Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 523
1 Samuel 2:6.
THIS sentence occurs in the very remarkable song of Hannah, who was equally illustrious as a poetess and prevalent as a suppliant. She sings an experimental song, for her deep sorrow had been a living death to her, and her joyful exaltation was a triumphant resurrection. Her hymn is a golden bracelet set with the jewels of sparkling contrasts. And this verse, with its vivid opposition between life and death, restoration and the grave, bears in it diamonds of the finest quality. Like the ewes in the Canticles, this verse bears twins.
There is the double blessing of Othniel’s wife in this text—it has both the upper and the nether springs as its inheritance. It has its own plain and natural meaning, which lies upon its surface like dust of gold. It has, moreover a spiritual meaning, which needs to be dug for like silver in the mine.
I. In reference to ITS FIRST AND MOST MANIFEST MEANING, “The Lord brings down to the grave and brings up.” Here the agency of God, in life and death, is clearly revealed to us. How well it is to discern the Lord’s hand in everything. Our Puritan forefathers were custom to speak of God as restraining the bottles of Heaven, or sending a gracious rain; as sending forth the wind, or hiding it in His storehouse. But we have grown so wise that we begin to understand how the rain is formed, and we talk about the winds as if we had been into the chambers from which they come howling forth and had discovered all the secrets of the universe.
We ascribe events to second causes, to the laws of nature, and I know not what. I think it were far better if we would go back to the good old way of talking and speaking of the Lord as being in everything. While we do not deny the laws of nature, nor decry the discoveries of science, we will suffer none of these to be hung up as a veil before our present God. O foolish wisdom, which widens the distance between me and my heavenly Father! O sweet simplicity of love, which sees the God of love in every place, at every hour! I need no telescope to see my God—behold, O sons of men, He is here—and my heart joyfully perceives Him.
God is in life and death, in sickness and in health. This, surely, will soften the pains of sickness and gild the joys of recovery. If you look upon sickness and restoration as merely the products of natural causes, you will not feel humbled when you are stretched upon the bed, nor grateful when you walk out again, and breathe the fresh air. But if you see God’s finger in touching your bones and your flesh, you will be humbled under the chastisement. And if you discern His hand in restoring your youth, like the eagle’s, you will be able, like David, to say, “Bless the Lord, O my Soul, and forget not all His benefits.”
Let others forget God if they will, that is the attribute of the wicked. But let His saints remember Him and let them speak well of His name and have it in their mouths all the day long—
“It is God who lifts our comforts high, Or sinks them in the grave.”
This most precious fact should produce several gracious results in our hearts.
First of all, it should awaken gratitude. What a mercy it is that we are here this evening! You would think it more a mercy, perhaps, if certain of yonder seats had been left unoccupied because those who sat there but a few days ago have gone the way of all flesh. If those pews could tell you where their former owners now are, you would praise the preserving hand of God far more heartily. Why, I looked just now with solemn gaze upon a spot where was custom to sit one who has heard me preach for years, but God has lately called him to His bar.
And I turn my head and look upon another spot—just there—where used to sit another friend, but this last week, while journeying in Wales for his health, he ran down a slope on one of the beautiful mountains a little more rapidly than he should have done. The fence at the bottom gave way and he was precipitated into an eternal world. Even in our recreations, what dangers dog our heels!
You sometimes smile at old-fashioned people who thank God for “journeying mercies,” and “journeying protections,” but, indeed, such petitions are as fitting as ever they were. I always like to offer to my God thanksgivings for mercies known and mercies unknown. Christ had unknown sufferings and we enjoy, as the result, unknown mercies. When we know that—
“Dangers stand thick through all the ground, To push us to the tomb, And fierce diseases wait around, To hurry mortals home,” our preservation from these dangers should make us bless our God, “who redeems our life from destruction.” Glory be to that solitary arm which shields us from a vast array of foes! While it causes gratitude, dear Friends, it should compel consideration and lead us to pray that sickness and health may be sanctified to us. “The Lord brings down to the grave,” and it is His rule never to do anything without a purpose. “He does not afflict willingly nor grieve the children of men for nothing.” There is always a “needs be,” if “we are in heaviness through manifold temptations.” Is it not the part of wisdom to say, with Job, “Show me why you contend with me?” Should not the sick chamber be a place where we should seek God? Indeed, where is there a place in which we should not seek Him? Brethren, we ought to ask the sanctified use of everything. Are we not to ask a blessing at the table upon our every meal? What is there, then, upon which we do not need the blessing of God? But especially do we need it upon our trials. Ask a blessing, my Brothers and Sisters, upon your troubles. Say grace over a table which is not so well loaded as it used to be. Say grace over broken bones and aching heads, over pains and pangs and partings, for there you want Divine Grace more than anywhere else, with the exception, it is true, of your prosperity—and there, likely enough, you need a double portion of His Spirit. If we have been lifted up from the couch of languishing and suffering, then let us quietly expect the comfortable fruits of righteousness which are afterwards to be brought forth in those who are exercised with trials. Let us pray God that the pruning may make us bring forth more fruit. That the filing may make us shine the more brightly. That the furnace may consume our dross, and the deep rivers drown our follies. If the rod shall scourge our sloth to death, and the staff shall strengthen our faith, both rod and staff shall be seen to be in the Lord’s hands and shall therefore comfort us. I think you will all agree with me, too, that the Lord’s bringing us low and raising us up again, should cause great searching of heart. Suppose I had died when last I was sick—was I then prepared to die? Woman, you remember when you last were stretched upon that sickbed and even the physician had given you up for hopeless? God spared you. But if He had not, where now would your soul be? Let your conscience answer that question and it may be that it will make you tremblingly say, “I should have been like unto them that go down into the pit.”