The Turn of the Tide

 •  3 min. read  •  grade level: 8
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ONE summer’s evening the writer stood on the edge of a stream that was flowing into the sea. The day had been very calm; only tiny ripples curled over the bar a few yards away, and the last rays of the setting sun shed a mellow beauty over the tranquil waters. But, as I stood, there arose a sudden commotion along the shore, and, turning towards the mouth of the stream, I saw a ridge of water, some inches high, come sweeping in with a “rush-sh-sh” from the ocean, tearing away the pebbly bank on either side and spreading with resistless rapidity.
Hastily I retreated to the high beach, and from thence watched the flood traveling up the stream; while the waves, gaining in size and strength, beat over the bar and broke right into the river, sending billow after billow in its wake.
The sun had gone, dark clouds were coming over the sky, and the sound of the harsh rattling of the shingle on the bar filled my ears, as I turned homeward thinking of the words of the Book, “For My determination is to gather the nations, that I may assemble the kingdoms, to pour upon them Mine indignation, even all My fierce anger” (Zeph. 3:8; Isa. 63:3).
Very clearly does the spiritual eye discern the “signs of the times,” the glaring unbelief, the determined self-will, the absolute rebellion that underlies the outward calm of the gospel-hardened nations of the earth, who say, “Peace, peace,” where no peace is. Hardened indifference and God-given peace have no affinity.
But how near is the “turn of the tide”!
The coming of the Lord Jesus Christ into the air to call His blood-bought people—home is just at hand. And then from beyond the slighted bar of God’s patient grace and marvelous longsuffering what a flood of judgment will roll in upon this guilty world!
Does the reader ask, “Why say ‘guilty world’?” We will go back in thought to an ancient eastern city, hundreds of years ago.
The inhabitants have all procured lambs to furnish a feast, which they call the “feast of the passover,” and there is much talk of one “Jesus of Nazareth,” who was taken last evening in the garden of Gethsemane. Above the hum of a city rises the hoarse cry of an enraged populace— “Away with Him! Away with Him! Crucify Him!” Later on in the day, in company with two malefactors, One is seen going outside the city, bearing the marks of cruel usage, up to a place called Calvary, and there, lifted up on a cross of wood, He is taunted and derided. Then a hush falls upon the city, the feast is being celebrated, when, lo, the darkness of the shadow of death descends upon the whole land. For the Lamb of God, the holy sin-offering, was passing under the judgment of God: the great Antitype was then giving Himself up “an offering and a sacrifice to God for a sweet-smelling savor” (Eph. 5:2).
But perhaps you say, “I would have stood up for Him. I cannot understand the Jews crucifying a Man who did so much good.”
Stay, my friend. Have you never laughed at and ridiculed one of the servants of this Master? Why do you dislike the servants of God? For the same reason that the Jews and their rulers crucified the Lord of glory. The presence of good is a reproach to evil. “Men loved darkness rather than light, because their deeds were evil” (John 3:19). And the natural heart always chooses Barabbas rather than Christ (John 15:17, 18).
But it was to make atonement for us that the Lord went down into that terrible darkness, under the flood of God’s judgment against sin.
For the believer there is now no judgment; it is exhausted, and he stands upon the solid ground of the value of the death of Jesus. But for the unbeliever there is a terrible, overwhelming day of wrath coming. “Who shall stand when He appeareth?” (Mal. 3:2). Flee to the shelter now.
L. J. M.