George H. Morrison's Old And Beautiful Devotions

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September 7

The Intrusiveness of Christ - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

When the doors were shut…for fear of the Jews, came Jesus— Joh_20:19

A Time of Conflicting Emotions

This was a very memorable Sunday evening, one of the most memorable that history has known. The grave was empty; Christ Jesus had arisen, and slowly the glad truth was reaching the disciples. First had come the tidings of Mary Magdalene, then the thrilling experience of Peter, and now the two travelers to Emmaus had come in and had just finished telling what had befallen them. Can we not imagine what a conflict of emotions surged and throbbed in the disciples' hearts? Some believed instantly; some could not crush their doubt; some passed in swift alternation through glory and despair. And it was then when the doors were shut for fear of the Jews, that Jesus came and stood in the midst of them. How exquisitely fitting was His first word, "Peace!" Peace was the very thing which they lacked that evening. We may always trust Christ, in His unerring tact, to say the right word at the right moment.

But the words I ask you especially to consider are these: "when the doors were shut for fear of the Jews." They suggest to me two lines of thought which I shall ask you to follow for a little. The first is, we may close the doors on Christ unwittingly. The second is, though we close the doors on Christ, we do not shut Him out. May God grant us His guidance as we proceed.

We May Close the Doors on Christ Unwittingly

First, then, we may close the doors on Christ unwittingly; that, you see, is what the disciples did. When they shut and locked the doors of the upper chamber, they never meant to bar them against Jesus. They were afraid of the Jews, the Gospel frankly tells us—and there are few books so frank as the Bible is. They had not been born yet into the heroism of Pentecost; they had not been baptized with the Spirit of fearlessness. Had they heard the trampling of Jewish feet upon the stairs and the beating of Jewish staves upon the door, I daresay they would have thought that all was lost. So they made fast the door for fear of the Jews. That was their only object when they barred it. Yet you and I, reading the story together, detect that they were doing more than they imagined, for unwittingly they closed the door on Christ.

Now there is a lesson in that thought on which you and I do well to ponder. It is that we may close the door on all that is best and worthiest, and yet we can honestly say we never meant to do it. I do not think there are many who have deliberately resolved to shut out Christ. This is an age of such uncertainty that most men are too uncertain even to be skeptics. But there are doors we may close, never thinking of Christ Jesus; there are lines of conduct in common life we may pursue, and we never dream that we are raising barriers between ourselves and the highest and the best. But in the end of the day for us, as for the disciples, it will be found that we have done more than we imagined—we have closed the door unwittingly on Christ.

Many of you will remember the experience of Mr. Darwin which with his customary truthfulness he has chronicled. He tells us that through years of absorption in science, he lost the power of appreciating Shakespeare. He had no quarrel with Shakespeare—how could he have? He knew that he stood peerless and unparalleled. But Darwin for years had given heart and brain, with magnificent persistency, to certain studies. Every power had been riveted and every faculty absorbed in the enthusiastic search for certain truths—and then, when he came back to Shakespeare once again, with kindling memories of how he had loved him once, he had closed the door unwittingly on Shakespeare. It is a comparatively small matter when Shakespeare is concerned. It is supremely important when it is Jesus Christ. It may even be worthwhile sometimes to close the door on Shakespeare. But to close it on Christ is always a tragic thing. I beseech you, see that you are not living and acting as the disciples did upon that Lord's day evening when for fear of the Jews they shut the door, and unwittingly closed it on their Lord.

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The Intrusiveness of Christ - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Friendships and Choices May Shut the Door on Christ

There are many ways in which men commit this error. Think for example of the formation of friendships. Many a young man is ruined by his enemies, but more young men are ruined by their friends. It is amazing how easily some people form their friendships, how they make them on the line of least resistance, how they fail to realize what is implied in that mystical and mighty name of friend. So friendships are lightly and improvidently made, and slowly and secretly character degenerates; until at last that friendship (unworthy of the name), begun in the comradeship of some light-hearted hour, closes the door on a hundred noble things, and among them on the beauty of Christ Jesus. Or think again of the choices that we make—and we exercise our noblest prerogative in choosing. Every morning that we rise and every day that we go forth, our choices make us or our choices mar us. Someday a choice more momentous than usual comes. We are face to face with one of life's great decisions. And we have not been living on high levels, and so we choose amiss, for a man's whole life is in every choice he makes. Then the days pass, and the issues show themselves, and the choice works itself out in life and character, and a hundred glorious things are tarnished and are tainted as the result of one disastrous choice. We never meant to shut out power and purity, but they have receded into the dim distance ever since. We never thought to grow heart-weary and world-weary, but that may follow from one mismanaged choosing. Like the disciples beset by some poor fear, unwittingly we have closed the door on Christ.

Levity Can Close the Door on Christ

But perhaps the commonest of all causes of this great error lies in the spirit that will not take things seriously. I would never ask a young man or woman to be solemn, but I would always urge a young man or woman to be serious. We read the parable of the marriage feast, and we note how the invited guests made light of it. Do you think these guests had been serious and earnest men up to the hour when they received that invitation? God does not tamper with character like that. No man begins to be frivolous by mocking kings. When they were children they had made light of home and had thought little of a mother's love; when they were youths they had made light of purity, for they thought that to be immoral was a manly thing. Now comes the invitation of the king, the crowning and decisive moment of their lives, and in that moment all their past is concentrated, and Scripture tells us they made light of that. One thing is certain, they never meant to do it. They never thought that it would come to this. Thoughtlessly they closed the door on reverent feeling, on devoutness and on chivalry and on purity. But the curse of such levity is that it involves far more than we shall ever know till the years have unrolled their story. In tampering with the least we touch the greatest. We begin by closing the door on little decencies, and unwittingly we close the door on Christ.

Though We Close the Doors on Christ, We Do Not Shut Him Out

But now I pass on (and I do so very gladly) to the second and evangelical message of our text. That message is, though we close the doors on Christ yet we do not shut Him out. That night in Jerusalem the disciples found it so. Suddenly, though every lock was turned, Christ was among them. They had closed the door on Him not knowing what they did, yet for all that they did not shut Him out.

In studying the life of Christ on earth I have often been struck with that note of the inevitable. Men tried to escape Him—adjured Him to depart—yet though all the doors were shut, Jesus confronted them. I think of the Gadarene demoniac in the tombs. He was an object of terror so that all men fled from him. He had shut out his nearest and dearest by his wildness, but for all his wildness he could not shut out the Lord. "What have we to do with thee, Jesus, thou Son of God—art thou come hither to torment us before our time?" He could escape from his chains; he could not escape from Jesus. Lo! he is sitting clothed and in his right mind.

