How does He become ours? The paradox of buying with what is not money is meant, by its very appearance of contradiction, to put in strongest fashion that the possession of Him depends on nothing in us but the sense of need and the willingness to accept. We buy Christ when we part with self, which is all that we have, in order to win Him. We must be full of conscious emptiness and desire, if we are to be filled with His fulness. Jesus interpreted the meaning of "come to the waters" when He said, "He that cometh to Me shall never hunger, and he that believeth on Me shall never thirst." Faith is coming, faith is drinking, faith is buying.
The universal call, with is clear setting forth of blessing and conditions of possessing, is followed by a pleading remonstrance as to the folly of lavishing effort and money on what is not bread. It is strange that men will cheerfully take more pains to continue thirsty than to accept the satisfaction which G.o.d provides. They toil and continue unsatisfied. Experience does not teach them, and all the while the one real good is waiting to be theirs for nothing.
"Tis heaven alone that is given away; "Tis only G.o.d may be had for the asking."
Christ goes a-begging, and we spend our strength in vain toil to acquire what we turn away from when it is offered us in Him. When the great Father offers bread for nothing, we will not have it, but we are ready to give any price for a stone. It is not the wickedness, but the folly, of unbelief, which is the marvel.
The contrast between the heavy price at which men buy hunger, and the easy rate at which they may have full satisfaction, is further set forth by the call to "incline the ear," which is all that is needed in order that life and nourishment which delights the soul may be ours.
"Hearken, and eat" is equivalent to "Hearken, and ye shall eat." The real "good" for man is only to be found in listening to and obeying the divine voice, whether it sound in invitation, promise, or command. The true life of the soul lies in that listening receptiveness which takes for one"s own G.o.d"s great gift of Christ, and yields glad obedience to His every word.
The exiled Israel was promised an "everlasting covenant" as the result of their acceptance of the invitation; and we know whose blood it is that has sealed the new covenant, which abides as long as Christ"s fulness and men"s need shall last. That covenant, of which we seldom hear in Isaiah, but which fills a prominent place in Jeremiah and Ezekiel, is further explained as being "the sure mercies of David."
This phrase and its context are difficult, but the general meaning is clear. The great promises of G.o.d"s unfailing mercy, made to the historical founder of the royal house, shall be transferred and continued, with inviolable faithfulness, to those who drink of the gift of G.o.d.
This parallel between the great King and the whole ma.s.s of the true Israel is further set forth in verses 4 and 5. Each begins with "Behold," and the similar form indicates similarity in contents. The son of Jesse was in some degree G.o.d"s witness to the heathen nations, as is expressed in several psalms; and, what he was imperfectly, the ransomed Israel would be to the world. The office of the Christian Church is to draw nations that it knew not, to follow in the blessed path, in which it has found satisfaction and the dawnings of a more than natural glory transfiguring it. They who have themselves drunk of the unfailing fountain in Christ are thereby fitted and called to cry to others, "Come ye to the waters." Experience of Christ"s preciousness, and of the rest of soul which comes from partaking of His salvation, impels and obliges to call others to share the bliss.
II. The second part of the chapter begins with an urgent call to repentance, based upon the difference between G.o.d"s ways and man"s, and on the certainty that the divine promises will be fulfilled. The summons in verses 6 and 7 is first couched in most general terms, which are then more closely defined. To "seek the Lord" is to direct conduct and heart to obtain possession of G.o.d as one"s own. Of that seeking, the chief element is calling upon Him; since such is His desire to be found of us that it only needs our asking in order to receive. As surely as the mother hears her child"s cry, so surely does He catch the faintest voice addressed to Him. But, men being what they are, a change of ways and of their root in thoughts is indispensable. Seeking which is not accompanied by forsaking self and an evil past is no genuine seeking, and will end in no finding. But this forsaking is only one side of true repentance; the other is return to G.o.d, as is expressed in the New Testament word for it, which implies a change of mind, purpose, and conduct. The faces which were turned earthward and averted from G.o.d are to be turned G.o.d-ward and diverted from earth. Whosoever thus seeks may be confident of finding and of abundant pardon. The belief in G.o.d"s loving forgivingness is the strongest motive to repentance, and the most melting argument to listen to the call to seek Him. But there is another motive of a more awful kind; namely, the consideration that the period of mercy is limited, and that a time may come, and that soon, when G.o.d no longer "may be found" nor "is near."
