Sermons: Selected from the Papers of the Late Rev. Clement Bailhache

To praise Thee ofttimes with my tongue;
To praise Thee ever with my heart;
And soon, where heavenly praise is sung,
Oh, let me take my blissful part!

Then, Lord, not one of all the host
That hymn Thy glory round the Throne,
How e’er exalted there, shall boast
A strain more fervent than mine own.

XIII.

SICKNESS

“Lord, behold, he whom Thou lovest is sick.” – John xi. 4.

Much contact with sickness of late has set me thinking about it; about the place it occupies in the Divine dispensations of our life, and the lessons it may teach. The subject will find an easy entrance into our meditations. Most of us have known what sickness is, and all of us have in prospect that which will prove to be our last.

In all the sorrow that affects the people of God there is more or less of mystery, which deepens in proportion as those who suffer become mature in their Christian life, and advanced in holiness. Yet there are some obvious truths in relation to it which are not hard to discern, and to some of these it will be profitable to turn our thoughts now.

I. Sickness, in common with all our ills, is a solemn witness to the existence of sin. If we trace it back to its first cause, we shall find it to have originated in “the transgression of the law.” It would be contrary both to the letter and to the spirit of the gospel to see in each sickness the direct result of a particular sin. Yet cases of this kind are not so rare as we suppose. Many men, even professing Christians, suffer in consequence of sins known only to God and to themselves; secret luxuries and excesses, or a trifling, perhaps half unconscious, with some of the simplest laws of Nature. Let not this be altogether overlooked. Moreover, whilst we are not at liberty to suppose an immediate connection between some particular sickness and some particular sin, there is a general connection between sin and suffering. There would have been no sickness in the world if there had been no sin. There was none in Eden: there will be none in heaven. Sickness is a witness to the disorder which sin has created. The Christian is a forgiven man, but the secondary consequences of sin remain. In a sinful world, the sins of others react upon him in various ways. He himself, though forgiven, is not yet perfect. There will always be enough of the sense of sin even in the most devout heart, to bend the sufferer in humiliation beneath the thought that in a thousand ways he has deserved the discipline of sorrow.

II. Sickness, however, affords equal testimony to the love of God. The Christian has ample reason for knowing that it is a Father’s hand that smites, and that the blow is tempered with gentle mercy. We suffer less than many have suffered before: less than many are suffering now. The Old Testament gives us some notable examples of suffering – Job, David, etc.; so also does the New Testament – Paul, for instance. And what were the sufferings of these compared with those of Christ, who wept and bled and died, not for Himself, but for us? In all ages better men than we have suffered more. Consider what we have deserved, and what, but for the mercy of God, we must have had to bear. If the sufferings of life are not worthy to be compared with the glory that is to follow, neither are they worthy to be compared with the doom which must have followed, if God had not loved us with an infinite and everlasting love. Nor is it beneath the subject to mention the alleviations which are granted to us, and which we must all trace to the Divine Hand – sleep, the suspension of pain, sympathy, and, most of all, the hopes of the gospel. These are common-place considerations, but we must entertain them, if our gratitude and trust are to be strong and simple.

But we must enter into particulars a little further for the sake of evolving truth still more immediate and personal.

