Metropolitan Tabernacle Pulpit · Sermon No. 2206
“Am I a sea, or a whale, that You set a watch over me?” Job 7:12.
JOB was in great pain when he thus bitterly complained. These moans came from him when his skin was broken and had become loathsome and he sat upon a dunghill and scraped himself with a potsherd. We are amazed at his patience, but we are not amazed at his impatience! He had fits of complaining and failed in that very patience for which he was noted. Where God’s saints are most glorious, there you will find their spots. The weaknesses of the saints lie near their strength. Elijah is the bravest of the brave and flees from Jezebel. Moses is the meekest of the meek and speaks in passion. Job is the most patient of men and cries, “I will not refrain my mouth; I will speak in the anguish of my spirit; I will complain in the bitterness of my soul.” As part of his bitter complaint, he asks, “Am I a sea, or a whale, that You set a watch over me?”
He seemed to be watched and whipped—and then watched again. It seemed to him that God concentrated all His strength upon him in afflicting him. He was beaten black and blue and, whereas, other culprits had 40 stripes save one, he had 50 stripes save none! He was spared no suffering and, he cries at last, “I am watched, and checked, as if I were a great sea needing always to be held in bounds or a terrible sea monster needing always a hook in its jaws. Lord, why do You harass me thus? I am such a poor, insignificant thing, that it seems out of Your usual way to be so rough upon one so feeble. The raging ocean, or the mighty leviathan may need such watching, but why do You spend it on me? Am I a sea, or a whale, that You set a watch over me?”
I shall not moor myself to Job’s sense of the words, but I shall spread my sail for a voyage further out to sea. This sort of talk may have been used by many a man who is now within hail of my voice—may have been used by sailors now before me.
Let me point out the channel along which I shall steer in my discourse. We shall begin by saying that some men seem to be narrowly watched by God. They think that the Lord’s eyes are as much fixed on them as though they were great as a sea, or huge as a whale. My second point will be that they do not like this watching. They complain about it and wish they could get rid of it. Therefore they argue with God against it. Our third head is that their argument is a bad one. They think they are very harshly treated, but the fact is that all they complain of is in love. See, my messmates, the way I shall try to steer, but if the heavenly wind blows me out of my course, don’t be surprised if I tack about and go, nobody knows where!
I. I have, first, to say that SOME MEN SEEM TO BE ESPECIALLY TRACKED AND WATCHED BY GOD. We hear of persons being “shadowed” by the police—and certain people feel as if they were shadowed by God—they are mysteriously tracked by the great Spirit and they know and feel it. Wherever they go, an eye is upon them and they cannot hide from it. They are like prisoners under arrest—they can never go out of reach of the law. They cannot get away from God, do what they may! There are men who have been in this condition for years and they know what I mean.
All men are really surrounded by God. He is not far from everyone of us. “In Him we live, move and have our being.” “Where shall we flee from Your Presence?” To the heights above, or to the depths beneath? To oceans frozen into ice, or seas where the sun shines with burning heat? In vain we rise or dive to escape from God. “You, God, see me,” is as
true in the watches of the night as in the blaze of day. God is with us and we are always beneath His eyes. Yet there are certain people to whom this is more clear than it is to others.
Some are singularly aware of the Presence of God. Certain of us never were without a sense of God. As children, we could not go to sleep till we said, “Our Father which are in Heaven.” As youths, we trembled if we heard God’s holy name blasphemed. As men, engaged in the cares of life, we have seen the Lord’s goodness, all along. We delight to see Him in every flower that blooms and to hear His voice in every wind that blows. It has made us happy to see God in His works. “The fool has said in his heart, No God,” but this folly we never cared for. We knew that God was good even when we felt we had offended Him. He has taught us from our youth and manifested Himself to us. Softly has the whisper fallen on our ear, “God is near you. God is with you. God has an ear to hear you. God has a heart to love you. God has a hand to help you.” I have known those who, even when they have sinned and gone against their consciences, have never at any time quite lost a sense of the nearness of God even though its only fruit was fear—a fear which has torment!
With others, God’s watch is seen in a different way. They feel that they are watched by God because their conscience never ceases to rebuke them. The voice of conscience is not pitched to the same key in all men, neither is it equally loud in all people. Conscience can be made like a muzzled dog and then it cannot bite the thief of sin. Conscience can grow like a man with a cold who has lost his voice. But it is not so with all men, even after years of sin. Some have a naturally tender conscience and, while living in sin, they are never easy. They make merry all the day, for, “they count it one of the wisest things to drive dull care away”—but dull care, like the chickens, comes home to roost at night! The sailor in company is jolly, but if he has to keep a lone watch beneath the silent stars, his heart begins to beat and his conscience begins to call him to account for the follies of the day. He starts in his sleep—he dreams over his past sin and the judgment to come— for conscience will wake even when the rest of the man sleeps. “You were wrong,” says conscience, and his voice is very solemn.