The need for such a radical change in conduct and mind is further enforced, in verses 8 and 9, by the emphatic statement of present discord between the exiled Israel and G.o.d. Mark that the deepest seat of the discord is first dealt with, and then the manifestation of it in active life. Mark also that the order of comparison is inverted in the two successive clauses in verse 8. G.o.d"s thoughts have not entered into Israel"s mind and become theirs. The "thinkings" not being regulated according to G.o.d"s truth, nor the desires and sentiments brought into accord with His will and mind, a contrariety of "ways" must follow, and the paths which men choose for themselves cannot run parallel with G.o.d"s, nor be pleasing to Him. Therefore the stringent urgency of the call to forsake "the crooked, wandering ways in which we live," and to come back to the path of righteousness which is traced by G.o.d for our feet.
But divergence which necessitates repentance is not the only relation between our ways and G.o.d"s. There is elevation, transcendency, like that of the eternal heavens, high, boundless, the home of light, the storehouse of beneficent influences which fertilise. If we think of the dreary, flat plains where the exiles were, and the magnificent sweep of the sky over them, we shall feel the beauty of the figure. If "My thoughts are not your thoughts" was all that was to be said, repentance would be of little use, and there would be little to encourage to it; but if G.o.d"s thoughts of love and ways of blessing arch themselves above our low lives as the sky bends, pitying and bestowing, above squalor, barrenness, and darkness, then penitence is not in vain, and the low earth may be visited with gifts from the highest heaven.
The certainty that such gifts will be bestowed is the last thought of this magnificent summons. The prophet dilates on that a.s.surance to the end of the chapter. He seems to catch fire, as it were, from the introduction of that grand figure of the lofty heavens domed above the flat earth. In effect, what he says is: They are high and inaccessible, but think what pours down from them, and how all fertility depends on their gifts of rain and snow, and how the moisture which they drop is turned into "seed to the sower, and bread to the eater." Thinking of that continuous benefaction and miracle, we should see in it a symbol of the better gifts from the higher heavens. So does G.o.d"s word come down from His throne. So does it turn barrenness into nodding harvest.
So does it quicken undreamed of powers of fruitfulness in human nature and among the forces of the world. So does it supply nourishment for hungry souls, and germs which shall bear fruit in coming years. No complicated machinery nor the most careful culture can work what the gentle dropping rain effects. There is mightier force in it than in many thunder-clouds. The gospel does with ease and in silence what nothing else can do. It makes barren souls fruitful in all good works, and in all happiness worthy of men. Therefore the summons to drink of the springing fountain and to turn from evil ways and thoughts is recommended by the a.s.surance that G.o.d"s word is faithful, and all His promises firm.
The final verses (verses 12, 13) give the glowing picture of the return from exile amid the jubilation of a transformed world, as the strongest motive to the obedient hearkening to G.o.d"s voice, to which the chapter has summoned, and as the great instance of G.o.d"s keeping His word.
The flight from Egypt was "in haste" (Deut. xvi. 3); but this shall be a triumphal exodus, without conflict or alarms. All nature shall partic.i.p.ate in the joy. Mountains and hills shall raise the shrill note of rejoicing, and the trees wave their branches, as if clapping hands in delight. This is more than mere poetic rhetoric. A redeemed humanity implies a glorified world. Nature has been involved in the consequences of sin, and will share in the results of redemption, and have some humble reflected light from "the liberty of the glory of the sons of G.o.d."
The fulfilment of this final promise is not yet. All earlier returns of the exiled Israel from the Babylon of their bondage to G.o.d and the city of G.o.d, such as the historical one which the prophet foretold, and the spiritual one which is repeated age by age in the history of the Christian Church and of single penitent souls, point on to that last triumphant day when "the ransomed of the Lord shall return," and the world be transfigured to match the glory that they inherit. That fair world without poison or offence, and the nations of the saved who inhabit its peaceful s.p.a.ces, shall be, in the fullest stretch of the words, "to the Lord for a name, and for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off." The redemption of man and his establishing amid the felicities of a state correspondent to His G.o.d-given glory shall be to all eternity and to all possible creations the highest evidence of what G.o.d is, and His token to all beings.
THE GREAT PROCLAMATION
"Ho, every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no money; come ye, buy and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without money and without price."--ISAIAH lv.1.
The meaning of the word _preach_ is "proclaim like a herald"; or, what is perhaps more familiar to most of us, like a town-crier; with a loud voice, clearly and plainly delivering the message. Now, there are other notions of a sermon than that; and there is other work which ministers have to do, of an educational kind. But my business now is to preach.
