“Look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them."—GEN. 15:5, 95And he brought him forth abroad, and said, Look now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able to number them: and he said unto him, So shall thy seed be. (Genesis 15:5)
9And he said unto him, Take me an heifer of three years old, and a she goat of three years old, and a ram of three years old, and a turtledove, and a young pigeon. (Genesis 15:9)
WHEN I was a child, I once heard my brother speaking of a visit he had paid to an observatory near our home, and of the wonderful things he had seen there. We often passed the observatory in our walks, and how I used to wish that I could get inside and look at the stars through the huge telescope that was fitted up there for that pleasant study. I am afraid I envied Mr. D—, who had had the place built for the purpose of carrying on his observations of the heavenly bodies, as they are called. Not that he was satisfied with what he could see there; for we used to hear of his going to Spain and other places, to get photographs of the moon at times when eclipses took place, and great was my interest in hearing of all his preparations, and then the result of his journey.
Well, one day my brother received an invitation to the observatory, and the gentleman who assisted Mr. D—in his various studies showed him all the wonderful things collected there—all of them relating to the heavens. Wonderful views of the sun and moon, and not the least wonderful to me, when I heard of it, was his view of the sky through the large telescope, and I hardly believed him when my brother told me he saw the stars shining although it was the middle of the day, and so many more, too, than we could see with the naked eye.
I know now that through even a moderate telescope the number of visible stars is greatly increased; through one of greater power, fresh points of light appear; and so on with each increase of power in the telescope, until it seems that any addition to the number would be impossible. But even then, still farther beyond those suns that glitter in countless hosts, lies a background of blue void or space glistening as if sprinkled over with gold dust, revealing that there are myriads still beyond our ken. Yet “the Lord knoweth the number of the stars, and calleth them all by name."All we know shows us only how very little our knowledge is; only “pushes the boundaries of our ignorance farther out," sheaving us how very much more there is for us to learn.
Shall we ever learn it, then? I delight to think that some will—those who own the Lord of the stars as their Lord and Master, will “know even as they are known."At that time, when this tiny planet that we live on now, and call the" wide, wide world," shall have seen the glorious sun rise and set for the last time, when the earth shall flee away from the face of Him who sits upon the great white throne, unable to exist before the glory of the very One who was once crucified in weakness and shame on this very same earth, when all we see around us now shall have passed away forever, then we shall understand all that is far beyond our mortal minds now. We shall be with Him and like Him who made all things by the word of His power.
But as we think of the myriads of suns, of which we only see a few and call them stars, and when we think that it is possible that every one of those stars that gleam so brightly may be lighting up other worlds, are we not obliged to own that every one of them speaks in its golden radiance of the One who created them, who orders all their course, and maintains the most perfect harmony in all the millions that revolve in what we call space?
“And lo! the infinite host of golden stars,
With voice now high, now low,
Said, as they bent their glowing crowns of fire,
It is the Lord—the Lord of all.'”
Some of you, I think, will be interested in hearing of a lesson on the stars that was once given to a number of the bravest soldiers in the French army, by no less a teacher than the great Napoleon himself. Most of you will have read in your histories of his expedition to Egypt; but your histories would not tell you of this lesson on the stars that I am going to repeat to you.
Napoleon and his army had entered Egypt, and were encamped for the night in a desert part. It was a lovely night, and the whole sky was ablaze with the gleaming stars. The soldiers were all in their tents; but Napoleon himself was walking up and down outside his own, and in doing so he passed one of the officers' tents, and found, from the sound of talking that came from it, that a party of his generals were assembled there. They were those whom he had specially chosen to be near himself, and were all remarkable for some brave or skilful action as soldiers. As Napoleon passed and re-passed the tent, their voices fell on his ears, in excited, loud discussion about something that at last interested him, for he stopped and listened—listened, I can imagine, with a frown gathering on his brow; for what do you think one of them was daring to say there in the solemn silence of the night? Why, they were wicked and foolish enough to be doubting whether there was a God.
