SOME chapters in the Bible hold a very special place because of the profoundly vital truths they teach. No preacher needs to offer any apology if he repeatedly calls attention to them — indeed, their immense importance demands that he should do so. The third chapter of the Gospel of John is one of these.
Think of the story with which it opens — that man of the Pharisees, steeped to his ears in religion, coming to the Lord Jesus by night. Possibly a better man than he never walked the streets of his native town. No mere moralist was he. Why religion was the business of his life! And yet the Lord told that man — earnestly, lovingly, emphatically, I doubt not — that unless born again he could never see nor enter God’s kingdom. Did you ever think of it? Anything more sweeping, going down to the very root of things, could not have been said to him had he― Nicodemus — been a devourer of widow’s houses, a hypocrite, a maker of long prayers for the sake of gain. Astonished, dumbfounded at what he heard, this man stood before the Lord, crying out in the amazement of his soul, “How can these things be?”
That great necessity — the new birth requires to be strenuously insisted on today. The need of this vital, indispensable work in the soul of man is not seen, or, if once seen, is being fast forgotten, passing out of sight like a ship at sea as it sinks below the distant horizon. For this is the day of the social gospel preached from a thousand pulpits. Here is the burden of it: “Make men sober, educate them; give them better dwellings, more work, higher wages, shorter hours, extra means of enjoyment, weekend holidays, and other items of the same kind.”
Very well, let them have all these and more, and when they have them, what then? Can any of these things arrest the flight of time, stay the advance of old age, or hinder the coming of that unwelcome visitor who grimly beckons men away from the busy scenes of life and bids them lie down in the narrow bed prepared for them in the crowded cemetery or quiet churchyard? With all this boasted progress, men will still need to be born again — born of the Spirit, or remain forever outside God’s kingdom. All that the social gospel gives, or rather promises, stands on the earthward side of the grave; and as for eternity — that never-ending stretch of time — it does not pretend to deal with that. But what does it profit though a man wear a crown and rule an empire if he pass away leaving all behind, only to meet on the other side the sins which he cannot escape, and for which he will have to answer before the great white throne?
“What win I if I gain the thing I seek?
A dream, a breath, a froth of fleeting joy.
Who buys a minute’s mirth to wail a week?
Or sells eternity to get a toy?
For one sweet grape, who will the wine destroy?
Or what fond beggar, but to touch the crown,
Would with the scepter strait be stricken down?”
And here I would earnestly inquire whether this social gospel is identical with that which the Lord commanded should be preached to every creature. What has it to say to the King and Queen, to the lords and commoners of England and their ladies, to the men of high social standing, of wealth and liberal education? What message does it bring to them — any or none? They have souls to be saved, have they not, or are they all right for the next world because of advantages inherited in this? Have they but to lead decent lives, use their influence and gold to help the poor and to further works of charity, and having done this, will they be quite sure of a high place in heaven when they die? Or is it a fact that in the sight of God all men stand on a common platform and all need to be born again if they would have part in that kingdom over which God rules? The latter is undoubtedly the case.
But what is this new birth, this being born of water and of the Spirit, that everybody needs? It is nothing less than a new life implanted in the soul, a new moral being having a nature that answers to it. It is no betterment of anything a man already possesses.
It is the communication of what is wholly new. Let what a man is born with be cultivated, refined, polished, made bright and beautiful as burnished gold, it is only “flesh,” and never can be anything else. “That which is born of the flesh is flesh” —nothing more. Can the Ethiopian change this skin? Black he is, and black he must remain though, in hope of making himself white, he washes himself every day with soap till he is ready to drop. No moral process can change man’s nature, he must be born again, and this is entirely the work of the Holy Spirit, who uses the Word as His instrument to accomplish it — a man is born of water and of the Spirit.