We have ventured to ask others than the members of our own congregation to join us in this service; and I should be ashamed of myself, and have good reason to be so, if I had asked you to come to hear me talk, or to entertain you with more or less eloquent and thoughtful discourses.
There is a time for everything; and what this is the time for is to ring out like a bellman the message which I believe G.o.d has given me for you. It cannot but suffer in pa.s.sing through human lips; but I pray that my poor words may not be all unworthy of its stringency, and of the greatness of its blessing. My text is G.o.d"s proclamation, and all that the best of us can do is but to reiterate that, more feebly alas, but still earnestly.
Suppose there was an advertis.e.m.e.nt in to-morrow morning"s papers that any one that liked to go to a certain place might get a fortune for going, what a _queue_ of waiting suppliants there would be at the door!
Here is G.o.d"s greatest gift going a-begging; and there are no doubt some among you who listen to my text with only the thought, "Oh, the old threadbare story is what we have been asked to come and hear!"
Brethren, have you taken the offer? If not, it needs to be pressed upon you once more. So my purpose in this sermon is a very simple one. I wish, as a brother to a brother, to put before you these three things: to whom this offer is made; what it consists of; and how it may be ours.
I. To whom this offer is made.
It is to every one thirsty and penniless. That is a melancholy combination, to be needing something infinitely, and to have not a farthing to get it with. But that is the condition in which we all stand, in regard to the highest and best things. This invitation of my text is as universal as if it had stopped with its third word. "Ho, every one" would have been no broader than is the offer as it stands.
For the characteristics named are those which belong, necessarily and universally, to human experience. If my text had said, "Ho, every one that breathes human breath," it would not have more completely covered the whole race, and enfolded thee and me, and all our brethren, in the amplitude of its promise, than it does when it sets up as the sole qualifications thirst and penury--that we infinitely need, and that we are absolutely unable to acquire, the blessings that it offers.
"Every one that thirsteth"--that means desire. Yes; but it means need also. And what is every man but a great bundle of yearnings and necessities? None of us carry within ourselves that which suffices for ourselves. We are all dependent upon external things for being and for wellbeing.
There are thirsts which infallibly point to their true objects. If a man is hungry he knows that it is food that he wants. And just as the necessities of the animal life are incapable of being misunderstood, and the objects which will satisfy them incapable of being confused or mistaken, so there are other n.o.bler thirsts, which, in like manner, work automatically, and point to the thing that they need. We have social instincts; we need love; we need friendship; we need somebody to lean upon; we thirst for some heart to rest our heads upon, for hands to clasp ours; and we know where the creatures and the objects are that will satisfy these desires. And there are the higher thirsts of the spirit, that "follows knowledge, like a sinking star, beyond the furthest bounds of human thought"; and a man knows where and how to gratify the impulse that drives him to seek after the many forms of knowledge and wisdom.
But besides all these, besides sense, besides affection, besides emotions, besides the intellectual spur of which we are all more or less conscious, there come in a whole set of other thirsts that do not in themselves carry the intimation of the place where they can be slaked. And so you get men restless, as some of you are; always dissatisfied, as some of you are; feeling that there is something wanting, yet not knowing what, as some of you are. You remember the old story in the _Arabian Nights_, of the man who had a grand palace, and lived in it quite contentedly, until some one told him that it needed a roc"s egg hanging from the roof to make it complete, and he did not know where to get that, and was miserable accordingly. We build our houses, we fancy that we are satisfied; and then there comes the stinging thought that it is not all complete yet, and we go groping, groping in the dark, to find out where the lacking thing is.
Shipwrecked sailors sometimes, in their desperation, drink salt water, and that makes them thirstier than ever, and brings on madness and death. Some publicans drug the vile liquors which they sell, so that they increase thirst. We may make no mistake about how to satisfy the desires of sense or of earthly affections; we may be quite certain that "money answereth all things," and that it is good to get on in business in Manchester; or may have found a pure and enduring satisfaction in study and in books--yet we have thirsts that some of us know not where to satisfy; and so we have parched lips and swollen tongues, and raging desire that earth can give nothing to fill.
My brother, do you know what it is that you want?
It is G.o.d. Nothing else, nothing less. "My soul thirsteth for G.o.d, for the living G.o.d." The man that knows what it is of which he is in such sore need, is blessed. The man who only feels dimly that he needs something, and does not know that it is G.o.d whom he does need, is condemned to wander in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is, and where his heart gapes, parched and cracked like the soil upon which he treads. Understand your thirst. Interpret your desires aright. Open your eyes to your need; and be sure of this, that mountains of money and the clearest insight into intellectual problems, and fame, and love, and wife, and children, and a happy home, and abundance of all things that you can desire, will leave a central aching emptiness that nothing and no person but G.o.d can ever fill. Oh, that we all knew what these yearnings of our hearts mean!
