By the Rev. James Sinclair
(continued from page 70)
Christ in the Ship, stilling the Tempest — Mark 4:35-41
III — I proceed now, in the third place, to observe Christ “asleep on a pillow in the hinder part of the ship.” Here, my friends, is a most astonishing circumstance. The Son of God was in the ship; a storm of wind was blowing upon the little vessel; the waves were slipping one after another into the ship; the water was all around, and must have come up to where He was. He must have been partially submerged under the water if the ship was full, as the words most clearly tell us that it was, and yet all the time He continued to sleep. The sound of the wind and the incoming of the water made no impression upon Him.
Now, what have we brought before us here in this wondrous circumstance? Well, we have certainly brought before us the humanity of Christ. Why was He asleep? For one thing, He was sleeping just through weariness, from exhaustion and fatigue, like others of the human race. He had been speaking to the multitude all the day, and I daresay He was observing that His words were making very little real impression upon the great majority of them, and between the exercise of speaking and the painfulness of seeing how little the vast majority of the hearers understood or appreciated the words of eternal life, He was wearied in mind and body, and so the Son of God asleep in this vessel teaches us His true, His genuine humanity. But then, I observe that this wondrous circumstance teaches us His glorious Godhead. If He were man only, there cannot be the slightest doubt but the wind and the waves would have aroused Him, would have stirred Him up and brought Him to an an active posture, but He was the eternal Son of God, the brightness of His Father’s glory, and the express image of His Person. At the very moment that, in His humanity, He was almost submerged under the flood of water, in His glorious Godhead He sat upon the floods; He reigned King amidst the storm, and amidst the waves; He held the lake and the billows, and the ship in the hollow of His hand. There was an absolute impossibility that the ship in which Christ was could sink.
But let me observe that He was “asleep”. Well, my friends, this was literally true here — Christ was physically asleep, just like any other. Is there any parallel to this in the spiritual experience of His people or in the history of His Church? Yes; the Lord Jesus at certain times is asleep as to the arm of His power compared with other seasons. He is the same essentially yesterday, today, and for ever. “His arm is not shortened that it cannot save; his ear is not heavy that it cannot hear,” but He does not always put forth the arm of His power with the same degree of manifest energy. For example, you find the prophet Isaiah exclaiming, “Awake, awake, O arm of the Lord, as in the ancient days,” as if, in a sense, the arm of the Lord was asleep. And so, my friends, in a comparative sense Christ is sometimes asleep in the souls of His people and in His true Church. The storm is blowing upon the ship, one wave after another is coming in, and yet He makes no motion; He does not put forth any power to help. And why is He asleep? Sometimes He is asleep because of sin. Sin has provoked Him justly to hide His face; sin has provoked Him to withdraw the exercise of His power. He is truly in the ship, but He is for the time being as if He were not in it at all, and the poor soul is in great distress. Would not these disciples have supposed that, whenever the wind began to blow and the waves began to come in, Christ would immediately get up out of His sleep and put forth His hand for their deliverance? But He did it not. He has His own ways and His own reasons for not arising at once to the help of His disciples.
There is a peculiarity that belongs to our fallen nature that is not to our credit, and that is, that sometimes when the Lord comes immediately to our help, we do not value it to the same extent. And we are apt to take credit to ourselves for some personal worthiness or excellency, as much as to say, “He thinks so highly of us that He cannot leave us a moment in trouble without stretching forth His hand to deliver us.” Ah! the Lord Jesus is a wise as well as loving Saviour, and He will teach His disciples what poor, unbelieving creatures they are — not for their destruction but for their edification; He will shew them their own helplessness, their own unworthiness, and their absolute dependence upon Him as the God of their salvation, before He commands deliverance.
And one may safely say that at the present time Christ is to a considerable extent asleep, so far as gracious activity is concerned. Do we not see that there are floods coming into the visible Church, the enemy coming in like a flood, and yet the Lord appears not to put forth any power to stem the tide? Do we not see this terrible War raging? Christ is certainly King of Sion and King of nations; He is still in the midst of the Church and in the midst of the nations, and yet He is asleep so far as any complete deliverance is concerned. He is allowing the wind to blow; He is allowing the waves to come in; He is allowing the storm to rage; and the ship of the State — the national ship of many nations — is well-nigh full and ready to sink. Well, although He apparently takes no notice and does not put forth His hand to save, He is observing all the time, allowing poor sinful creatures to do their best, and teaching the nations how utterly helpless they are, with all their men, all their resources, all their wisdom and all their weapons, to bring this terrible storm to a conclusion. Oh! what a mercy it would be if they would be compelled, I do not say to give up the use of means, but to confess their sins and acknowledge that it is only the King of Sion and the King of nations who can bring the storm to a calm. There would then be hope in Israel concerning this terrible thing that has come upon us.
IV — I pass on now to observe, in the fourth place, that the disciples began to awake Him, and say, “Master, carest thou not that we perish?”
The disciples realised at last that things were coming to a climax, that they were near destruction, and that, if the ship were to be saved, Christ would have to come to their rescue.
