The mere dry doctrines of what theologians and reasoners call “the full assurance of faith, and the final perseverance of the saints,” are widely different things to the calm repose of a soul which has found its home and rest in the presence of God. Here the heart is not reasoning about the measure of its faith or the certainty of its continuance; but it is simply enjoying what God Himself is in Christ Jesus. It is not so much what He has said or what He has done, as what He is in Himself: though what He has said and done leads, or has led, the heart to find all its rest and resource in Him.
There is a great difference between a doctrine, however true, and the living Person of the risen Lord. The heart can never find its home and rest in a doctrine, an inference, however fair or plausible; it must have the full assurance and enjoyment of a love that can never change. The very thought of the possibility of a change would be torment. The changeless love of Christ is the only resting place of the human heart. Nothing but love will ever satisfy love; but when the heart rests and delights in His love, all fear of falling away, or of not persevering to the end, is unknown, —unfelt. The great thought of the heart is, He Himself is mine, and I am His. He has brought me to Himself, and fitted me for Himself, as the answer to the desires of His own heart. And now, He is satisfied, and I am at rest. But what am I to be thinking about? My faith, my conversion, my feelings, my doings, my perseverance, God forbid! Surely, I have only to think of Him, look to Him, delight in Him, speak of Him, and speak to Him. The whole of my christianity, as it were, has resulted in the knowledge, the possession and the enjoyment of the one who loved me and gave Himself for me. There is no higher, no further flight of faith than this. But lower, there is no resting place. There was no resting place for Noah’s dove, not even where she could fold her wings, until she returned to the ark. Neither is there a spot in the vast universe of God, where faith can fold her wings in perfect rest but the heart of Christ.
The knowledge of the truth, of course, and especially the knowledge of the finished work of Christ, are necessary to the knowledge of Himself, through the teaching of the Holy Spirit. But all these are as means to an end—the full knowledge of Himself. We must know the value of His work, before the heart rises into the one desire of knowing Himself. “That I may know Him,” says Paul; and as John says, “There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear; because fear hath torment.” It is the knowledge of His perfect love, a love that has its spring and power in Himself, and above the influence of our failures and shortcomings, that delivers the soul from all fear, and fills it with a holy boldness under all circumstances. The feeling is no longer what I am or may be, at some future time, but what He is. Will He ever change? Will His love ever cool down? Can He ever lose His place in heaven? Thus the heart finds perfect rest in His presence, being in Him, and one with Him; and a joy that is unspeakable and full of glory.
These thoughts have been suggested by reflecting on the weary wrangling of reasoners about “full assurance;” “falling away;” and “final perseverance;” and the triumphant death-bed of a beloved christian who found her delight in the Person of her Lord. The Christ-like calmness and dignity of her last hours may be a better answer to all such reasonings than anything we could say. We give in substance the closing scene.
The usual medical visit was paid. The illness had been long, and no doubt the visits had been many, but the last had come. The change was apparent. Turning to a sister who stood in the room, he quietly said, “She is dying.” He was a friend of the family as well as the doctor, and sympathized with the sorrowing friends. But there was one ready to comfort them all. The words, “She is dying,” reached her ear; but they conveyed no alarm to her soul; all was peace; and making a slight effort to look at her friend, she calmly replied, “Not dying, doctor—I’m going to live—No, not dying,—this is living—I’m going to live with Jesus.” And with great presence and composure of mind, she expressed her gratitude to the doctor for all his attentions and kindness, and assured him that she felt he had done all that man could do; and in bidding him farewell, she prayed that God might bless him and bless his family. “May God bless you, doctor, and may He bless your family,” were amongst the last words of his patient, but they were more than he could stand; he left the room in a state of the deepest emotion. He returned next day to see her asleep in Jesus, and speak of the blessing he had received.
Her work was now done. Like her Lord and Master, she passed off the scene with hands uplifted in blessing. She had been many years a Christian, and moved in what would be called the best society, so that there was no mere excitement in all this, but the calm and solid reality of a well instructed and highly cultivated mind. Of course it was the grace of God and that alone which enabled her to bear such a testimony for the truth and for Christ; but it was the sweet sense of His presence with her in that chamber of suffering and death which filled her whole soul with such peace and rest. He was with her, and that was enough. The strength of His arm, the beams of His countenance, as well as the love of His heart, were all her own. She is absent from the body, she is present with the Lord. She has joined the myriad throng above, quietly to wait with them and Him, the day of His coming glory. We shall meet in the morning—that morning of cloudless, eternal joy. Till then may we cease from self, rejoice in Christ Jesus, and seek the blessing of others.
I rest in Christ the Son of God,
Who took the servant’s form;
By faith I flee to Jesus’ cross,
My covert from the storm.
At peace with God, no ills I dread,
The cup of blessing mine;
The Lord is risen, His precious blood
Is new and living wine.
Jesus put all my sins away,
When bruised to make me whole;
Who shall accuse, or who condemn,
My blameless, ransomed soul?