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The Intrusiveness of Christ - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

For the Jews, Christ Was Unavoidable

Or I think of Christ in relation to Jewish history, and I feel once again that He was unavoidable. For the whole struggle of scribes and Pharisees and priests was to close the door on Christ and keep Him out. They refused to acknowledge Him and they would make no place for Him; He was a gluttonous man and a wine-bibber; not this man but Barabbas! Everything that malevolence could do was done; everything that spite could suggest was swiftly practiced to discredit the name and sully the reputation of this prophet who mourned with tears over Jerusalem. Did it succeed? Was the door really shut? Was Christ barred out from the destinies of Judaism? Ah, sirs, every page of Jewish story reveals the futility of that endeavor. The most potent influence in Judaism is Christ Jesus. He has determined its fortunes and its fall. He is inextricably blended with its blood and anguish. He is the daystar of its only hope. They closed the door on Him—beat Him off—said He is done with now: but for all that they could not shut Him out.

You May Shut the Door, but Christ Can Still Reach You

If that was true in history I want you to believe that it is true now. For weal or woe, whatever walls you raise, Christ passes through them all and gets to you. There are deeds that we did long since, perhaps twenty years ago, but to this hour unexpectedly they rise and meet us. There were moments of exquisite happiness in our past, and even today their memory is like music. You cannot shut out the thought of intense hours; no change of years will prevent them winning through. And like the ineffaceable memory of such scenes is the presence and the beauty of the Lord. Christ is inevitable. Christ is unavoidable. I want that thought to sink into your hearts. Close every door against Him if you will; the mystery is that you do not shut Him out.

To Avoid Christ Is an Impossibility.

Sometimes He comes through the closed door just because all life is penetrated with Him. We talk of the Christian atmosphere we breathe, but the atmosphere is more than Christian, it is Christ. This is the Lord's day—who then is this Lord? We may have closed the door on Him, but He is here. We cannot date one letter in the morning but we mean that so many years ago Christ was born. He meets us at every turn of the road, in every newspaper, and in every problem. Our life is so interpenetrated with Christ Jesus that to avoid Him is an impossibility.

We Meet Christ through a Genuine Christian

Sometimes He meets us in a noble character, in a man who is a living argument for religion. And though we have resolved to have nothing to do with Christ, yet we feel in a moment that Christ is by our side. Creeds may mean nothing to us; we may have left off church-going; the dust may have gathered thick upon our Bibles; but accidentally we meet some man or some woman, having the hallmark of the genuine Christ, and through the shut door we know that Christ is here.

We Meet Christ in Our Moments of Sorrow

And sometimes it is in our deeper hours that He so comes. It is in the darker and more tragic moments of our life. It is when the sun has ceased to shine, and the birds have ceased to sing; when we are baffled and broken and disappointed. We closed the door on Him when we were strong and vigorous, for we did not want the intrusion of the Cross; but when life's deeps are uncovered then it is God we need, and through the shut doors Christ is in the midst.

Christ Can Break Your Hopelessness

In closing let me say this single word: am I speaking to any whose sin has made them hopeless? It may be there is someone who seems to have closed every door upon Christ Jesus. Have you been living for years in secret sin? Or has one great sin besmirched and blackened everything? The result of it all is that you seem utterly callous, incapable of faith, cold as a stone. My brother or sister, things are not utterly hopeless. Even now you may have the benediction. Through every barrier—in the teeth of every obstacle—that presence which is life and power may be yours. Christ is a spirit—nothing can hold Him back. There is no road-maker in all the world like love. Cry out, "Thou Son of God, come to my heart!" and though all the doors have been shut, He will be there.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

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September 8

The Doubting of Thomas

But he said unto them, Except I shall see in his hands the print of the nails, and put my finger into the print of the nails, and thrust my hand into his side, I will not believe— Joh_20:25

The Supreme Importance of the Resurrection

There is no reader of the New Testament who has not observed the supreme importance given to Christ's resurrection. It underlies all arguments; it inspires all pleadings. It is the mould in which the apostles' thought is cast; it is the morning star that lights their feet. I do not know that we have kept the accent there. We are so fond of asking what would Jesus do, that we almost forget the most stupendous thing that Jesus did. It calls for a tingling sense that Christ has risen to give us back again the apostolic music. In the Life of Dr. Dale of Birmingham there is no passage more arresting than the page where he tells how it flashed on him that Jesus lives. He had been ministering, preaching, praying, when suddenly, as in an inspiration, there broke on him the sense that Jesus was alive. We need to be touched like that. We need a new faith that the stone was rolled away. We need a new baptism of the conviction of Thomas, when, clasping those risen feet, he cried, "My Lord and my God."

The Character of Thomas Gives Weight to His Conviction

First note, then that the character of Thomas gives tremendous weight to his conviction. Do we not sometimes wonder at the Master's choice of disciples? Do we not feel that some of the twelve must have been very uncongenial company for Jesus? Why did He choose them, then? I can understand how a St. John would serve the world. But what service could a man of the character of Thomas render? I think the chief service of Thomas to the world was his magnificent witness to the resurrection. Peter was passionate, impulsive, rash, springing to his conclusions just as he sprang that morning on the waves; but when a great miracle is in the balance, I want the witness of another character than that. And John?—John loved so splendidly, that a loveless world has ruled him out of court. But the world cannot rule Thomas out of court; his character gives tremendous weight to his conviction. For Thomas was a very stubborn man. There was a grim tenacity about him that almost made him dour. Some men have only to see a thing in print to credit it. They would believe anything on the joint testimony of ten friends. But the ten disciples came hurrying to Thomas; and Peter and James and John were crying "We have seen the Lord," and Thomas knew what truthful men they were, yet Thomas stubbornly refused to be convinced. There was something very dour in that—and it was wrong, as stubbornness generally is—but in the measurements of history it was superb. If that man is convinced, I am convinced. If the man who snaps his fingers at Peter and John comes round, I yield. And the next Sunday Thomas is on his face, crying "My Lord, my God." Then, too, Thomas was a despondent man; brave but despondent, a more common combination than we think. Do you remember how when Christ was summoned to the grave of Lazarus, it was such a hazardous thing for Him to venture near Jerusalem that His disciples tried to dissuade Him from the journey? "Goest thou thither again?" said one. "Lord, if he sleep, he shall do well," parleyed another. But Thomas said, "Let us also go, that we may die with him." It was the word of a brave but a desponding man; a man who naturally saw the darker side—and we can thank God there was such a melancholy heart among the twelve. It is easy to persuade a merry heart. When I am full of hope, I shall credit the sunshine, though all the sky be cloud. But a melancholy man is hard to turn; and when a melancholy heart like Thomas's turns in an hour, passes from death to life, accepts the joyfullest fact in the world's history and worships, I bow the head before the infinite wisdom that set such a man among the twelve.

