[The following extract is taken from Dr Hugh Martin’s “Christ’s Presence in the Gospel History,” a remarkable work into which this eminent servant of Christ poured some of the richest treasures of his gifted mind and loving heart. The book is now somewhat difficult to obtain, but may occasionally be picked up at a second-hand bookseller’s. Dr Martin was also the author of “The Shadow of Calvary,” another remarkable work. His biography of Jonah is another notable book, and his work on the Atonement was pronounced by the late Dr Watts, Assembly’s College, Belfast, as a masterpiece in its own department of theological literature. Dr Martin’s intimate association with the late Rev. Dr Kennedy, and Rev. Alexander Auld made him well known in the North of Scotland.]
I TAKE up the biography of Jesus—so different from all other biographies, in that never any but He hath said to me, “Lo! I am with you alway, even to the end of the world”; and I turn, let us say, to the record of that woman who pleaded with Him so marvellously for her little daughter (Matt. xv. 22), or of that other woman who touched in faith the hem of his
garment (Mark v. 25). Have I the same unquenchable desirousness with these my fellow-sinners? Have I a case like theirs? Have I a longing heart like theirs? Have I a pleading cry to raise—a trembling experiment to try, like theirs? And would my Lord’s word, and will, and work to themward suit my case, and save me, as it so exactly suited theirs and so graciously saved them?
Ah! then, let me come and stand with them before Him. It is no illusion of the fancy when I try to do so. It is no ideal scene I conjure up, and no ideal part I essay to enact in it. It is no mere effort of imagination. It is not a mere accommodation of the passage. It is not a mere pious improvement of the incident. No. I have here the biography of Jesus, and what He willed, and said, and did to them; and, lighting it all up with perpetual life and power, I have the promise, “Lo! I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world.” I may seem, therefore, to stand afar off from the company surrounding Jesus—adown the course of time full eighteen hundred years and more. But that word of Christ, which gave life and salvation, hope and healing, unto them—like a ray of light, springing forth as from a central source; yet, not like material light, decreasing by the distance—comes streaming onward in the might of the Eternal Spirit through all time, down even to me this day, unimpeded, undiminished, undecaying, in its passage. And, as that unchanging ray, in meeting anything where in all its course a medium similar to what it first struck upon, is reflected, or refracted, or gives forth its tints, or imparts its efficacy, precisely as it did at first; so, let me only take up—as in a far-off circle, yet having the self-same centre, though with eighteen centuries between—an attitude of spirit as in the very line or sympathy of these broken-hearted suppliants, or, say, of that poor leper who cried, “Lord, if thou wilt, thou canst make me clean;” and then, onward to me, over all that lapse of centuries, unaltered and undecaying, fresh, and gracious, and omnipotent and faithful, as when spoken first, there travels, till it reaches me, the majestic word of mercy, “I will; be thou clean.”
For really, with the story of the leper’s cure in my hands, and the sore consciousness of the leper’s disease in my heart; with the leper’s misery and feelings and attitude and prayer, my own; his Lord, also mine; up from the page of the biography I have only to look to Him of whom it testifies, and to hear him saying, “Lo! I am with you also alway;” and why should I not by faith
take home the Lord’s word as spoken, now also, and to me—immediately and presently to me: “I will: be thou clean?”
O thou stricken one, whom thy sins have stricken, and who canst not look the Lord in the face, yet fain wouldst be allowed to wash His feet with thy tears, behind His back, permitted but unseen! Come thou to the house of Simon the Pharisee. Jesus is there. Lo! Jesus is here as He was there; here now, as He was there then; Jesus, the same, the same considerate, loving, forgiving Saviour, considerate, tenderly, even, towards thy feelings and thy shame. For, see how He shields thee, how He commends thee, how He forgives thee: “Woman, thy sins are forgiven thee; they faith hath saved thee; go in peace.” Yes! go in peace; in love also. And prove thy great Defender true when He saith to all around thee: “Her sins which are many are forgiven”—evidently forgiven—”for she loveth much” (Luke vii. 36-50).
O thou hardened one, whom thy sins have hardened; living still without the Christ; living still under all the Father’s wrath; loving still thy divers lusts and pleasures! Come thou to the Mount of Olives. Jesus is there. Lo! Jesus is here also alway, as He was there then. Jesus, the same; the same yesterday, today, and for ever; the same weeping Saviour. Come, and see His tears flowing fast for thee. Come, and hear His sorrowing heart breaking open its griefs over thy perdition. And substitute, in silent terror, thine own lost name for the name of lost Jerusalem: “O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I have gathered thy children together, even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate” (Matt. xxiii. 37, 38).
O thou anxious one, searching the Word in thy closet, calling on the Lord beneath thy fig-tree! Come forth, O Nathaniel, at Philip’s call; come forth and meet the Master. For, behold already He speaketh of thee to those that are around His person, and commendeth thee to His followers’ love as “an Israelite indeed, in whom is no guile.” Askest thou, “Whence knowest thou me?” By token of thy broken-hearted prayers He knoweth thee, and owneth thee as His own. For hark! “Before that Philip called thee, when thou wast under the fig-tree, I saw thee.” He hath known thy soul in adversity, He hath considered thy trouble, and hath not shut thee up into the hand of the enemy. The eyes of the Lord are on the righteous; His ears are open
to their cry. Dost thou not say to Him, “Rabbi, thou art the Son of God, thou art the King of Israel.” And shalt thou not see heaven opened, and the angels of God ascending and descending on the Son of man— heaven and earth knit together in peace and good-will, and glory in the highest, by His mediation? (John i. 45-51).