III. Sickness is often a special grace from God, and is a providential answer to the secret desires of our own souls. Not, indeed, the answer we ask, or the answer we expect; rather, indeed, the answer we would gladly avoid: but still an answer. The cardinal want of man is salvation. Who does not know that sickness has often been sanctified to that end? The cardinal want of the Christian is sanctification – preparedness for heaven; and every Christian knows how seriously this is impeded by a crowd of difficulties, real enough, but which we have a propensity to exaggerate; generally, the daily occupations and cares of life – a family to be provided for, a competency to gain, favourable opportunities to be looked for and seized, daily mischances, and the like. Meanwhile we are conscious of our spiritual wants, and there is a painful conflict between the claims which are temporal, and those which are spiritual. How many Christians are living a life of absorption in the world, yet harassed with occasional regrets, fears, desires, connected with better things? To these sickness is a Divine reply. It is as though God said: “Dear child, I know thy difficulty. Thou canst not of thine own determination leave the world; come away now. Leave thy labour, thy anxiety, thy dreams. Shut out from the world’s noise, listen to Me, to thy soul, to heaven, to eternity. Not that thou mayest do thy duty less faithfully do I thus check thee, but that thou mayest learn the true subordination of things to one another; not the spiritual to the temporal, but the temporal to the spiritual. That is why I put this affliction upon thee.” Oh, verily, blessed is sickness when viewed from the station where we rest and refresh in the fevered journey of life – a truce after battle, a parenthesis in life’s tale, into which God puts His own deep-meaning and gentle word. Let us remember this for our brethren’s sakes and for our own.

IV. Sickness, as a special proof of God’s love, is charged with a mission to bring to us some special gifts and graces. It is above all things a means of blessing when we associate with it the idea of discipline, however stern. There is not a single Christian virtue that may not acquire strength on a bed of sickness, and there are not a few Christian virtues which probably must be learnt there, if they are ever to be learnt perfectly at all. Among these note the following:

1. Patience. This is specially the fruit of sorrow. No soul can know what patience is until it has learnt what suffering is. To this effect Paul and James both teach, putting suffering before the Christian as a veritable cause of joy because it produces patience. How many elements in sickness would be aggravated by the absence of this beautiful grace! How quickly we come to feel that all worry is useless, and that we must simply wait the good pleasure of the Lord! How commonly too, the existence of this virtue strikes the beholder. It is not apathy, it is not stoicism; it is submission. When the sickness is past there will still remain much in life to try us; but if we have learnt the lesson, we shall know how to apply it.

2. Entire dependence upon God. This is sometimes hard to realize in days of health and vigour, but in days of sickness we feel that the sentiment is impressed upon us with especial weight. We know that it is He who casteth down and lifteth up. We use means for recovery, and this is right; but we learn that without His blessing the best and the most skilfully applied of these are of no avail. This sense of dependence on God should be the habit of the mind; and having acquired it in sorrow we shall not repudiate or forget it in joy.

3. Unworldliness. In a sickness which is protracted, and the issue of which is uncertain, we learn to put the proper estimate on things. We find and we feel that we have here no true home and no true satisfaction, and that we must look above. At such a time we perceive that the real is the spiritual and the eternal. As we groan in this tabernacle, we obtain our true relief in the contemplation of things unseen.

4. The confidence of faith. The possible issues of our sickness are momentous, and the question comes: “Of what quality are my hopes? Is the religion that has given me joy and strength in health able to support me now?” And how often the blessed answer is “Yes!” God gives us strength equal to our day. The Father’s smile, the presence of the Saviour, simple trust in the Cross – these are realized as they never have been before. And if health should return, it will be with the calmly, soberly delightful feeling of a religion in the heart that has stood the test. This is the experience of not a few whom I have known.

All this has a mighty influence on others besides the sufferers themselves. They preach, and preach effectively, through their sorrow and the grace by which they bear it, and get blessing out of it. Thus their sickness becomes an occasion on which, an instrumentality by which, God conveys the blessings of His grace to their brethren.

To all of us, whether in sickness or in health, the subject suggests some important lessons. It suggests thankfulness for such health as we have. Others are suffering: why not we? Multitudes are languishing in pain to-day; most of us are well. Let us bless God, and seek His grace that we may use this gift of health, with all His other gifts, to His glory. It suggests sympathy for those who suffer. How dependent they are on our kindness, our gentleness, our love. Let us give it to them in full measure. Specially, let us give expression to our sympathy for them by prayer on their behalf. It suggests faithfulness to the vows made in the time of our trouble. How much holier would all of us be to-day if none of those vows had been forgotten!

XIV.