His Conviction Was Reached by the Dark Road of Doubt

So the character of Thomas gives tremendous weight to his conviction. Now mark, in the second place, that this conviction was reached by the dark road of doubt. I wonder if we could classify this doubt of Thomas? Well, there are some who doubt because their will is biased. That doubt runs down to life and character and is a dishonest, miserable thing. "Ah, if I only believed what you believe," said one to Pascal, "I should very soon be a better man." "Begin by being a better man," Pascal replied, "and you will very soon believe what I believe." There are those who will tell you they doubt this or that and give you a score of reasons for their doubts, and at the bottom it is a moral question. There is some habit that would have to go; there is some doubtful practice that must cease; there is some little reputation that would vanish, and the cloak of doubt is used to dally with sin. But no man would charge Thomas with that; whatever he had, he had a clean heart. He was a despondent, but not a dishonest doubter. Then there are others whose doubt is intellectual, and this is the prevalent doubting of today. But I do not think that is the doubt of Thomas. I cannot think that a man who had seen Lazarus's resurrection could be intellectually skeptical of the resurrection of Lazarus's Lord. His doubt sprang from another source than that. He doubted because he felt so deeply, and that perhaps is the sorest doubt of all. You mail a score of letters in a week, and you never doubt about their safe arrival. One day, you mail a precious manuscript, and instantly the possibilities of some mischance are wakened, and you cannot rest, you doubt its safety so much. It is because you feel so strongly, that you doubt. And Thomas felt so strongly that he doubted too. For the rising of Jesus meant everything to him. His heart was agonized lest it were false. Perhaps there would be more of Thomas's doubt today if there were more of Thomas's love.

Thomas's Doubts Were Dispelled by Christ's Gentleness

Lastly, these doubts were dispelled by the gentleness of Christ. Thomas set up one test. "Comrades," he said, "I love you; but it is all too wonderful, and I cannot believe you. But hark, when I see with these eyes the gashes of the nails, and put this hand into the wound which the spear made, I shall believe our Lord is risen." Then the next Sunday evening Jesus is in their midst, transfigured, beautiful; and He is saying, "Thomas reach forth thine hand, and touch, and be convinced—it is thy test." And do we ever read that Thomas did it? Never. And do you dream he peered into the gashes? Here was his little test, and he forgot his test. The little particular was swept aside in the overwhelming argument of love. It was the look, it was the tone, it was the love and gentleness of Christ that won the day. Thomas was at His feet crying, "My God!"

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

September 9

Desertion and Drudgery - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

Simon Peter saith unto them, I go a fishing— Joh_21:3

In the Absence of the Master

When the feast of Passover was ended, the disciples left Jerusalem for Galilee. It was there, amid the scenes of tender memory, that Christ had promised to meet with them again. One would have thought that having such a promise they would have hurried north without delay. We should not have expected them to linger in Jerusalem when it was in the highlands they were to see their Lord. But we must bear in mind that it was Passover and that the disciples were believing Jews to whom it would have seemed impiety to quit the city before the feast was ended. That was why they waited for ten days and only then set out for Galilee. And when they reached it and its familiar scenes, everything was as it had been in the past. Unruffled by the tempest in the south, unshadowed by the darkness of the cross, the simple life was flowing on as usual, and the meadows were beautiful with lilies. After the strain and agony of Calvary, that rural quietude would be like heaven. There would be no thought of instant labor, for any moment Jesus might appear. But the days went on and the Master did not come, and every evening the fishing boats put out until at last it was too much for Peter, and he cried impulsively, "I go a fishing." John would never have suggested that. Like Mary, he had the gift of sitting still. But he saw the wisdom of it when it was suggested as did the others of that little company, and it is on that resolve I want to meditate. Will you follow me then while I handle it in this way: first, there are seasons when Christ seems to be lost; second, in such seasons duty still remains; third, through duty lies the road to restored fellowship.

There Are Seasons When Christ Seems to Be Lost to Us

When the disciples went northward into Galilee they traveled in the radiant hope of meeting Christ. It was not in their thoughts that they would have to wait; they were expectant of seeing Him at once. Before He was crucified Christ had told them that it was in Galilee that He would meet them. Then, lest perchance they had forgotten it, the angel in the grave repeated it. And as if to make assurance doubly sure, Christ Himself, on resurrection morning, charged the women to go and tell the brethren to go to Galilee, and they would see Him there. Three times over the promise had been given, and they did not doubt it for a single instant. And they went northward eager with expectancy, saying, Tomorrow we shall see the Lord. And tomorrow came, and the sunshine lit the waters, and the smoke rose heavenward from cottage fires, yet no one moved into the village street having the marks of the nails upon His hands. Their thoughts were full of Him—that made it all the harder. Everything that they saw suggested Christ. There was the very boat upon the beach in which He had preached one memorable day. And so they woke and wandered by the shore and spoke of the dear, past days beyond recall; and the sun set, and the glittering stars came out, and nowhere did they have a glimpse of Jesus. They needed Him, and yet they could not find Him. They watched and waited, and He did not come. And their hearts sank within them and were heavy, and they looked at each other with despairing eyes. And the sky was as blue as it had ever been, and the peace of God was sleeping on the lake; but for them there was no peace, no rest, no beauty, because the Lord they loved seemed to be lost.

When His Presence Seems to Be Withdrawn

Now no one here has seen Christ in the flesh, nor shall we look on Him with our eyes on this side of the grave; yet in spiritual senses is it not still the fact that there are seasons when He withdraws Himself? There are times when Christ seems absent from the world, and evil triumphs without hindrance. There are times when Christ seems absent from the church, and its worship is only fashion or routine. And there are times when Christ seems absent from the soul, and faith is dead, and comforts are departed, and one is ready to cry again with Mary, "They have taken away my Lord, and I know not where they have laid Him." It is then that one prays, and prayer seems a mockery. It is then that the Bible loses all its dew. It is then that one comes to church and bows the head with a heart that is a thousand miles away. And one is never glad in such a season; one is fretful, irritable, weak, and every day is but a makeshift, and the grasshopper becomes a burden. Such seasons are always hard to bear. They cast a shadow on the leafiest June. When we have known Christ and when we seem to have lost Him, it takes the sunshine and the joy from everything. It is in such hours a man is prone to fall and to clutch again at what he had forsworn. It is in such hours that, for a word of sympathy, a woman will bow down her head and weep.

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Desertion and Drudgery - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

Yet He Is Near

May I say in passing to any in that state that there is a word of comfort for them here? Christ had withdrawn—He was not to be seen—yet was He watching the seven all the time. They looked for Him and He never came. They had His promise and He disappointed them. And they went out to fish and it was night, and they were unsuccessful and alone. And all the time, not very far away, standing upon the beach and watching them, was the Master whom they thought that they had lost. They were never more precious to Him than they were that night. They were never dearer to His heart. The future of the world was in that boat, and Christ in an agony of love was watching it. And yet they thought He had forgotten them, and they were dejected because they could not see Him, and perhaps they fancied that in the company of angels He was too mighty now for humble fishermen. I beg of you, then, not to misjudge Christ. When He seems lost, He is not far away. He is standing on the beach, within call, when the net is empty and the heart is sick. Only it takes a little love to see Him and to cry in the grey dawn, "It is the Lord"; and it takes a little courage to leap out and make for His pierced feet upon the shore.

