Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 988
Delivered by, the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington.
“The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all. Amen.”—Romans 16:24.
THE CHRISTIAN IS A MAN of generous actions, but his wishes go far beyond his deeds. Where he cannot be beneficent he is benevolent. If he cannot actually accomplish good for all, yet he anxiously desires it. If it be not in his power to confer grace upon any, yet he prays that God would give his grace to all the brotherhood. His heart entertains thousands, though his house might be overfull with ten; his liberal desires feed nations, even though his purse be so scant that he cannot afford more than a penny for a poor child. God, whose providence limits our ability, has set no measure to our willingness. Our wishes may be boundless though our powers are contracted, and this will be good for ourselves and not useless to others.
Christianity never came into the world to make individual professors of it isolated, like the icebergs which float away on the wide sea in solitary terribleness; neither is it intended that we should be so anxious for our own salvation as to be indifferent to the welfare of others. True religion is not a separating and repelling force, but rather, like attraction, it draws individual atoms into one body and holds them together. It does not shiver to fragments, but welds into one. It is a loadstone, not a whirlwind. God in his grace gathers together in one body in Christ Jesus all his scattered ones, and the same Spirit who constrains us to love God leads us to love our brother also.
A loving spirit, when it can actually do no more, naturally seizes upon the ever open outlet of good wishes, benedictions, and intercessions. Thus the great heart of the apostle relieved itself; though he would have been willing to lay down his life for the brethren, yet he did not think it idle to give them his blessing, nor did they reject it as worthless because it cost him nothing. It was meet that he who had in so many ways proved his sincere love to the saints should in his letter give utterance to it by pronouncing inspired blessings upon them Thus wrote the apostle of the Gentiles to those he longed to serve; “The grace of our Lord Jesus Christ be with you all.”
We have dropped, to a great extent, the custom of having the benediction pronounced by the minister upon the people. The minister, as a rule, rather turns it into a prayer than pronounces it as his own personal blessing. I am not certain that it is a great improvement. The dread of anything like priestism has led us to this custom. It may be, however, that in avoiding an evil we have missed a good. Are benedictions sinful or vain? Are the blessings of good men of no value? Can we no more say, “Peace be to this house,” and hope that our peace shall rest upon it? May no Jacob nowadays bless the two sons of a beloved Joseph? Will it be a mere form if an Isaac should invoke a blessing on his descendants, or a departing servant of God, like Moses, pronounce a benediction on his people? I confess I would not treat lightly my father’s blessing or the benediction of my mother; and though neither father nor mother can by their mere wish confer anything upon us, yet who would wish them to depart this life without having bequeathed us the legacy of their blessing? Like Joseph, you may bring your lads to receive their grandsire’s blessing if the old man be yet alive, nor need you suspect yourself of being superstitious. Many there are who have had no other heritage than a father’s blessing, and have counted themselves rich therein. Now, if the blessing of a natural father and mother may be considered valuable without attributing too much to men, so I think may the blessing of those spiritual parents who have been made useful to our souls. I was reading in the life of Caesar Malan an incident which touched my heart, and I feel no scruple in quoting it in this connection. In travelling through one of the valleys of Switzerland he met with a woman who told him that her father was dying, but that he was comforted and cheered by reading a little book. Being unknown by any one in the village, Malan stepped into the room and sat by the dying man’s bed, and was delighted to find that the book which had led to the man’s conversion was written by himself. His son, who was his companion, thus describes the scene:—“The old man exclaimed, ‘Ah! had I not been aged and infirm, I should long ago have gone there to see the good Mr. Malan. Look here, sir, you cannot think how earnestly I have entreated the Lord that I might see him before I died. For a long time I thought he would grant my desire, but I’m afraid I shall have to give it up.’ I stole a glance at my father, who was sitting silently looking at his hands. ‘What is the name of the book you refer to?’ he suddenly enquired as he raised his head. ‘Stay,’ was the reply, ‘here it is, it’s always by me,’ and he drew from under his pillow a well-worn copy of one of the earliest editions of my father’s hymns, and handed it to my father. ‘Do you sing any of these, then?’ asked my father as he turned over the leaves. ‘Oh, Jeannette knows some of them; she often sings them to me, and I derive pleasure and profit whenever I hear them,’ adding, as though speaking to himself, ‘If I could only see the dear gentleman who wrote those beautiful hymns; he must be a good Christian.’ ‘Listen, brother,’ said my father, ‘this young gentleman and I have just come from Geneva.’ ‘You have come from Geneva? then perhaps you have seen Mr. Malan?’ ‘Certainly, I have; we all know him well and I can assure you that if he were here he would remind you that he has only been a feeble and imperfect instrument of good to you; and he would speak to you, above all, not of himself, a poor sinner as you are, but of the eternal grace and perfection of our blessed Lord.’ The conversation lasted a few moments longer; my father prayed; then, when we had sung together one of the hymns which Jeannette knew, he prepared to leave, telling her that he was to preach the next day, Sunday, at Motiers. When he had got to the door, however, he stopped; and returning once more to the bed where the old man was lying with folded hands, said to him with emotion, ‘My Father, God himself, to whom you will so soon depart, has granted your prayer. I am Malan of Geneva; your brother in the faith of the blessed Savior.’ The poor old man, fixing his streaming eyes upon him in a long and ardent gaze, and slowly raising his trembling hands, exclaimed, ‘Bless me, bless me before I die! You, whom I have so long prayed God to send to me, bless me now that I have had the joy of seeing you.’ Falling on his knees at the bedside, my father replied, in tones which betrayed his deep feeling, ‘You ought rather to bless me, for you are old enough to be my father; but all blessing comes from God alone; let us once more ask it of him together.’ And folding in his arms the lowly brother, whom he felt he should never see again till they met in the better country, he invoked upon him ‘the peace which Jesus gives,’ and we left the hamlet.”