JESUS ONLY

“And when they had lifted up their eyes, they saw no man, save Jesus only.” – Matthew xvii. 8.

The visible glory has vanished; Moses and Elias have disappeared; the cloud is gone; the Voice has been heard; and Jesus has assumed again the form of His lowliness. A few moments ago Peter, in a half-unconscious ecstasy, was saying: “Lord, it is good for us to be here: if Thou wilt, let us make here three tabernacles; one for Thee, one for Moses, and one for Elias.” And now they are coming down from the mountain to the turmoil at its foot, and they who wished to tabernacle so gloriously above must descend again to their fishing-nets below. The change seems sudden and sad. We feel inclined to exclaim, “What a loss!” But though they come down, Jesus is with them. Herein lies the substance of what I want now to develop. Our life has its resting-places, exposed to startling, rude alternations; but it has also, in the midst of all, its grand solace.

I. The first of these truths is one of such common experience, that we have no need to do more in support of it than to point to well-known facts. I shall try to generalize them by referring merely to three points.

1. To our external personal circumstances. Sometimes we are prosperous, cheerful, happy. We say, “The lines have fallen to me in pleasant places; yea, I have a goodly heritage.” Incidents occur which seem to transform our ordinary life. We succeed in our pursuits. We are in health. Our domestic happiness is undisturbed. We have been delivered from impending ill, and, instead of suffering what we have feared, we realize more than we have hoped for. We are thankful; we are content; and we want to build our tabernacle on the green mount of our prosperity.

May we not indulge this feeling without any suspicion that our prosperity may too much absorb and unspiritualise us? But the time for disenchantment comes, and if we have grace enough in our hearts, we find that a drawback is put in the way of our fancied happiness, the tendency of which is proving a strong temptation to worldliness. And then, though we do not court reverses – for they, too, have their temptations – we begin to feel that this position of fancied happiness is not so perfect as we thought. Besides, the novelty passes away, and the satisfaction becomes less. We had forgotten our higher needs whilst we were absorbed in our external well-being. And so we come to acknowledge once more that this is not our rest. Sometimes, too, a veritable reverse takes place; like the disciples, we have to come down from the mount. The alternations of grief, disappointment, and care follow our joy, and we get a further confirmation of the truth that there is no resting-place to be found in any of the circumstantials of life.

2. To our intercourse with men. We have reason to be thankful for all the blessing which reaches us through this channel, and especially so for all sanctified human relationships. To men of confiding, generous natures, it is natural to repose in their contact with certain of their fellow creatures. Some of our brethren wield a marvellous charm over us. We trust their character; we are not conscious of their defects; we are entirely at home with them.

But here, again, we find that we must come down from the mount. It would be a sad story if we could all tell our surprises and disappointments in this matter. How many apparently beautiful friendships have passed away! How many defects have we discovered in those whom we have implicitly trusted, when we have been brought into a closer acquaintance with them? How many have others discovered in us? Do we not see here one reason why men become cynical and misanthropic? The greater the confidence, the greater the subsequent distrust. The greater the joy, the deeper the grief which has followed it. Let us thank God for the friendships that abide; but let us remember that human love can never be a perfect resting-place for our hearts.

3. To our Christian feeling. In the early days of our Christian life especially, and often afterwards, all seems to be “transfigured” before our eyes. We see a new earth and a new heaven. We breathe a life-giving atmosphere as we ascend the hills from whence cometh our help. Moses and Elias – the law and the prophets – have undergone the same transformation. Desires which are earthly have given place to desires which are spiritual. We seem to be in closest contact with the Saviour, and we pity the small pre-occupations of the world. We say, “Let us build here our tabernacle, and rest.”

But changes await us! First the heights, then the depths! To-day, the unutterable words from heaven; to-morrow, the thorn in the flesh and the messenger of Satan to buffet! The one is not without the other. Hence the lesson comes home to us: “Do not depend too much on your heart-states.” These high joys seldom last long. Jesus, so to speak, loses His splendour, and comes down again from the mount, as a man, to His humiliation.

