How constantly the thoughtful student of scripture is struck by its depth and comprehensiveness! How much, for example, is wrapped up in the following sentence, in reference to Nicodemus, “ The same came to Jesus by night!” His coming to Jesus proved beyond question that deep anxieties were awakened in his soul. He felt a want of something. Perhaps he could not have defined his want to any one had he been asked to do so. But still there was a want—a craving—a blank—an anxiety, which nothing within or around him could meet. It might not have been a deep sense of guilt, nor yet a keen dread of danger, but he was dissatisfied, and therefore he came to Jesus.
But then “ he came by night.” And this fact is noted three times over by the Holy Ghost. Indeed, Nicodemus is never once named, save in immediate connection with his coming to Jesus by night. See John 7:50; 19:3950Nicodemus saith unto them, (he that came to Jesus by night, being one of them,) (John 7:50)
39And there came also Nicodemus, which at the first came to Jesus by night, and brought a mixture of myrrh and aloes, about an hundred pound weight. (John 19:39). This fact is never forgotten. It is inseparably linked with his name, in three distinct statements of the Holy Ghost, recorded on the page of inspiration. “ The same came to Jesus by night.”
Now why was this? Why did Nicodemus seek the cover of darkness for his interview with One whom he recognized as a Teacher come from God? Surely, if’ He were such, there was no reason to be ashamed or afraid to come and hear what He had to say.
Alas! the heart understands too well the reason why this master in Israel should seek the privacy of the night for his visit to the despised and outcast Jesus of Nazareth. Nicodemus was very far indeed from being prepared to break with Judaism—to give up the world, or abandon his position. It was one thing to be uneasy in his position, and quite another to be prepared to give it up. It was one thing to be dissatisfied with Judaism, and another thing altogether to be prepared to turn his back upon it. It was not an easy thing to surrender position, influence, and reputation. These are things which the poor human heart clings to with a fond and earnest tenacity. Even money itself, so much prized by most, will be scattered with a liberal hand, if position and influence can thereby be attained.
True it is, to one whose eyes have been opened to see the true character of everything under the sun—to one who has been taught to look at things in the light of eternity, to weigh them in the balances of the sanctuary; and who, moreover, has found rest and satisfaction for his heart in Christ, and all his springs in the living God—to such an one, all this hankering after position and influence, this jealousy about personal reputation and character, this care as to the thoughts of men, seems perfectly pitiable. He has passed in spirit beyond it all. He lives in a region where such things have no more weight than the chair of the summer threshing-floor. They have no charm for his heart. He would not give a “ thank you” for all the power, influence, grandeur, wealth, position, and popularity, which this world could heap upon him. He reads the stamp of vanity-utter, miserable vanity—upon it all. He knows, and is persuaded, that it is all passing away; that the clods of the valley will soon cover it all, and the dark shadows of an eternal night settle down upon all those who live only for this world.
But more than this. The man whose eyes have been anointed with heavenly eye-salve sees a beauty, and a preciousness, and an excellency in Christ, which flings into the shade all the glory, the grandeur, the pomp, fashion, glitter, and glare of this wretched world, of which the prince of darkness, the enemy of Christ and of God, is the ruler. What does such an one want with wealth or power? He can say, “ I have learned in whatsoever state I am to be content.” His heart is satisfied. He is at rest. He has Christ. He lives in the light of eternity. He breathes the very atmosphere of heaven. He is, by faith and in spirit, now, where he shall ere long be in person, and where all the strivings and the graspings, the scrapings and the hoardings, the groveling lusts and passions, the heavings and tossings, the plotting and planning, the scheming and overreaching, of this Godless, Christless, guilty world can have no possible place.
But our friend Nicodemus was very far indeed from this elevated ground when he sought the covert of the night for his interview with Christ. He is not prepared to meet the scorn and derision of those with whom he was socially and religiously associated. Position and reputation were as yet an object to him, and he was not prepared to fling to the winds the thoughts and opinions of men. He was not yet able to count his own righteousness and all his religious advantages as dung and dross, inasmuch as he knew absolutely nothing of “ the excellency of the knowledge of Christ.”
But further. The very opening words of his address to our Lord reveal in a remarkable mariner his moral and spiritual whereabouts. He says, “ Rabbi, WE know that thou art a teacher come from God; for no man can do those miracles that thou doest except God be with him.” Here we are admitted to the real secret of his thoughts about Christ—the amount of his apprehension rejecting Him. He viewed Him merely as a teacher, whose divine legation was incontestably proved by the miracles which He did.
Now, it was most assuredly true that our blessed Lord was a teacher come from God, and that His miracles proved Him to be such. But then Nicodemus needed something more than a teacher. He needed a Savior, a Quickener. This he had not yet learned. That he was ill at ease is evident. The fact of his coming to Jesus proves it, as we have said; though his coming by night; proves that he was by no means prepared to break with the world.
But many a one is ill at ease who does not know the full extent of their ruin, misery, and danger. There may be some misgivings, a certain consciousness that all is not right; but they do not see that their entire condition is a wreck, the whole tree, root and branch, corrupt—the whole system in which they stand condemned, from foundation to topstone. It is not a question of some defective points, which a Teacher come from God may set right. The fact is, there is nothing right. It is not only that the conduct is bad, the practical life a mistake, a vanity, and a lie; but the nature, in its very deepest springs, is utterly and hopelessly corrupt.