In Seasons When Christ Seems to Be Lost, Duty Still Remains

So far, then, upon our first thought—there are seasons when Christ seems to be lost. Now a word or two upon the second—in such seasons duty still remains.
When Simon Peter said, "I go a fishing," you are not to regard it as a sinful impulse. It has been taken so, and by some eminent scholars, but I am quite convinced that they are wrong. It was not a counsel of despair. It did not mean that Peter was now hopeless. It was not a return to the old life in Galilee as if the discipleship had been a dream. It was the action of a man of energy to whom it was torture to be sitting idle, and who would fill in the hours till his Lord appeared by doing the plain duty at his hand. There were many things that Peter could not do. He was not a scholar; he was not a farmer. But there was one thing he could do, and do well—and it was not a great thing—it was fishing. And I say that that is Peter at his best, the man who was waiting to see his Lord again, and who in the meantime, when it was dark as night, went doggedly and quietly to duty. No one could have blamed these seven disciples had they wandered listlessly along the shore. They were unsettled; they were tossed and torn; they had a score of excuses for not working. But Simon Peter said, "I go a fishing"—there is work to do and I am going to do it. There was no joy for him—his Lord was absent—but the doing of his duty still remained.

Our Duty in Times of Sorrow

Now that is a lesson we all need to learn, and it is not always an easy one to learn. Think, for example, of the time of sorrow. There are sorrows in human life so overwhelming that they seem to blot out the love of God. It is so hard to see the meaning in them—so difficult to discern the hand of pity. And life seems shattered into a thousand fragments, and summer shall never be so sweet again, and how shall one pray when prayer has been mocked, and the heart is empty and the coffin full? It may be idle to talk of trust in God. That is the very thing that has been crushed. But at least you can rise out of an idle grief and say with this gallant heart, "I go a fishing." For there is still some duty you are called to; there is still someone who is in need of you; there is still some service in your power to render lying by your hand this very day. It is hard to take the cross up in the sunshine. It may be harder to take it in the night. But hard or not, that is what Peter did, and that is what you must do if you would triumph. For always that is the pathway to the music and to a peace more exquisite than music and to a trust in God that blossoms red, although its roots are in the silent grave.

Or think again of a young man who has won his liberty and lost his faith. He was nurtured in a Christian home, and he believed implicitly the Christian doctrine. He believed in it because he loved his mother. He came to church because his father did. And every night he knelt and said his prayers as he had been taught as a little child to pray. But now it is different—now he is a man—now he has begun to read and think; and for a little Christ has disappeared, and God is but the shadow of a shade. There is nothing to be proud of in that state. There is nothing to despair of in that state. Christ understands it—He has seen it often—He is not far away though He be hidden. But now, if ever, a man must rouse himself and cling to duty and cleave to what is good. Now, if ever, like Simon Peter, he must cry to his comrades, "I go a fishing." He must be good however hard it be. He must be pure however keen the battle. He must believe, although the heavens are silent, that it is better to play the man than play the beast. He must struggle up the mountain in the night, and then, when the day dawns and it is sunrise, he will have such a prospect at his feet as will tell him that the climbing was worthwhile.

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Desertion and Drudgery - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

Through Duty Lies the Road to Restored Fellowship

And so I reach the last truth I want to give you—through duty lies the road to restored fellowship. It was when they had toiled, and toiled heroically, that they discovered Jesus on the shore. There is something magnificent in their persistence all through the weary hours of that night. Time after time their nets were shot, and time after time their nets were empty. And yet they held to it till every light was quenched that had been twinkling seaward from the village, and the only sound that broke upon the silence was the calling of the night-bird on the lake. The wonder is they did not give it up. They must have been intensely disappointed. The fish were there, for other boats were taking them, and they were quite as skilful as the best. And yet they held to it all through the night and till the dawn was crimsoning the east, and it was then that Jesus Christ came back. They did not find Him because of their success. They found Him because of their fidelity. He did not come after a day of triumph. He came after a night of toil. Not in despair, but from a sense of duty had Simon Peter cried, "I go a fishing"; and he discovered when the morning broke that duty was the road to restored fellowship.

My brother and my sister, may I impress on you that it is always so? When the gladness and the glory are departed, that is the way to come at them again. You cannot always walk upon the mountains. You cannot feel like singing all the time. We are so strangely wrought of soul and body that such exultancies are sure to pass. But at least you can say when darkness is around you, "Please God, I am going to be faithful"; and to you, as to Simon Peter on the lake, that will restore the vision by and by. It is sweet to pray when the gates of heaven are open. It is sweet to serve when everyone is grateful. But I will tell you something that is not so sweet, and yet may be worthier in the sight of God. It is to pray when the heavens are as brass. It is to serve when nobody is grateful. It is to do one's work, and do it well, though there is not a star in all the sky. That is the way into strength of character. That is the avenue of inward peace. That is how men, victorious over moods, come to discover Christ upon the shore. Any baby can say, "I go a fretting"; but Simon Peter said, "I go a fishing," and he went fishing, and he toiled all night, and then there came the morning and the Master.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

September 10

The Boat's Breadth - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

Cast the net on the right side of the ship— Joh_21:6

Turning Back to Old Tasks

There are few scenes in the Gospel more impressive than this scene in the early morning by the sea of Galilee. Not even the meeting between Christ and Mary in the garden is more touching or tender than this incident. Calvary was past; the night of darkness was ended; Jesus had risen and the awful strain was over. It is in such hours that men instinctively turn again to the common toils which the strain has interrupted, and in such an hour Peter said, "I go a fishing." So Peter and his comrades toiled all night, but for all their toil, their fishing was a failure.
Night—nothing—how these words chime together; night—nothing, morning—Master. For in the morning the risen Christ stood by the lake and cried to them, "Children, have ye any meat?" There was only one answer to that straight question—it was No (we may be near to Christ and yet be starving); then He said to them, "Cast the net on the right side of the ship." They cast it therefore, and it was filled with fish. Whereon in an instant the disciple whom Jesus loved, and to whom the love of Christ gave eyes like the eyes of an eagle, turned to his comrades and Said, "It is the Lord."

The words, then, that I wish to dwell upon are these: Cast the net on the right side of the ship. And what do they suggest to me? These three important truths. First, what we long for is often nearer than we think. Second, we should never be afraid to change our methods. Third, Christ can manage things for us better than we can ourselves.