II. The facts I have adverted to are such as only experience teaches. The prosperous and the immature may suppose that I take too gloomy a view of life. By no means. Life has brought its trials to me; and, like many others, I have been again and again on the mount to come down afterwards into the valley. And, were it not for one crowning consideration, there has been enough of change to some of us to make us sad and gloomy enough. What has prevented it? This, that Jesus has come down from the mount along with us. We have learnt to prize Him in proportion as we have learnt the deceptiveness of all beside!

As Jesus humbled Himself, so He humbles His own. He wants us to walk by faith, not by sight, nor by sentiment. What should we become on our Tabor, if we were allowed to build our tabernacles there? Certainly proud; perhaps foolish; perhaps self-sufficient. Paul was in danger of being exalted above measure by the glory of the revelations which came to him; have we any reason to be more certain of ourselves? The greater the height the more destructive the fall. We might also mistake religious ecstasies for religious firmness or religious growth. Yes, the true discipline is that which makes us come down.

All this looks like the disenchantment of our cherished illusions. What have we to put in their place? Man does not live alone by what is taken away from him, but by what is given to him. Have we taken away all? Have we given nothing? We read that a Voice came out of the cloud, saying, “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased; hear ye Him… And when the disciples had lifted up their eyes, they saw no man, save Jesus only.” What does that teach us?

It teaches that out of these ecstasies, which often hide the reality, there comes a gift of God more precious than all —Jesus Himself. Whatever form He may assume, He is still the same; still the same whether He goes up the mountain with us, or comes down with us from the mountain. Our illusions vanish, but Jesus does not disappear. It is to Him that God directs us when the dreams of life are gone. Events deceive us, men change, the joy of our own hearts subsides; but these things happen that we may lift up our eyes and see Jesus only.

And so the illusions which depart give place to a permanent good. Do not be afraid to descend from the mountain-tops into the low valleys which lie beneath. Neither height nor depth need separate from the love of Christ. A mighty and gracious Hand guides you, whether you see it or not. Lay hold of it with confidence. Though your ecstacies vanish, the great gain of your faith will be a sober, deep repose.

Do not confound this repose with a want of life or of interest. A staid, strong, sober Christian is a man who has learnt in whatsoever state he is therewith to be content. A staid, strong, sober Christian is one who can do all things through Christ, who is ever near and ever strengtheneth.

Is not such a condition a blessed one? It is that which gives to faith its permanence and its calm. Instead of ascending to heaven and descending to the abyss to find Christ, we find Him here, and remain with Him in peace and assurance. Having found Him, and being united to Him, we may, if need be, do without the rest. On the mount and in the plain we have the same Saviour. In any case, our hearts are on a sure foundation.

The tabernacles Peter wanted to erect on Tabor let us erect in the valley. Let us keep near to Jesus; near to His law, near to His promises, but emphatically near to Him. This, too, will be a transfiguration, the transfiguration of our common life. The light of the Divine glory will shine about us; and in the light, and out of the cloud, the Voice will speak. We shall tabernacle with Moses and Elias only above; but we may tabernacle with Jesus below. Let us tabernacle with Him most at the cross; for it is there that we shall find most of our holiness and our hope.

XV.

PRAYER

“Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you. For every one that asketh, receiveth; and he that seeketh, findeth; and to him that knocketh, it shall be opened.” – Matthew vii. 7, 8.

Prayer is one of the vital elements of the Christian life. It mingles with its first impulses; it is the secret of every step in its development, the hidden germ of the grain of mustard-seed, the sap that nourishes the growing and the perfected tree from the furthermost fibres of its roots to the topmost shoot of its branches. A sapless tree is not a living one, but dead; a prayerless Christian cannot be.