This is an all-important fact to seize. It must be discovered sooner or later. But, oh! how unspeakably dreadful to find it out when it is too late! How awful to discover my ruin when I am forever beyond the reach of God’s remedy! It is simply to “ open the eyes in hell!” Alas! alas! how many there are who will only open their eyes in that appalling place! How much better to hearken now! How much wiser to take God’s account both of this present evil world, and of our own personal condition, than to find these things out amid the blackness and darkness of eternal perdition!
Reader, have you seriously thought of these things? Have you found out the truth as to the world and as to yourself? Let us not rest satisfied with dwelling on the history of Nicodemus,, with seeing this, that, and the other point in his truly interesting narrative. We must bring things home to ourselves. Say, then, dear friend, have you bowed to the testimony of God as to the world, and as to yourself? You will be compelled to do so some day. Why not now? The whole world, that thing in which you are living, and in which, perhaps, you are trying to find your home, and your portion, and your enjoyment, is all under the curse. The stamp of death is upon it, and the heavy cloud of divine wrath and judgment is hanging over it. It is of no possible use to deny this, or to seek to shut your eyes to it. It is a fact, whether you believe it or not. A man asleep in a house on fire is none the safer for being unconscious of his danger. So with you, if you are unconverted. You are in and of a world that is as surely hastening on to judgment as the sparks fly upward.
And not only so, but you yourself are declared, by the word of Him who cannot lie, to be a ruined, guilty, hell-deserving sinner, for whom, if you die as you are, there is nothing but the anguish and torment of the lake of fire forever, and forever, and forever. The bare reference to it is perfectly overwhelming. What will the realization be? Oh! dear friend, do let us reason with you. Be persuaded, we entreat of you, to think of these weighty matters this very hour. Do not let the enemy of your precious soul any longer lull you into a false and fatal repose—a repose which may be broken in upon at any moment by the arrow of death, and succeeded by the horrors of a never-ending hell. Be assured of it, it is only a question of time—it may be hours, days, or years, when you must face the solemn realities of eternity. There is no possibility of avoiding this. Forget it you may; meet it you must. We want you now to pause, and look this whole question straight in the face. Take no rest until you are assured on God’s authority that “ the torment and the fire your eyes shall never see,” for the most solid and blessed of all reasons, that Jesus bore your heavy burden on the tree; that He endured, on your behalf, the wrath of a sin-hating God, in order that you might draw nigh to God in all the sweet confidence which His perfect love and Christ’s perfect work must impart to the soul that believes.
We shall now pursue our narrative. It is intensely interesting; indeed it must ever be so, to trace the progress of the work of God in a soul, to mark the stages by which the soul travels from nature’s moral darkness into the full blaze or God’s marvelous light.
Nicodemus took the first step in a right direction when he came to Jesus; and although there was a lack of boldness in coming by night, still, it was well to come at all. We must not expect to find the same measure of energy and decision in every case. Some of us are terribly timid and cowardly—sadly under the influence of the fear of man, which bringeth a snare—far too much affected by public opinion. It needs a powerful grasp of divine and eternal things, an intense realization of the value of the soul, and the deep solemnity of our future, to enable us to rise above the thoughts of men, and fling aside all thought of our position, our influence, and our reputation. Although, in our moments of calm reflection, we cannot but see the utter folly and contemptible weakness of such timings, still, there they are, and their effect is to hinder us sadly in a firm purpose to flee from the wrath to come, and lay hold upon eternal life.
Hence we can understand, and make large allowance for, Nicodemus. We can easily and fully account for his coming to Jesus by night; and we can heartily bless God that he came at all—that he found his way, even amid the darkness of the night, to One who has said, for the encouragement of all, “ Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out.” Precious words! living, powerful, attractive words! “ I will in no wise,” on no ground, for no reason whatsoever, “ cast out.” Who can resist the winning, soul-subduing, power of such words as these? They assure every comer, no matter who he is, or what he is, of a hearty and immediate welcome to Jesus. Nothing is allowed to stand in the way. There is no difficulty, no barrier, no obstacle. It matters not how deep the guilt, how many or how great the sins, how cold the heart, how dead, how ungrateful, how barren, how unworthy, how miserable—the word is, “ Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.”
No doubt, when the blessed Savior has us in His presence, He will make us feel everything according to the truth of what He is. We shall see, and think, and feel, and judge, according to the light which streams in upon us from Himself. But it will be all in His presence. If we look at ourselves, and think of our sinfulness and unworthiness, it will only deepen the sense of His grace, for has He not welcomed us, spite of all that we are, and all that we have done? Have not His own precious, charming words fallen, in all their attractive, encouraging power, upon our hearts, in the moral distance of our condition as dead in trespasses and sins?—“ Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out!” Yes, truly. Well, then, when we have come to Him, and, in the light of what He is, made discoveries about ourselves—the state of the heart, the guilt of the life, the magnitude and multitude of our sins, such as we never thought of before we set out, or on our way—will not all these things make some difference? How can they, when He has said, “ I will in no wise cast out?” Impossible. The only difference they can make is to enhance our sense of the matchless grace of Him who is at once glorified and gratified in saving the chief of sinners. As our debt swells, under our enlightened gaze, from fifty pence to ten thousand talents, it will only deepen our apprehension of that princely grace which has “frankly forgiven us all.” Each item in the category of our guilt will but awaken a fresh note to the praise of that grace which has blotted out all our transgressions as a thick cloud. It will but magnify and illustrate the value of that precious blood—which claenseth us from all sin.
Here we pause for the present. May these golden words on which we have been dwelling, those accents of sweetest, richest grace, fall with power upon the heart of the reader—“ Him that cometh unto me, I will in no wise cast out.”
(To be continued, if the Lord will)