What We Long for Is Often Nearer Than We Think

You see at a glance that it was so that morning. Somehow, within the sweep of their nets, was the harvest of the sea these men were looking for. All night they had toiled without one sign of fish; they had lost heart; they were weary, hungry, hopeless. "Ah!" they would whisper, "this lake is sadly changed; there used to be good fish in it. There doesn't seem one in it now." But the fish were there, as plentiful as ever, nor were they far away in remote bays and creeks: cast the net on the right side of the ship—and it was full of great fishes, a hundred and fifty and three. What they had toiled for all night was not remote. What their hearts were set on was not far away. When Peter and Thomas and John recalled that morning amid the stress and the struggles of the after years, it would flash on them as one of its sweetest memories that what we long for may be nearer than we think.

Now often in reading the Bible I am struck with the divine insistence on that truth. And I take it that when God repeats a thing, He is bent on getting it graven on our hearts. Let me only recall to you the case of Hagar when she fled with Ishmael under the taunts of Sarah. Her flight lay through the desert with her child, and in the desert her womanly strength gave out. There was no water there was no sign of water; and her child was perishing, and she cried to Abraham's God. And then and there God opened Hagar's eyes and within a stone's cast of her child there was a well. She would have given all the world for water, and it was running near her all the time. She thought of the well beside the tent of Abraham, and there was a spring not a hundred yards away. And the days would pass, and Hagar would reach Egypt; and she would dwell among the temples of idolatry, but she would remember, when all her hair was silvered, that the things we long for may be nearer than we dream.

Everyone of us needs to learn that lesson We are so prone to think that the best is inaccessible. But all that we long for—happiness, love, peace, power—like the hundred and fifty fishes, is just here. Ah, if all that we craved for was remote, life would not be so tragic as it is. If all that we craved for was very far away, the story of humanity would be less pitiable. But the pity of a thousand lives is this, that love and joy and power and peace are here, yet by the breadth of a fishing boat men somehow miss them, and all their life they are toiling in the dark. It is easy to run away from home. It is not so easy to run away from self. Believe that the kingdom of heaven is within you. Believe that the best and the brightest is just here. The things that we crave for, without which we cannot live, which make all the difference between morn and midnight, these things are always nearer than we dream.

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[nChrist]

The Boat's Breadth - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

And if that is so of happiness and love you may be certain it is so of Christ. Peter and Nathanael and James and John made that discovery beside the lake. The scene was full of memories of Jesus: every light that twinkled on the lake shore recalled Him. I do not think one hour would pass that night, when the nets were shot and the fishing boat was rocking, but the name of Jesus would be on Peter's lips. They were longing for Him with a longing quite immeasurable; they missed Him unutterably; they could not live without Him. And they learned in the morning when He stood on the shore and called them that the Christ they longed for was nearer than they thought. Do I speak to any who are longing for a Savior—to any who have toiled all night and have caught nothing—to any who are saying "My life is a sorry failure, although God knows I have struggled in the dark?" Behold! I stand at the door and knock, says Christ—the very power and presence that you need. It is easy to believe what Christ wrought in Galilee. It is easy to believe His power in the past. The hard thing is to believe that here and now there is One who can redeem and save and change you. Yet that is what you are longing for now. No one else knows it; they think you are quite satisfied. But you are not satisfied, and I tell you that all that you long for is nearer than you dream.

We Should Never Be Afraid to Change Our Methods

Just think what would have happened by the lake if the disciples had been mastered by that cowardly fear. All night they had cast their nets on the left side—there may have been some fisherman's superstition in the matter—they were simply doing what they had been taught to do; they were holding fast to universal custom. Then in the morning came the ringing voice "Cast the net on the right side of the ship. Try a new method now. Adopt new plans. Strike out on a new course in the grey dawn." What a deal the disciples would have lost if they had sullenly refused to make that venture! No mighty fish would have filled their net to breaking. No one in the boat would have cried, "It is the Lord." The figure would have vanished from the shore; the hot sun would have mounted, and a dreary day would have followed a weary night. But they cast their nets and everything was different. They altered their plans, and the day became divine. It was Christ who was near them; the Savior whom they loved. They had a day of royal fellowship with Him. And I think that in after years when Peter and James and John were fighting their Lord's battles in the world, as often as they recalled this scene in Galilee they would never be afraid to change their methods.

In our moral and spiritual life we must get rid of this debasing fear. When we have been toiling all night and have caught nothing, it is time to cast the net upon the other side. Henry Drummond used to tell us of a duel that he had witnessed in one of the German universities. The combatants faced each other, and the swords made rapid play, and stroke after stroke was given, parried, baffled. Then suddenly, quick as a flash, one fighter changed his tactics; with the swiftness of thought he gave an unlooked-for stroke, and by the unlooked-for stroke the first blood was drawn. We are all fighting heavenward and Godward in a duel far more terrible than that of German students. There is not one of us in whom the flesh does not lust against the spirit, and the spirit against the flesh, and sometimes it seems as if victory were impossible. Try some new plan tonight. Strike out upon fresh lines. Have the courage to adopt a novel stroke. You have been fishing on the left and failing long enough. Cast the net on the right side of the ship.

Of course, I would not have anyone imagine that Jesus is putting a premium upon fickleness. There is no more hopeless character in the world than that of the fickle and inconstant man. The very fact that all through the weary night the disciples had evidently fished on the left side shows that in all of them there was that noble doggedness without which strong character is never forged. The man who can toil all night though he gets nothing is the rough material out of which saints are made. There is something heroic in all quiet persistency, especially when not one fish comes to the net. But to all of us, I imagine, there come mornings like the morning that dawned on these fishers at the lake; hours when we feel more intensely, when we see more vividly, when hopes are born in us and when new vistas open. It is in such hours, if we be men at all, that we will never hesitate to make great changes—we will cast our nets on the right side of the ship. We have never really prayed, but we shall pray now. We have never been thankful, we shall be thankful now. We have let devotion take the place of service, or we have let service take the place of prayer. Beware of the tyranny of habit in religion. There are ruts for the heart as well as for the wheels. We have toiled all night upon the left and have caught nothing. Cast the net on the right side of the ship.

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[nChrist]

The Boat's Breadth - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

And that is not only a lesson for the individual; it is a lesson for the whole church of Christ. I am no advocate of ill-considered changes. A mighty church must always be slow to move. I love old sanctuaries worn by the hand of time, and the grass-grown corners where our fathers sleep. I love to worship simply and in quiet places where the leaves brush against the windows and the birds are singing, where there are rugged faces round me that have known what tears are, and where I can bow in reverence before Almighty God. I love solemnity and dignity in worship. I love a church mellowed and grey with years. But the question of questions is not what I love. The question of questions is what about the nets? Are they full; are they empty; are there any fish in them? Are men being saved? Is the world being redeemed? If it is not, then let the dead past bury its dead, and cast the nets on the right side of the ship. Do not be eager for a change of methods. Do not be afraid of a change of methods. Measure the matter by the nets, and the nets only—by the power of the church with a dying and lost world.

New occasions teach new duties,

Time makes ancient good uncouth,

They must up and ever onward

Who would keep abreast of truth.

