BY THE REV. ALEXANDER STEWART, Oban.
V.—The Servant: His Endurance.
He shall not fail nor be discouraged,
Till he have set judgment in the earth;
And the isles shall wait for his law.—(ver. 4.)
WHAT have we here? What is the quality or the condition which these words describe? It is Endurance, courage. And it is more. Endurance may be barren: the burden may have been bravely borne through the heat of the day, and when the struggle is past the effort may seem to have been a waste of strength; after the “long holding out” there is nothing to show. But this is endurance crowned with victory; it is endurance coming back in the rejoicing of harvest, bringing its sheaves.
It is worthy of notice how these verses bring before us in the servant of the Lord a combination of seemingly opposing qualities. The Person of Christ is the meeting-place of apparent contradictions. We saw that He is meek, and that He is tender; but His meekness is wedded to unyielding strength, and alongside of His tenderness there is unwavering tenacity of purpose.
We often find that where one of these qualities is prominent in a man’s character the other is lacking. The man who is meek and gentle is often wanting in strength and courage. He recoils from opposition. He is unfit for blows. Even when his claims are just, he is more ready to surrender than fight for them. He is disposed to compromise rather than face hardship and trial. His very sensitiveness makes him more easily crushed and disheartened. On the other hand the man of iron and inflexible purpose is often lacking in the softer graces of character. What he has gained in strength he has lost in tenderness. He shrinks from no difficulty, he fears no foe; but his eye does not spare, and his heart knows no pity. He has a goal, and he makes his way towards it with but scant respect for the feelings of others. Whatsoever opposes his progress he sets aside, and with no gentle hand. His sensibilities, in a word, are apt to be lacking in fineness of edge in proportion as determination and strength are outstanding features of his character.
But in Jesus Christ these qualities are perfectly balanced. There is the most harmonious adjustment; there is the most exact equipoise. He is tender, yet strong; He is lowly, but unyielding. He has the meekness of the Lamb, but the strength and courage of the Lion.
Here, then, in this rich cluster of graces, we have endurance crowning all. It is given as a mark of the servant of the Lord that He shall not fail. His strength will not fail. His courage will not waver. His hope will not grow dim. At present we shall seek to consider the words in their application to His personal ministry on earth. He did not fail nor was He discouraged in the work that was given Him to do.
It was a great work. He was made under the law. He had to meet all its claims. And the requirements of God’s Commandment are “exceeding broad.” One vain thought, one idle word, one hairsbreadth of shortcoming would have meant failure. But He did not fail. He was as a Lamb without blemish and without spot throughout all the days. The law of God had to join with Pilate in saying, “I find no fault in this man.”
He met with much opposition. Men laid wait for Him at every turn, to ensnare Him in word or deed. The kings of the earth stood up, and the rulers were gathered together against the Lord and against His Christ. Herod and Pontius Pilate with the Gentiles were gathered against the Holy Child Jesus. Satan, too, the god of this world, rose up in all his strength and fury to withstand the invasion of his kingdom. The strong man resisted the spoiling of his gods. Earth and Hell combined their forces against the servant of the Lord to bear Him down, and make Him their prey. But He did not fail. He was more than a conqueror over all His enemies. He overcame the world. He spoiled principalities and powers. The prince of this world was cast out. His power was broken. His kingdom was overthrown.
He had to bear the wrath of God. And who can tell the weight or the bitterness of that load? Who knows the power of Divine wrath? It would crush into nothingness the universe of created being. It will make Hell a place of wailing and gnashing of teeth throughout eternity. It brought Christ to the dust of death. It brought the bloody sweat in great drops through the pores of His body. It pierced through His soul with sorrows that were even unto death. It wrung the awful cry from His blessed lips in that dark hour when the sun hid his face, and the heart of the very rocks was breaking. But He did not fail. He did not sink beneath the load. His energies were not paralysed. His activities were not impaired. His work was not interrupted. He was never more active, never more triumphant, than when failure seemed written over all His work from beginning to end. That is what the Jews would have read in the writing over His head on the Tree—the King of the Jews—the impostor—the man who wanted to be king, but who so miserably failed. But it was on the Cross and through the Cross that He brought forth judgment unto victory. It was then that He saved the dying thief, “the richest jewel in His crown.” It was then that He finished transgression and made an end of sin. It was then that He abolished death and destroyed him that had its power.
It was then that He offered Himself through the Eternal Spirit without spot unto God, and cried, not in expiring feebleness, but in the full and glad concentration of His strength, “It is finished.”
And not only did He not fail; He was not even discouraged. It is one thing to overcome, to snatch a victory, to obtain the mastery; it is another thing to hold fast the confidence and rejoicing of our hope firm unto the end. Sometimes a man succeeds almost in spite of himself. Long before the hour of triumph his courage has wavered, and his hope has well-nigh vanished. His eyes have failed with looking long, and the gladness has gone out of his spirit. He reaches his goal, not amid the splendours of unquestioned triumph, but like a vessel that creeps into the haven, with tattered sails and broken spars, “scarcely saved” from the violence of the storm. The servant of the Lord was not discouraged. His hope never became dim. The end He had before Him was never obscured with the faintest cloud of doubt or mistrust. He moved along the path of quiet confidence and calm assurance unto the end.
There was much to discourage. He came to His own and His own received Him not. The Deliverer was treated like an oppressor. The Saviour received the sinner’s meed. He spoke as never man spake. He performed works that compelled the the admiration of His enemies; but men still refused to believe in Him. He had to say, “Who hath believed our report?” He had to cry, “How often would I . . . but ye would not.” He saw many who at one time were His followers going back and walking with Him no more. He saw much that showed the richest promise fade away like the morning cloud and the early dew. The same lips that cried, “Hosanna to the son of David,” in glad and spontaneous loyalty, also cried, “Away with him, away with him; crucify him, crucify him!” with almost frenzied vehemence. And there is nothing more discouraging to the heart of man than the blighting of such hopes as these. But Christ was not discouraged. He had no false hopes. He had no illusions. He did not judge after the sight of His eyes. He was of quick understanding in the fear of the Lord. He knew what was in man.
But He knew also what was coming. He knew that before Him were the Cross and the Shame. He knew that the betrayal and the forsaking and the awfulness of Calvary awaited Him; but He was never discouraged. He held on His way without wavering. For He also knew that after the Cross there was the Crown, and beyond the shame, the joy that was set before Him. His hope in God burned with a steady flame, and cast its cheering ray across the dark waters of the River of Death into the glories of Emmanuel’s Land on the further shore. He always joined the two together. When He spoke of His sufferings He spoke of the glory that should follow. When He foretold His death He foretold in the same breath His resurrection. He spoke with never the slightest abatement of confidence. No difficulty ever shook the firm rock of His trust. No misgiving ever clouded His assurance of final triumph. The freshness of the morning remained unto the close of the day. “I, if I be lifted up, from the earth will draw all men unto me.” “All that the Father giveth me shall come to me.” “Whoso eateth my flesh and drinketh my blood hath eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day.” Within a few hours of His agony He spoke of the time when He should eat the fruit of the vine in the Kingdom of God. On the Cross itself He assured the penitent thief that they should be together that same day in Paradise. And it is the mystery of that great, awful cry that came forth at last from the depths of His agony, that it gives expression at once to the bitterness of His forsaking by the Father, and His unbroken, appropriating trust in that Father’s love. He cried, indeed, “Why hast thou forsaken me?” but He also cried, more than once, “My God.”