But there is more in this great chapter. The Lord goes on to speak of the lifting up of the Son of Man. What does that mean, when did it take place, and for what end? He tells the tale of Israel’s sin centuries ago in the wilderness — of the serpent of brass lifted up so that all the dying might see, if they were but willing to look; and when they looked they lived. It is of a truth an astonishing story. But that was only a shadow: the substance is here. Behold the Son of Man lifted up on the cross of Calvary dying that we might live, dying to make atonement for our sins, dying to close up in His death our history as men in the flesh, dying, in short, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish but have eternal life. Life eternal! Mark the term. This means more than the new birth common to all times. It is a word of another style and quality, a richer term with a broader outlook and wider range of blessing. “This is life eternal, that they might know Thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent” (John 17:33And this is life eternal, that they might know thee the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom thou hast sent. (John 17:3)). Here is the most profoundly blessed thing that mortal man can ever have on earth or in heaven, even the knowledge of the Father and of His Son Jesus Christ―it is everlasting life, the present portion of every believer in Him.
May, I pause here, to ask you, whether you know aught of these momentous matters? Is there any link between your soul and Christ? What has His dying done for you? Have you ever been alone with Him? Have you knelt at His feet as a sinner needing to be saved? Has His great love won your heart? Can you say that He is your Saviour and that He has taught you to call His Father your Father and His God your God? (John 20:1717Jesus saith unto her, Touch me not; for I am not yet ascended to my Father: but go to my brethren, and say unto them, I ascend unto my Father, and your Father; and to my God, and your God. (John 20:17)). If so, life everlasting is yours — forever yours.
But of all the verses in this glorious chapter the sixteenth is the grandest. It is like a mountain among mountains whose majestic peak, rising high above the rest, pierces the very clouds. It begins with God, the Fountain of all blessedness. It reveals the amazing fact that He has loved the world — the pale-faced European, the swarthy sons of Africa, the copper-colored Malay, the yellow races of the far East — He has loved them all, so loved them as to give His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
Here is news! Oh, let it be sounded far and wide that every ear may hear it Here is a story of love and infinite blessing that urgently calls for messengers—consecrated men and women—willing to run at His command and tell it upon the burning plains of Africa, upon the ice fields of the Eskimos, under the hot skies of India, in the crowded cities of China and in places nearer home, in streets and alleys and slums, and in the gilded saloons where the children of wealth and pleasure go. God so loved that He gave — gave His best gift―the Son of His love, gave Him up for the worst, the vilest, yea, for all the sons and daughters of our ruined race. Yes, the love of God, great, mighty, measureless, lay behind it all. And to this end was He given, that whosoever believeth might have everlasting life. And let us mark the whosoever. It is a spacious word, broad, all-embracing, leaving none out. Blessed be God!
Observe the certainty with which the chapter speaks. “He that believeth on Him is not condemned.” Could words be plainer? Could words be surer? There is no judgment, no condemnation for the simple believer in the Son of God. If words mean anything, it must be so. And what strong confidence it gives to know this on divine authority. “For He whom God hath sent speaketh the words of God” (vs. 34). These words are veritable coins from God’s own mint, with the color and ring of heaven about them. Nor would anything less do. A trivial matter might be allowed to rest on a doubtful basis, but what concerns the soul — matters of infinite moment — must have a sure foundation. Nothing can be surer than “the words of God.” All else may pass away, but these remain. Here faith finds its warrant. He has said it. He that believeth... is not condemned.” That is enough we can rest there.
The closing verse of our chapter is equally plain and decisive. “He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life.” The simplest soul can understand this. With such words before them the harassed may give to the winds their doubts and fears. “The words of God” are a sure resting-place. They are no quicksands, treacherous, yielding to pressure, suffering the one who stands on them to sink and perish. Firm as the everlasting hills are “the words of God,” and on them we build all our hopes for the future and draw from them all our present support.
Let us read this wonderful chapter once again. Let us dig and delve into its exhaustless mines of wealth. Here the poor may find true riches, the weary everlasting rest. It is like the boundless sea on whose shores a little child may play, and in whose deep waters strong men may swim.
W. B.