Aye! but there are _dormant_ thirsts too. It is no proof of superiority that a savage has fewer wants than you and I have, for the want is the open mouth into which supply comes. And it is no proof that you have not, deep in your nature, desires which, unless they are satisfied, will prevent your being blessed, that these desires are all unconscious to yourselves. The business of us preachers is, very largely, to get the people who will listen to us, to recognise the fact that they do want things which they do not wish; and that, for the perfection of their natures, the cherishing of n.o.ble longings and thirstings is needful, and that to be without this sense of need is to be without one of the loftiest prerogatives of humanity.
Some of you do not wish forgiveness. Many of you would much rather not have holiness. You do not want to have G.o.d. The promises of the Gospel go clean over your heads, and are as impotent to influence you as the wind whistling through a keyhole, because you have never been aware of the wants to which these promises correspond, and do not understand what it is that you truly require.
And yet there is no desire--that is to say, consciousness of necessities--so dormant but that its being un-gratified makes a man restless. You do not wish forgiveness, but you will never be happy till you get it. You do not wish to be good and true and holy men, but you will never be blessed till you are. You do not want to have G.o.d, some of you, but you will be restless till you find Him. You fancy you wish heaven when you are dead; you do not want it while you are living. But until your earthly life is like the life of Jesus Christ in heaven, though in an inferior degree, whilst it is on earth, you will never be at rest. You are thirsty enough after these things to be ill at ease without them, when you bethink yourselves and pa.s.s out of the region of mere mechanical and habitual existence; but until you get these things that you do not desire, be sure of this: that you will be tortured with vain unrest, and will find that the satisfactions which you do seek turn to ashes in your mouth. "Bread of deceit," says the Book, "is sweet to a man." The writer meant by that that there were people to whom it was pleasant to tell profitable lies. But we might widen the meaning, and say that all these lower satisfactions, apart from the loftier ones of forgiveness, acceptance, reconciliation with G.o.d, the conscious possession of Him, a well-grounded hope of immortality, the power to live a n.o.ble life and to look forward to a glorious heaven, are "bread of deceit," which promises nourishment and does not give it, but breaks the teeth that try to masticate it; "it turneth to gravel."
"Ho, every one that thirsteth." That designation includes us all. "And he that hath no money." Who has any? Notice that the persons represented in our text as penniless are, in the next verse, remonstrated with for spending "money." So then the penniless man had some pence away in some corner of his pocket which he could spend. He had the money that would buy shams, "that which is not bread" but a stone though it looks like a loaf, but he had no money for the true food. Which being translated out of parable into fact, is simply this, that our efforts may and do win for us the lower satisfactions which meet our transitory and superficial necessities, but that no effort of ours can secure for us the loftier blessings which slake the diviner thirsts of immortal souls. A man lands in a far country with English shillings in his pocket, but he finds that no coins go there but thalers, or francs, or dollars, or the like; and his money is only current in his own land, and he must have it changed before he can make his purchases. So though he has a pocketful of it he may as well be penniless.
And, in like fashion, you and I, with all our strenuous efforts, which we are bound to make, and which there is joy in making, after these lower good things that correspond to our efforts, find that we have no coinage that will buy the good things of the kingdom of heaven, without which we faint and die. For them our efforts are useless. Can a man by his penitence, by his tears, by his amendment, make it possible for the consequences of his past to be obliterated, or all changed in their character into fatherly chastis.e.m.e.nt? No! A thousand times, no! The superficial notions of Christianity, which are only too common amongst both educated and uneducated, may say to a man, "You need no divine intervention, if only you will get up from the dust, and do your best to keep up when you are up." But those who realise more deeply what the significance of sin is, and what the eternal operation of its consequences upon the soul is, and what the awful majesty of a divine righteousness is, learn that the man who has sinned can, by nothing that he can do, obliterate that awful fact, or reduce it to insignificance, in regard to the divine relations to him. It is only G.o.d who can do that. We have no money.
So we stand thirsty and penniless--a desperate condition! Ay! brother, it _is_ desperate, and it is the condition of every one of us. I wish I could turn the generalities of my text into the individuality of a personal address. I wish I could bring its wide-flowing beneficence to a sharp point that might touch your conscience, heart, and will. I cannot do that; you must do it for yourself.
