earthly struggles. We think of youth as by right a time for doubt, for mental unrest. We picture the soul’s progress as a search for God — its early years a battle-field, its midday a suspended judgment, its evening a crown of peace. Not thus thought the writer to the Hebrews. To him belief was for life’s entrance, life’s gateway. Instead of regarding the world as a place for struggling into the knowledge of God, he regarded God as a means of struggling into a knowledge of the world. He wished to begin
earthly life with God — not to seek Him by the aid of candles, but to light candles by the aid of Hi7n, And is he not right! Suppose a young man to say, “I am about to get married; if I am happy in my married life I shall believe in God; if not, I shall refuse to believe.” Where lies the fallacy of such a test? It is here — he throws into the sea half his capital before beginning the struggle of life. One half, at least, of his wedded happiness will depend on the use of that very spirit of religion which he has resolved in the meantime to tie up in a napkin. It will not do to begin the world without God, and say, when you trip, “This proves there is no God.” It is like an invalid who insists on walking by himself to see if there is a couch ten miles off. He must have his couch before starting — he must begin with rest. It is not by experience we gain calm; it is by calm we gain experience. The wings by which I rise must be fostered in the nest. The force by which I run must be nourished at the hearth. The strength by which I toil must be fanned by the peace of home. To tread the courts of man I must trust the course of God.
Lord, come to me on life’s threshold, come to me in the morning hour! Not when the day is far spent would I first meet Thee. It might help me for another world, but it would be too late for this. It is not enough for me to gain heaven; I must win earth. I know that the parting sigh of a dying thief may secure paradise; but what untilled ground it will leave behind! I know that even at evening time there may be light — that my heart may burn as I walk with Thee towards the setting day. But the burning is for a new day — not for this; the fire in my bush is no longer for the wilderness. I should like an earlier flame, O my God. Why should my heart wait for Emmaus to set it on fire! Why should it not be kindled at Jordan — kindled for the wilderness, kindled for the marriage feast, kindled for the weariness at Samaria’s well! Is it not for earth I chiefly need my heart’s burning! Why should I keep my faith in Thee for the days of heaven! Is it not here that it would most help me — here, where the streets are not of gold — here, where the gates are not of pearl — here, where the rivers are not crystal-pure! I wish Thee for warfare; I need Thee for night; I seek Thee for struggle; I prize Thee for privation; I want Thee for the hours of weariness; I crave Thee for the strength in conflict; I cling to Thee for the rainbow in the cloud. Experience may tarry for the noontide, but faith should come with the morning light.