Christ Can Manage Our Daily Lives Better Than We Can Ourselves

Now just think of it, Peter and James were fishermen. They had been falling into that lake since they were babies. They knew every bay in it and every trick of the wind and every art and secret of the fisherman's craft. Then Jesus came to them. He gave directions. Did they resent it as gross interference? They did what He bade them, and doing it they found that He could manage their business better than they themselves.

Now after we have preached, businessmen sometimes say, "Ah! the minister knows nothing about business." That may be true, yet I should like to say in passing that the more I know businessmen, the more I honour them. In the face of risks we ministers know nothing of, they show a courage and a patience that put some of us to shame. I have felt a hundred times that had I but half the consecration to my business that I see in the lives of some businessmen to whom I preach, I might be less haunted with the sense of doing nothing. But that is by the way, my point is this—though the minister does not understand, remember Christ does. He can give advice to the most cunning fisherman, and the fisherman will never regret that he adopted it. Consult Him when all your labour is a failure. Go to Him on the eve of every venture. Tell Him all about it. Ask His advice on it. He knows far more about fishing than Peter ever did. It is such a pity that the fish should all be there, and that by a boat's breadth you should miss your share of them—the share which God in His providence meant for you and which you lose because you will not take His way.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
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(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
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[nChrist]

September 11

The Reversions of Jesus

When he had spoken this, he saith unto him, Follow me— Joh_21:19

The First Command

It is deeply significant to notice the reversions of our blessed Lord. The last command that Peter got (Joh_21:19) was the first that ever broke upon his ear. When Jesus was walking by the sea of Galilee He saw Peter busy at his fishing. It was not the first time that they had met, as we learn from the Gospel of St. John (Joh_1:42). The Lord had met him and seen his latent strength and given him his new name of rock, but hitherto Peter had been free. It was of that our Lord was thinking when He said: Once thou "walkedst whither thou wouldest" (Joh_21:18). Peter had no Master then. He was free to go wherever his heart took him. And the first command that Jesus laid on him was "Peter, follow Me," and Peter left his nets and followed Him. Then the Lord of Galilee was risen. In a little while He was going to the Father. He was laying His last commands on the disciples in view of the years that were to come. And the last command He gave to Peter, in that never-to-be-forgotten interview, was the first command that Peter ever got.

The Same Command Came at the End with Deepened Meaning

One thought which springs from such reversions is how words are deepened by the years. How beautifully in this instance is that illustrated. When Peter first heard that word of Christ he was a young man, dreaming the dreams of youth. Conscious of power, he was growing restless at the thought of spending a lifetime dragging nets. And when the Lord said, "Peter, follow Me, and I will make you a fisher of men," He struck home, with His unerring touch, to that slumbering and uneasy discontent. That was what following meant for Peter then. It meant the realization of his dreams. It meant a loftier and nobler service than he could hope for by the sea of Galilee. Peter was like a Highland lad, rebelling at being a tenant farmer all his days, and then one comes and calls him to the ministry. Now the years had passed, and life had come. Peter had been in the Garden of Gethsemane. He had witnessed the suffering of Jesus and learned the necessity of cross-bearing. What a depth of meaning now in the words "Follow me," a depth that he had never dreamed of once, when he first heard the call beside the lake.

And when we come to think of it that is what life does with every one of us. It does not give us new words after the years; it fills the old words with a deeper meaning. Think of the word war, for instance. How little it meant to us twenty years ago. It was a word of history and far-off battlefields, in those quiet and peaceful days. Then came the Great War, pouring its tides into our hearts and homes. And what a depth of meaning we never dreamed of once is wrapped up for us now in the word war. Think of the word mother. When we were young we took the word for granted. We never saw the patience and the sacrifice sleeping in that word mother. Now with the flight of years we understand, and the word is richer by ia thousand times than when it was uttered by the lips of childhood. Life does not come to us with new words. It comes to us with old familiar words. By joy and sorrow, by suffering and striving, it fills them with meanings which once we never saw. And that is just what Jesus did with Peter, when at the end, infinitely deepened, He gave him the first command he ever got.

Return to the Old and Simple Things

Again how often, after life's experience, do we come back to the old and simple things. That is precisely what Simon Peter did under the perfect handling of the Lord. These three years that he had spent with Jesus had been the greatest years of Peter's life. Old things had passed away; they were years of exploration and adventure. Walking with Christ is always a fine adventure; it is a launching out into the deep, and so had it proved itself with Peter. He had been led to a new thought of God; he had fathomed the secret of his Lord; he had stood on the summit of transfiguration; he had eaten the sacramental bread. And now, in the hour of Christ's departure, when he might have looked for something strange and wonderful, he was led back to the old simplicities again. "Follow me" was the earliest word in Galilee, when the morning was beautiful and life was tranquil. Since then the windows of heaven had opened and all the deeps had been broken up. And now, after that spiritual voyaging, Jesus lays on him anew the first command, and leads him back to the old and simple things.

And so does life do in many different ways, often, for instance, in reference to the Bible. From all the glory and the wealth of literature, life brings us back to that old Book again. Need I recall to you Sir Walter Scott, dying beside the music of bagpipes. "Lockhart," he said, "read to me from the Book," and Lockhart answered, "Which book, sir?" And then Scott, the same great heart in dying as he had been in living, said, "My dear, there is only one book." What a poorer world it would be for many of us without the glorious stories of Sir Walter. What a poorer world it would have been for him without his ballads and his Dryden and his Shakespeare. Yet, when the hand of God had touched him, and deep was calling unto deep, "My dear, there is only one book." He was back to the old simplicities again. Mortal needs conspired to bring him back. And what mortal needs conspired to do for him Christ did for Simon Peter. He brought him back to the old and simple word which he had heard in the morning by the sea of Galilee, "Follow thou me."

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
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(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
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[nChrist]

September 12

Waiting

And while they looked stedfastly toward heaven as he went up, behold two men stood by them in white apparel; which also said, Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing up into heaven?— Act_1:10-11

The Ascension — Christlike and Natural

Our lesson begins with the narrative of the Ascension, and the reader will remember that this is the second account of the departure of Jesus into heaven. The Gospel of Luke closes with the story, and now the Acts of the Apostles opens with it. The event that ends the earthly ministry of Jesus begins the ministry upon the throne. We are not to think of Jesus' work in heaven as something quite different from His work on earth. All He accomplished here was but the beginning (Act_1:1) of a service that He shall carry on forever Now the Ascension is the link between the two. It is the passage of the unchanging Lord from the lower to the higher sphere of service. Hence Luke concludes his Gospel with it and then puts it in the forefront of the Acts. Note, too, in the descriptions given by Luke, how sober and subdued the coloring is. When Luke tells of Pentecost, he is thrilled with excitement. He is vivid and picturesque, almost dramatic, when he relates the healing of the lame man at the Gate Beautiful. But a few simple and very quiet words are all that he uses for the Ascension, yet to us that seems the greatest wonder in the world. Two thoughts are suggested by Luke's simple statement. The first is, how Christlike the Ascension was. He who came down like rain on the mown grass, and who would not strive nor cry nor lift up His voice in the streets, will not go home with any sound of trumpet. And the second is, how natural it seemed to the little company who went forth to Olivet. They had always felt that Jesus lived in heaven. Could they be greatly surprised when He went there? The disciples were astounded at the cross. Death seemed so alien from the life of Jesus. But they were not astounded at the Ascension. They worshipped, and went to the city with great joy.