As might have been expected, the New Testament is remarkably plain in its teaching on this subject of prayer. The difficulties connected with it which exist in our minds are not difficulties which it creates or even sanctions. A simple reverence for its utterances is almost all that we need for their removal. Let us inwardly pray for this while we study the question now.

The form in which our Lord presents His exhortation in the text is interesting and suggestive. He uses three words – “ask,” “seek,” “knock,” which seem to intimate a gradation, and to lead up to a climax. The word “ask” indicates the felt want of a good which may be obtained; not purchased, but obtained as a free gift. The word “seek” indicates the continuance of the asking, with the added idea, perhaps, that our need is our fault, and that what we seek has been previously lost. The word “knock” supposes a difficulty in obtaining, the delay of the answer, a blessing shut up, and not immediately forthcoming. Here, then, is a hint of possible difficulties. Nevertheless, a promise is annexed, which is all-sufficient. “Ask, and it shall be given you; seek, and ye shall find; knock, and it shall be opened unto you.” Christ’s word is assurance enough for us; but He condescends to append an argument drawn from a comparison between man and God, between imperfect earthly parents and the infinitely perfect Father in heaven; an argument which ought to be conclusive. “What man is there of you, whom if his son ask bread, will he give him a stone? Or if he ask a fish, will he give him a serpent? If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your Father who is in heaven give good things to them that ask Him?”

The facts as they lie open on the surface of the text are among the most solemn and momentous facts of our life and thought. There is a God, holding in the universe a position which is exclusively His own, the great and only Giver of all good. Man’s position is one of dependence; in no sense is he self-sufficient. As it is God’s prerogative to give, so it is man’s duty and interest to ask. There is a possibility of communion between Him who gives and him who needs; the hand of want brought into contact with the hand that supplies. Then we have the fact that God is both able and willing to satisfy man’s want out of His own fulness. Further, we have the tender solicitation to trust on our part – the absolute promise that such trust can never be misplaced – and the encouraging assurance that the God who gives is moved towards His creatures who ask by all the sympathies of a Divine Fatherhood. Every ground of the confidence that children have in their parents is consolidated into a rock of immovable repose when the Heavenly Father comes in question.

These facts enter into the common substance of our Christian belief and thought. As Christians, we never deny and never dispute them. We hold them in a measure unconsciously till the crises of life bring them into prominence. But they are inconceivably marvellous. As mere conceptions they are grand; as realized grounds of hope they are inexpressibly helpful. They are full of greatness and tenderness. Each of us may say to himself: “My soul, with all thy manifold infirmities and littlenesses, thou canst pray to the great God! Ay, thou canst come to Him as to an infinite Father!” Surely that is distinction and consolation enough.

Comparatively few Christians, however, understand prayer as they should – either as a duty or as a privilege. With tens of thousands amongst them it is to a great extent an unappreciated boon. Even many devout Christians – anxious to use it to more effect – have their difficulties. I want to offer some help to such as these. The scope of prayer, unanswered prayer, delayed answers, etc., all are subjects of anxious questioning.

I. Prayer, according to the teaching of Scripture and of experience, is a simple transaction of asking and receiving. It indirectly serves other ends, as we shall see shortly; but it is first of all, and all through, just what I have stated. We pray because we want; we pray in order to get what we want; and we pray with the feeling that we shall not get it unless we pray. There is no mystery in such a view as this. The transaction between the Christian and God, involved in prayer as thus described, is as natural, as simple, as well defined, and as easily understood, as the action of a child when it asks its parents for what it needs, and when its parents give what it needs in answer to the asking. The holy men of Scripture understood prayer in this way. Their prayers are full of simplicity, both as to their structure and their spirit. Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Samuel, Elijah, all simply asked for such blessing as they felt they needed; asked for the sake of receiving, and feeling that the reception of what they wanted was dependent upon their asking. They unquestionably believed in an invisible Hand, and felt that the Heart that guided that Hand delighted to be trusted and appealed to in every, and for every, kind of human need.