Napoleon listened quietly for a few seconds, long enough to know what the discussion was about. Then he went to the opening of the tent, called them all to come to him, and, in an instant, he was surrounded by such a group as it rarely falls to any one's lot to teach. Brave men they were, devoted to Napoleon, proud of him, and proud of the distinctions they had won in many a battle field, as shown by the stars and medals that glittered on their breasts. And yet the poor beggar who has no home to call his own, but who in his poverty belongs to Christ, was richer and wiser than all France's boasted warriors.
As they gathered around Napoleon, eager to know why he had called them, he told them that he had unwittingly heard their conversation; and then, pointing up to the stars shining over their heads, he asked them who made those gleaming fires, and told them that there was an answer to all their doubts, for none but an Almighty God could create the shining worlds above them and sustain each one in its course. He ended by commanding them to banish such subjects from their conversation, as unfit for wise men who had the proofs of their folly ever before their eyes, if only they would see them.
Well would it have been for that great Napoleon had he gone on to know Him whom he thus owned as God, as his own God and Father in Christ. How different would his life have been in this world!
But now that we have glanced for a few moments at the vastness of the universe above and around our earth, and have seen how far beyond all our thoughts is the wondrous host of heaven, let us look at a glory from the same mighty Maker, that comes very near to each one of us.
You will find the verse that I want to look at to-night, in 1 John 3:11Behold, what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the sons of God: therefore the world knoweth us not, because it knew him not. (1 John 3:1): "Behold what manner of love the Father hath bestowed upon us, that we should be called the children of God." The very way in which the beloved apostle calls our attention to it is striking. "Behold," he says—"Look at it—look well and earnestly at this wonderful love —at the manner of it." Does this verse belong to each of us? I am glad to know that it does to some.
That we are children of God as we sit here tonight—children of the mighty God who has created all the marvels of the great universe around us. Children of the holy God who cannot look upon sin. Children of that God who is Light. Children of God who is Love!
Then it is no small thing to be a child of God. At present we can only get glimpses of what it really contains. But there is one thing we can do—if we cannot fully understand it, we can believe it.
To lie down to-night with this melody rising up in our hearts: "Spite of all that would contradict both within and around me, I am God's own child. God is my Father and He loves me perfectly. To rise in the morning and have the same precious words springing up to our lips in praise. To pass through the long, perhaps weary, day with this name of “Father" wrapping us round in its embrace, as it were, "our shelter, our shield, our covering.”
I once read of a missionary who had gone out I think, to India, to tell the natives of this love of God— of Christ Jesus—and by means of his preaching some of the people were converted and “turned to God from idols.”
After a long time, the missionary began to translate the Epistle of John into the native language, and he employed one of the young men who had been converted to write it down from his dictation. The young Hindu seemed greatly impressed with the wonderful words he had to write. It was the first time that he had ever seen them in his own language, and many were his exclamations of surprise and delight, showing how deeply he was interested in the wondrous truths of this part of God's word. But when at last the missionary dictated our verse, the young convert could hear no more: starting from his seat, he exclaimed, “It is too much—it cannot be—write rather that we are permitted to kiss His feet." So inconceivably grand to him was this place of children of God into which he had been brought by believing.
Have each of you, dear young friends, thought what a very dignified place those have who are believers in Christ Jesus? Have you ever really sat down and, for five minutes, let your heart dwell on the position God gives you if you believe in His Son?
All that we have been looking at is positively true of the very youngest girl or boy who believes; God is their Father, with all that that means.
Are any of you satisfied to remain outside all this? shut out in the darkness and gloom of this doomed world? Surely not! Oh, do not stay there any longer. Do you know, dear friends, that this loving Father, of whom we have been speaking, calls to you again by these very words.