The Upper Room with So Many Memories Became the Place of Waiting

So the little company returned to Jerusalem, and we read that they went up into an upper room (Act_1:13). There can be little question that it was the very room that was already fragrant with memories of Jesus. Here, on the night on which He was betrayed, the bread had been broken and the cup had been drunk. Here they had sat, with the doors barred for fear of the Jews, when Jesus had appeared in their midst on the Lord's day. Probably from this very room they had gone forth to witness the Ascension upon Olivet. They were not forgetting the things that were behind when they returned under the familiar roof. The past was blending with the future for them; the agony, with the words "until He come." Try to imagine the company gathered there. There are the women who had ministered to Jesus and had held fast to Him when everyone else had fled. There is Mary, His mother, and this is the last glimpse we get of Mary, and she is worshipping the Son she once had nursed. His brethren are there, and only six months before John tells us they did not believe in Him. It was not so long ago since these very brethren had sought to have Him arrested as a madman. And now, for the ten days between Ascension and Pentecost, that company continues in united prayer. Their hearts are changed; their doubts have passed away; the command of Jesus is of supreme importance now. They are waiting for the promise of the Father, for the impending baptism of the Holy Ghost.

Replacing Judas

But one preparatory act still remained to be done. The number of the disciples was not complete. The little band must be at its full strength when the Spirit of God touched them with sevenfold power. So Peter rises— the same, and yet how changes How different from the impulsive, boisterous Simon! He is spokesman yet (such men are chieftains always), but a great fall has bowed him to the dust, and a great love has set him on a rock, and there is a quiet dignity of sweet restraint about him now that makes him ten times the man he was in Galilee. He would have hurled hard names at Judas once. Now Judas "was guide to them that took Jesus." He would have pictured his doom in fiery colors once. Now Judas has just gone "to his own place." If ever a man came out of the darkness glorified, I think that man was gallant Simon Peter. At Peter's request, then, and after a brief sermon, a disciple was chosen to fill the place of Judas, and we may note these two features of the action. Firstly, everyone present had a hand in it. They all prayed and all gave forth their lots. Secondly, the qualification of the disciple was twofold— he must have companied with the Lord Jesus from His baptism, and he must have been a witness of the Resurrection. Matthias was chosen. The lot fell on Matthias. Can the reader cite instances of the lot from the Old Testament? It was entirely discarded after Pentecost, and I think that the Moravians are the only body of Christians who still practice the casting of the lot.

Lessons to Be Learned:

1. God Does Not Want Us to Be Always Gazing. The disciples would have stayed on the Mount of Transfiguration, but a demoniac boy was waiting at the fool The women would have lingered where their Lord was laid but they were bidden to depart with the glad news that Christ was risen. So here the two men in white apparel said, "Ye men of Galilee, why stand ye gazing?— have you no duties to fulfil at home, and do you not know that Christ will come again?" 2. There Are Unknown Disciples. No man on earth knows who Matthias was. There is not a trace of him in any Gospel; we never meet him in history again. Yet he had been with Jesus since His baptism and seen Him after His rising from the dead, and now it is the unknown follower who is chosen to take the honored place of a disciple. God, then, has many hidden servants. We do not know them, but the Master does. If they are faithful in the toil that no one sees, they shall have the ten cities by and by. 3. There Is Purpose in God's Delay. For ten days the disciples had to wait. God did not send the Holy Spirit at once. It must have been hard to abide in that upper room and keep the glorious secret of Ascension. Yet the ten days were educative days. The power of fervent prayer was realized; the company were knit into a surer brotherhood upon their knees; the glory of Christ shone on them more transcendently. There was a deep purpose in that delay of God. He had a fatherly meaning in His tarrying. And whenever in our life the delays of heaven seem hard, we do well to remember that upper room.

____________________

George H. Morrison Devotions

Dist. Worldwide in the Great Freeware Bible Study package called
e-Sword by Rick Meyer: http://www.e-sword.net/downloads.html
Full Featured - Outstanding - Completely FREE - No Strings Attached

(The goal of Rick Meyer is to distribute excellent Bible Study
Software to every country on earth in their own language FREE
of charge, and that goal gets closer by the day.)
____________________

[nChrist]

September 13

The Sabbath Day's Journey - Page 1
by George H. Morrison

The mount called Olivet, which is from Jerusalem a Sabbath day's journey— Act_1:12

A Three-Quarter Mile Journey

A Sabbath day's journey with the Jews was a quite exact and definite expression. It was a journey of about three-quarters of a mile. In the Exodus, you will remember, the tabernacle was in the center of the camp. On every side of it were ranged the tribes of Israel. From the tabernacle to the farthest tent was a distance of about three-quarters of a mile and that was a Sabbath day's journey. Such was the technical import of the word, but like other words, it got a vaguer meaning. It came to mean a short and easy journey, a journey such as anyone might take. And it will help us to understand our text and some of the wealth of meaning in it if we keep that looser significance in mind.

The Mount of Olives Is Associated with Loneliness

As most of you doubtless are aware, though it may not often be present to your thought, the division of our Bible into chapters is a comparatively modern device. In the ancient Greek Testament there are no chapters. Now unquestionably, on the whole, the division into chapters is a help; yet there are cases where it is not a help but, on the contrary, obscures the meaning One such unfortunate division bears directly on the Mount of Olives. At the end of the seventh chapter of St. John we read, "Then every man went away to his own house." At the beginning of the next chapter, "Jesus went to the Mount of Olives." And it is only when we take these two together and let them lie together in the mind that we feel what the writer wanted us to feel, the spiritual loneliness of Christ. Every man went unto his own house; Jesus went unto the Mount of Olives. It haunts the memory, that lonely figure, homeless when all the company went home. And then, deepening the feeling greatly and throwing light on the loneliness of Christ, we are told here that the Mount of Olives was but a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem.