Art thou overmastered by some strong corruption— strong as a devil that will not resign his power over thee? Come thou to this excited group as they stand in wonder round the Lord and the twelve. Come, and say, if yet thou canst say nothing better, “Lord, if thou canst do anything, help me.” For hear what Jesus says: “If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth.” And under strong pressure on the right hand and on the left—pressed by the anguish that corruption works for thee, and thy terror lest it finally undermine and make void thy salvation; pressed, also, and quickened by the glorious proffer of deliverance and victory most full and sure, if only now in the day of visitation thou canst believe—wilt thou not cry out with tears, “Lord, I believe, help thou mine unbelief?” Oh! then, thou shalt never fall a prey to the power of thine adversary. Mighty and resistless is thy Lord’s voice unto him: “I command thee that thou come out of him.” And though the devil tear thee, and leave thee as it were dead, thy soul shall be saved in the day of the Lord; thou shalt enter into the kingdom, be it so as by fire.
Art thou quite at sea in thy many fears and sorrows? Art thou embarked on a troubled ocean of cares and trials? Hath the Master constrained thee to get into the ship and go to the other side, over against Bethsaida: And the evening being come down, and the ship in the midst of the sea, and the wind contrary, is the Master alone on the land? Art thou apt to grudge that He is landed in safety, peace, and glory; as if He had forgotten His appointment of a dangerous and stormy voyage for thee? Ah! He is looking on. He seeth thee toiling and rowing. And now, when thy fear is at its height, and thy danger imminent, about the fourth watch of the night He cometh unto thee, treading on the waves, and mastering all the tempest. Hark, his voice! For, lo! even thus also, as on Galilee’s lake, He is with you alway. “Be of good cheer: It is I; be not afraid.”
Art thou weeping bitterly thy miserable fall—thy base denial of thy Lord? Or art thou gone back in
dull despondency to thy nets again? (John xxi. 13). Thy first love forsaken, thy steadfastness mournfully fallen from, scarcely dost thou dare to hope for liberty of heart to say again with truth, “I love the Lord?” Hast thou ceased to feel thy wonted interest in His cause and kingdom? Is thy heart relapsed to thy worldly cares and worldly interests, and centred chiefly now on them? Ah! and art thou toiling at thy task and finding nothing; spending money for what is not bread, and labour for that which satisfieth not? Yea; and having tasted truer joy, how canst thou ever again on Galilee’s shores find happiness without the Lord and His love? Well; be it that, in the sad wreck that has occurred, no sign of love in thy heart to Jesus now remains; and conscious of the past and all its sin, thou art ashamed to whisper even to thyself, “I love the Lord.” That miserable fall stifles even the question, “Do I love the Lord or no?”
Be it so. Questioning thine own heart may bring no response of grace. But the Lord Himself draweth near to ask. Behold He cometh after thee. He findeth thee at thy weary task. He takes thee as He finds thee—weary, toiling, restless, dissatisfied; making nothing of it; no candle of the Lord shining on thy head; no joy of the Lord thy strength. Just as thou art He taketh thee in hand to deal with thee again. And He cometh, the same as ever; the same gracious Lord unchanged, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever. Behold! He calleth thee by name: “Simon, son of Jonas!”
Look up into His face, and read whether He hath come in wrath or love. That face!—burning tears ran down there for sinners; sinners such as thou art; for the very chief of sinners; for “Jerusalem sinners”; for men that hated Him, and spit on Him, and scourged Him, and slew Him, and sealed and watched His grave, that He might be buried out of sight and out of mind—that they might be troubled with Him no more for ever. Great drops of blood, too, flowed down there, down to the ground, where He lay in weakness, with supplications, and strong crying, and tears, bearing the guilt of sinners whom He loved. The heart-melting look of grief, rebuke, astonishment, unquenchable affection, shone there, and melted the heart of him that denied Him. Look up into that face of Jesus, the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever; the same to thee as to Simon Peter on the shore of Galilee’s lake. He is returned from the cross of woe; He is returned from the cold embraces of the grave. He is the heir, too, of all things; He is the Lord of glory. From His grave He
has come, and from His glory He is tarrying, to seek and find thee; to say, “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?”
By His very voice to Peter—a voice not yet dead; living and abiding for ever; living in the power of the Spirit; living on the page of the blessed biography; with you alway to the end of the world; thus truly, lovingly, with present power and love—seeking thy love, yearning for it, ready to be gratified by it, ready to rejoice in it, very gracious and ready to own thy sincerity, readier far than thou art thyself—thus does Jesus say unto thee, even now, “Simon, son of Jonas, lovest thou me?” Questioning thyself could bring out no clear response. But shall Jesus fare no better when He takes up the question? In the absence of thy loving Lord, it may be thou couldst not firmly, clearly, distinctly, with any consciousness of truth, assert, “I love the Lord.” To thine own inquiry—to a fellow-creature’s question—it may be thou art wisely silent. Doubts and hesitations strengthened greatly by thy fall, oppress thee. And for the very truth’s sake thou mayest refuse to answer the question even as thou wouldst desire to do. But hark to the gracious words that proceed from His mouth. It is love’s own question. And love itself—infinite and incarnate; a consuming fire, as of the God-head’s glory, yet a gentle flame, as in a brother’s bosom—is dealing with thee, anxious for thy love, wooing thy love. Shall it not win thy love? Ah! doth not that love of His to thee, which His very question proves; which has anticipated and been beforehand with thy love; which says, “Ye have not chosen me, but I have chosen you”; that love of which Paul hath said, “The love of Christ constraineth us”; and John hath said, “We love Him because He first loved us”; doth not such love of His to thee enable, decide, constrain thee to answer as between the omniscient Saviour and thine own moved and melted heart—thy heart broken open, won over, gained for ever: “Lord, thou knowest all things; thou knowest that I love thee?”