"Ho, every one that thirsteth." Will you pause for a moment, and say to yourself, "That is I"? "And he that hath no money"--that is I. "Come ye to the waters"--that is I. The proclamation is for thine ear and for thy heart; and the gift is for thy hand and thy lips.
II. In what this offer consists.
They tell an old story about the rejoicings at the coronation of some great king, when there was set up in the market-place a triple fountain, from each of whose three lips flowed a different kind of rare liquor which any man who chose to bring a pitcher might fill it with, at his choice. Notice my text, "come ye to the _waters_" ... "buy _wine_ and _milk_." The great fountain is set up in the market-place of the world, and every man may come; and whichever of this glorious triad of effluents he needs most, there his lip may glue itself and there it may drink, be it "water" that refreshes, or "wine" that gladdens, or "milk" that nourishes. They are all contained in this one great gift that flows out from the deep heart of G.o.d to the thirsty lips of parched humanity.
And what is that gift? Well, we may say, salvation; or we may use many other words to define the nature of the gifts. I venture to take a shorter one, and say, it means Christ. He, and not merely some truth about Him and His work; He Himself, in the fulness of His being, in the all-sufficiency of His love, in the reality of His presence, in the power of His sacrifice, in the daily derivation, into the heart that waits upon Him, of His life and His spirit, He is the all-sufficient supply of every thirst of every human soul. Do we want happiness?
Christ gives us His joy, abiding and full, and not as the world gives.
Do we want love? He gathers us to His heart, in which "there is no variableness, neither shadow cast by turning," and binds us to Himself by bonds that death, the separator, vainly attempts to untie, and which no unworthiness, ingrat.i.tude or coldness of ours will ever be able to unloose. Do we want wisdom? He will dwell with us as our light. Do our hearts yearn for companionship? With Him we shall never be solitary. Do we long for a bright hope which shall light up the dark future, and spread a rainbow span over the great gorge and gulf of death? Jesus Christ spans the void, and gives us unfailing and undeceiving hope. For everything that you and I need here or yonder, in heart, in will, in practical life, Jesus Christ Himself is the all-sufficient supply.
"My life in death, my all in all." What is offered in Him may be described by all the glorious and blessed names which men have invented to designate the various aspects of the Good. These are the goodly pearls that men seek, but there is one of great price which is worth them all, and gathers into itself all their clouded and fragmentary splendours. Christ is all, and the soul that has Him shall never thirst.
"Thou of life the fountain art, Freely let me take of Thee."
III. Lastly, how do we obtain the offered gifts?
The paradox of my text needs little explanation, "Buy without money and without price." The contradiction on the surface is but intended to make emphatic this blessed truth, which I pray may reach your memories and hearts, that the only conditions are a sense of need, and a willingness to take--nothing less and nothing more. We must recognise our penury and must abandon self, and put away all ideas of having a finger in our own salvation, and be willing--which, strangely and sadly enough, many of us are not-to be under obligations to G.o.d"s unhelped and undeserved love for all.
Cheap things are seldom valued. Ask a high price and people think that the commodity is precious. A man goes into a fair, for a wager, and he carries with him a try full of gold watches and offers to sell them for a farthing apiece, and n.o.body will buy them. It does not, I hope, degrade the subject, if I say Jesus Christ comes into the market-place of the world with His hands full of the gifts which His pierced hands have bought, that He may give them away. He says, "Will you take them?"
And you, and you, and you, pa.s.s by on the other side, and go away to another merchant, and buy dearly things that are not worth the having.
"My father, my father, if the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, wouldst thou not have done it?" Would you not? Swing at the end of a pole, with hooks in your back; measure all the way from Cape Comorin to the Himalayas, lying down on your face and rising at each length; do a hundred things which heathens and Roman Catholics and unspiritual Protestants think to be the way to get salvation; deny yourselves things that you would like to do; do things that you do not want to do; give money that you would like to keep; avoid habits that are very sweet, go to church or chapel when you have no heart for worship; and so try to balance the account. If the prophet had bid thee do some great thing, thou wouldst have done it. How much rather when he says, "Wash, and be clean." "Nothing in my heart I bring." You do _not_ bring anything. "Simply to Thy Cross I cling." Do you? Do you? Jesus Christ catches up the "comes" of my text, and He says, "Come unto Me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." "If any man thirst, let him come unto Me and drink." Brethren, I lay it on your hearts and consciences to answer Him--never mind about me--to answer _Him_: "Sir, give me this water that I thirst not."