Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 396
Delivered on Sunday Morning, June the 16th, 1861, the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington.
“Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord?”—Psalm 24:3.
THERE IS little doubt that this Psalm has a primary reference to the Lord Jesus Christ. He it is who alone ascended up on high by his own merits, and by virtue of a perfect obedience stands in God’s holy place. He alone of mortal race hath clean hands and a pure heart; he hath not lifted up his soul unto vanity, nor hath he sworn deceitfully therefore hath he received the blessing and righteousness from the God of his salvation. At his ascension the glorified spirits flooded heaven with music while they sang the language of the seventh verse, “Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of glory shall come in.” It would be a delightful theme for Christian meditation to consider the ascension of Christ, in relation to his work, what we obtain by it, and the glories with which it was accompanied, when, with a shout of saved joy, he returned to his own throne and sat down for ever having finished the labor which he had undertaken to perform. But, this morning, I must take the text apart from its connection, for I desire to make it the basis of a set of parables or illustrations with regard to Christian life. I think we may fairly compare the life of a Christian to the ascent of a mountain, and we may then ask the question, “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord?” This has been, in fact, a favorite metaphor, and even that mighty master of allegory, John Bunyan, who needed never to borrow from another, must have the Hill Difficulty somewhere or other to make his story complete; he must tell how the pilgrim “fell from running to going, and from going to clambering upon his hands and knees because of the steepness of the place.” Without putting any strain upon the text, I conceive I may use it as a most serious question, while I picture our course to heaven as an ascent into the hill of the Lord.
Behold, then, before your eyes believer, the hill of God; it is a high hill even as the hill of Bashan, on the top thereof is that Jerusalem which is from above, the mother of us all; that rest
“To which our laboring souls aspire,
With fervent pangs of strong desire.”
This mount of which we speak is not Mount Sinai, but the chosen hill whereon are gathered the glorious company of angels, the spirit of the just made perfect, the Church of the first-born, whose names are written in heaven. And we are the pilgrims, full often joyous with faith, but sometimes weary and footsore, making the best of our way to the top of this mountain of God, where we shall see his face, and rejoice in him for evermore.
I, your fellow pilgrim, propose the question, “Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord?” No sooner does the question escape my lips, than I hear a jubilant shout from a company yonder who cry, “We shall; assuredly we shall; there is no doubt about our eternal safety. We shall most certainly attain the summit, rest our wearied feet thereon, and dwell with God for ever.” Well, confidence is good if it be good, but if it be presumption, nothing can be more ill. Let us, then, look at those who are so sure that they shall ascend into the hill of the Lord.
I notice, first, that some who speak thus are young beginners; they have not yet trodden the rough part of the mountain; they have only as yet danced upon the green knolls which are at the base of it; no wonder that their untried sinews find it easy work to ascend an easy pathway. Their limbs are supple, their muscles strong, and the marrow in their bones is as yet not dried up. They laugh at difficulty and they defy danger. “Ah!” they say, “whatever the danger may be, we can brave it; and however stern the toil, we are sufficient to surmount it.” Ah! young man, but be thou warned; if thou speakest thus in thine own strength, thou shalt soon find it fail that for the boastful man who journeys in his own strength is like the snail which, though it doth but crawl, yet spendeth its own life and wasteth itself, whilst it maketh but sorry way. Thy strength is perfect weakness; and thy weakness such that difficulties shall soon subdue thee, and terror shall cow thy spirit. Oh! dost thou not know there are troubles to come, and thou hast not endured them yet; there are attacks of Satan; there are temptations from without and from within? Thou wilt find it go hard with thee if thou hast nothing but thine own strength; thou wilt he down to die of despair before thou hast reached one-tenth of the way, and the summit thou shalt never see. Oh, young man! there are rocks most sharp and steep which mortal strength can never chub, and there are rugged ravines so tangled with briars and so bestrewn with flint stones that they shall cut thy feet, nay, cut thy very heart and make it bleed, if thou hast not something better to trust to than thine own strength. How much of our early courage in the Christian life is the courage of the flesh; and though it be a sorrowful thing to lose this, yet it is a blessed loss. To be weak is to be strong, but to be strong is to be weak. It may seem a paradox, but we are never really so mighty as when our might has fled, and never so truly weak as when we are filled with our own strength, and are reckonings upon ease and security. Be not so bold; take warning and look thou to a superior arm.