The Loneliness of Christ

Now loneliness is of many kinds, just as love is of many kinds. And there are many pictures of loneliness in Scripture, that perfect mirror of the human heart. There is the loneliness of Cain when he was driven out from the face of living men. There is the loneliness of Abraham when he went out not knowing whither he went. And there is the loneliness of the apostle John when he was an exile on the isle of Patmos where in the evening when the sun was setting he could perhaps sit by the sad waves on the seashore. All these were far away from friends and kindred. They were separated from all the ties of home. Their eyes looked out on unfamiliar scenes where was no form of comrade or of brother. But the loneliness of Christ was of another kind. It was the loneliness of Olivet, and Olivet was but a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem. Not far away from Him were happy homes. He saw the sunshine flashing on the walls. In the still evening He could hear the voices of the children who were playing in the marketplace His was a loneliness amid familiar scenes and not far distant from familiar faces where men were toiling and cottage fires were smoking and mothers were rocking their little ones to sleep.

Loneliness Amid Men

Perhaps we better recognize the truth of this when we compare our Savior with the Baptist. The Baptist was a very solitary figure. The Baptist withdrew himself from human companionship— retired to the solitude of deserts— moved apart from men, far from the markets, where the lonely reeds were shaken by the wind. And yet the Baptist, for all his desert-solitude, does not touch one with such a sense of loneliness as Christ who moved among the haunts of me, The one was a recluse and dwelt apart; the other the friend of publicans and sinners. The one was a harsh and rigorous ascetic; the other was infinitely genial. And He loved the children, and He went to marriages, and He moved in the traffic of the village street; and yet I wonder if in all the centuries there has ever been such loneliness as Christ's. The loneliness of John was desert loneliness; it was the loneliness of isolation. But the loneliness of Christ was not like that. His was the loneliness of Olivet.

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[nChrist]

The Sabbath Day's Journey - Page 2
by George H. Morrison

The Unutterable Loneliness

And is it not the case that loneliness like that is very often the most intense of all? It is not those who are alone who are most lonely.

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods.

There is a rapture by the lonely shore.

There is society where none intrudes,

By the deep sea, and music in its roar.

But often there is a loneliness unutterable in the crowded city where the street are thronged and the windows are brilliantly lighted in the evening. That is the loneliness of every city, it is the loneliness of every Christmas, where love and life and sympathy and comradeship may be so near and yet so far away. And that, too, was the loneliness of Olivet where Jesus went when everyone went home, only a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem.

Mount of Olives Associated with Agony

Secondly, let us recall how the Mount of Olives is associated with agony. It is there that we find the agony of Christ; you remember the story of that agony? When the supper was ended they sang a hymn together, and then they went out to the Mount of Olives. They went down to the valley and across the brook and so upward to that place where was a garden. And there, under the silvery olive trees, with the light of the harvestmoon making them beautiful, our Savior was sorrowful even unto death. There He wrestled in spirit with His cross till his fast falling sweat was red as blood. There He fought His battle for the crown. There He conquered the shrinking of the flesh. And all this anguish which has redeemed the world was experienced upon the slope of Olivet, only a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem.

Now as with loneliness, so is it too with agony. There is agony of many kinds in Scripture. There is every sort of human anguish there in that immortal mirror of mortality. There is the agony of Abraham when he climbed Moriah to sacrifice his son. There is the agony of Hagar out in the desert with her little Ishmael. And you must take such agonies as these and compare them with that under the olive trees to understand the agony of Christ. The agony of Abraham was on the lonely mountain where never a sound was heard except the calling wind. That of Hagar was in a dreary desert where could not be heard the beating of another heart. But the agony of Christ was in a garden, a garden under the shelter of Mount Olivet, and Olivet was but a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem. All that anguish, not on the lonely moor, but known in its bitterness under the olive trees; amid familiar scenes where folk were moving and where the bridles rang upon the path, and Jerusalem but a little distance off, where mothers watched and little children dreamed, where some were toiling and some were making merry and some were brokenhearted.

The Greatest Suffering Is Not in Isolation

Now does it not occur to you, my friend, that that is an illuminating thought? The greatest and most poignant sufferings— are they not always near the haunts of men? Men fly to the wilderness and suffer there as many a hermit and anchorite has done. Men scale the snowy cliffs and suffer there as in heroic adventure on the Alps. Yet perhaps I the sorest and most bitter suffering is not the suffering of distant solitude's, but that which (like the Lord Himself) is not far away from anyone of us. It is suffering within hail of home and in the midst of familiar faces. It is the suffering of love despised, of friendship broken, of service unrewarded. It is the suffering of being true to God in daily duty and at every cost; it is the suffering of fatherhood and motherhood. Such agony is not a distant thing; it is not like that of Abraham or Hagar. It is near at hand, amid the lives we cling to, within the sound of voices that we love. It is the anguish not of Mount Moriah where everything was desolate and still. It is the anguish of the Mount of Olives.

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[nChrist]

The Sabbath Day's Journey - Page 3
by George H. Morrison

The Triumph of the Mount of Olives

In the third place, and lastly, I observe that the Mount of Olives is associated with triumph: it was the scene of the Ascension of the Lord. It is not often that farewells are victories; very often they are tragedies. Had we

Never met or never parted

We had ne'er been brokenhearted.

But the farewell of our Lord was not a tragedy; it was the crowning hour of all that He had lived for, "who for the joy set before him, endured the cross, despising the shame." That hour was the coronation of His work. It was the completion of His career of service. It was the victorious ending of His toil and tears, of His humiliation and His sacrifice. And to me it is beautiful that all this happened, not in some remote and shadowy region, but within a Sabbath day's journey of Jerusalem.

The Comparison between the Death of Moses and Christ

Compare, for instance, the going home of Christ with the going home of Moses. One feels the difference between Christ and Moses by a comparison like that. Moses went home upon a lonely height far from the pleasant stir of human life. It was a desolate and dreary spot where God unlocked the gate and took him in. But Christ went home amid familiar scenes and with the voices of those He loved around Him, not far away from the city of His ancestry. The eagle was wheeling and the wind was calling when "God kissed Moses, and he slept." His work was over, his splendid service finished, and the scene was far and desolate and lonely. But the triumph of Christ was of another kind. He went to the liberty of heaven from Olivet, and Olivet— a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem.

Now did it ever suggest itself to you how exquisitely beautiful that was? Christ triumphed then where He has triumphed always, near to the ordinary home and ordinary heart. There is a triumph of the lonely student keeping his vigil separate from men. There is a triumph of the Arctic traveler when he wins at last the silence of the pole. But every victory that Christ has won has been wrought out where men and women are, amid those hopes and fears and passions and affections which are the warp and woof of all humanity. It is Christ who has transfigured home and the lot of childhood and the love of motherhood. It is Christ who has ennobled common life, touching it with the glory of the infinite. He has won His victories where He was lonely; found His triumphs where He found His agony, not far away in any voiceless wilderness, but within sound of the voices of the city, That is why we can turn to Him tonight, certain that He is not far away. That is why we can say with glowing hearts, "I triumph still, if Thou abide with me." And that, I take it, is why He passed victorious into that heaven where His Father dwells from a familiar little hill called Olivet, which is but a Sabbath day's journey from Jerusalem.

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George H. Morrison Devotions

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