Listen to what God says in Isa. 1:1818Come now, and let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall be as wool. (Isaiah 1:18): "Come now and let us reason together, saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as white as snow, though they be red like crimson they shall be as wool." Think of Jehovah condescending to speak like that, and I do not believe that any of you are really contented to think that the only heaven you will know is what you can make for yourselves down here. Are you now? You know quite well that you are not. Then how long are you going to put off seeing to it?
Only a few days ago I heard of a young girl who was visiting her friends for the day, and I did not find that they saw anything at all in her different from her usual manner. The next day she spoke of a violent pain that seized her, but after a while she said, “Oh, it is better now," and then her next movement was to fall back lifeless! All vain their efforts to rouse her, vain all the remedies—she was dead—gone from this world forever!
Dear young friends, would you be ready for such an end to your life here? It may come to you at any moment. Are you willing to remain strangers to all the love and beauty and grace of Jesus? Will you not be decided to follow Him, and say, as a young friend said to me some time ago, that he had made up his mind to this:
“Jesus, I will trust Thee,
Trust Thee with my soul;
Guilty, weak, and helpless,
Thou wilt make me whole.”
You will never know what real happiness is until you do own this in the depths of your soul. You may pretend to be happy, and fill up your spare time with music and singing, and reading story-books, and visiting your young companions; but I know very well that when you let the thought of death—and what comes after death—pass through your mind, it is like a cold chill over everything, and you put the thought away as soon as you can.
Now would you not like to exchange this for the blissful happiness of walking about in this life, knowing that you “have passed from death unto life?" That death is over for you, and that if your body should fall asleep it would be for you to be with the Lord—and death so conquered for you, that it can never touch you, because you are in life forever.
I know, dear young people, that some of your hearts are sometimes as troubled and restless as the sea in a storm, “whose waters cast up mire and dirt." And your very wretchedness and misery makes you say and do things that you have to be ashamed of afterward, or ought to be.
You see I have been through it all, and I know what it is to lie down at night and be afraid to go to sleep lest I should wake up in hell. Fearful of going on a railway journey, for fear I should meet with an accident, and be killed, and go straight down to that awful lake of fire—never meant either for you or me—but only for Satan and his angels.
Yes, I know all the horror of living like that—and pretending to be happy at the same time—and I know, too, the infinite relief of leaving it all behind forever; because, knowing that I was utterly bad, lost, and guilty, I came to Jesus just as I was and He did not cast me out. And so I know for myself now a little of what it means to be a child of God. Peace after tempest—calm after storm.
I wonder if any of you have ever been at Plymouth, and had the opportunity of seeing the difference there is in a storm, between the vast mass of heaving waters inside the mighty breakwater and the surging, frothing billows outside it. Outside there is awful danger, terror, may be death for those in the storm-tossed vessels. Inside there is safety, peace, rest. What makes the difference? It is the same ocean roaring outside as inside, the same winds are speeding through the air in both places. But it is this—a barrier has been erected there at great cost, with enormous labor, and at awful risk for those who labored to form it, and so a refuge has been provided for every vessel that enters.
God has provided a refuge at infinite cost to Himself—who will stay outside? In the days when the children of Israel had been brought into Canaan, they were told to set apart certain of their cities as places of refuge for those who had accidentally killed anyone, lest the friends of the slain man should attempt to avenge his death. At every cross road in the way that led to these cities, posts were set up with the words “refuge, refuge," written on them, so that the manslayer fleeing before his pursuers, might know which road to take.
Now I want our talks to be to some of you, what those words were to the unhappy fugitive, pointing out to you the way to the eternal Refuge.
And then to those of us who are already sheltered there, let this lovely truth that we are children of God, through faith in Christ Jesus, be more and more precious to us.
And while we may have to bow our heads in shame and sorrow, when we think how often we have dishonored Him—how little our ways and words have proclaimed our royal rank—let us never give up the fact, that it is true of us, little as we manifest it now. And let us see to it, that we do more earnestly and constantly seek to answer to the dignity God has put upon us.