Now, my friends, here they did what was right; they appealed to Christ Himself to help them, to command deliverance. They did the very thing that they should have done sooner; and this is what the soul ought to do in its extremity. “Men ought always to pray and not to faint.” But you say, “Do not God’s people always do this?” Ah! well, they do not always do it with the measure of earnestness that is necessary or profitable. They are often too easy about matters, and the Lord will have them aroused out of their lethargy. “The kingdom of heaven suffereth violence, and the violent take it by force.” It has often been that when they were brought to their wits’ end, and that when they fell down as it were on their very faces, resolved that they would not rise until the Lord would command deliverance, that He spoke the word on their behalf. My friends, Christ is not angry with any soul that will beseech Him with importunity, that will endeavour to take the kingdom by force of earnest, persevering supplication. He is not angry with a soul determined to get an answer, saying, “To whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life?”
But you will see that in this appeal, “Master, carest Thou not that we perish?” there is the mark of imperfection, of unbelief. When they addressed Christ thus, they suggested that they were in doubt whether He cared for their perishing or not, shewing that they were still unbelieving, rebellious creatures, ready to reflect on the Lord Himself when they were brought into straits. Oh! He cared infinitely more than they had any conception of; He was caring for them all the time, and not a hair of their heads would perish. He was there with them, and it was impossible that the ship in which He was could sink to the bottom, yet we see how the murmur of unbelief comes out. “Master, carest Thou not that we perish?” We are not to judge Christ by sensible signs at times, but this is often the utterance of unbelief, the utterance of a soul not realising Christ’s love or its own guilty deserts. If we had a deep, keen sense of what we deserve in the presence of a holy and just God, we would not be so ready to murmur against His painful dispensations. I do not speak this in a way of unsympathetic feeling towards persons in trial, whether of mind or body, but I say that we have such a slight sense of what we deserve as guilty, hell-deserving, rebellious creatures, that we are apt to doubt the care of the Most High, when He is caring for us all the time.
V — This leads me now, in the fifth place, to observe the answer the Son of God gave to their cry. First, “He arose and rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, Peace, be still. And the wind ceased, and there was a great calm.”
Ah! He did not deal with them according to their unbelief. He dealt with them according to the riches of His own grace and love, although their very prayer cast a reflection upon His loving and unchangeable care. He answered them as if their petitions had been perfect in all respects. Oh! what wondrous love is this! He covers all their sins from His eyes. Christ came into the world for this very purpose, that He might work out a righteousness to satisfy the claims of law and justice, and that He might weave a garment with His own holy fingers, that would cover all their guilt and defilement and corruption. He hears immediately when they cry, and He rebuked the wind, and said unto the sea, “Peace, be still.” He spake the word, and it was done without delay. “The voice of this great Lord” is full of majesty and power, and oh! is not this full of encouragement to poor sinners? How it should teach us to call upon the Lord; how it should teach us to depend upon Him. And I believe that if there was more daily, constant, loving dependence upon Christ, upon His grace and upon His word, we would have more frequent experience of His wonder-working power in commanding deliverances for us. We would have miracles in our own private history, that would give occasion to praise His name for His goodness, and for His wonderful works unto the children of men.
Then you will, secondly, observe that He answered them in another way, in a way also that they did not expect, but in a way that was for their profit. He rebuked the wind and there was a great calm, and then He rebuked the unbelief that was in them, and this is as profitable as the other. He said, “Why are ye so fearful?” What is the reason that you are so full of fear? One might be ready to say at first sight, “Surely there was reason for fear? Was the wind not blowing like a tornado, were not the waves coming into the ship, was the ship not full of water, were they not just on the very point of sinking? Surely there was reason to fear?” “Why,” says Christ, “are ye so fearful?” He did not mean that there was no reason at all for fear, but He said in effect that if they were considering who He was, what He had already done, what He had promised to do — He had promised in effect that they would reach the other side — they would not have given way to such overwhelming and unbelieving fears. And then, “How is it that ye have no faith?” I do not understand that the Redeemer here is expressing a doubt as to whether they possessed the principle of faith in their hearts. There was no doubt as to their possessing that, but He is rebuking them for the want of faith in exercise, for the want of the practical exercise of faith.
How is it that He thus rebukes them when we consider human inability apart from divine power? I am afraid we often lay undue stress upon human inability, and say, ‘Oh well! no sinner can bestow faith upon himself; no sinner can stir up faith into activity, even although it is there.’ True, none can do this of himself; but by the grace and power of Christ, the sinner may obtain faith and exercise faith, and so what He challenges here is their want of considering Him, who He was, what He was able to do, and what He had promised to accomplish on their behalf. If they had done this, they might well have faith in the fullest exercise. And oh! my friends, this is the way to get faith, and this is the way to have faith in lively exercise. It is not by considering yourself so much. Certainly, we ought to consider ourselves; we ought to recognise that we are poor, fallen, undone creatures, and that faith is entirely the gift of God, but yet it is not by simply looking at yourself that you obtain this gift. You must be brought to look away from yourself; you must be brought to look away to the Redeemer, and to consider Him. Consider His person as the Son of God made flesh; consider His offices as the Prophet, Priest and King of the Church; consider His ability and willingness to save unto the uttermost. “How,” he says, “is it that ye have no faith?” The reason was that they were not considering Christ; they were not trusting Christ. He was nigh to them; He was in the very ship with them; He was pledged, as it were, in His person and in His promise for their safe passage to the other side of the sea. He rebukes them here, and He tells them that they did not need to lack faith. And, my friends, while we recognise inability, let us also recognise responsibility, and let us smite upon our own breasts, and say, “We are the guilty parties.” That will make you come in a right frame of mind, confessing your sin, to Him who can work faith in you and strengthen all the graces of the Spirit.
VI — In the last place, let us observe the impression that is produced. “They feared exceedingly.”
The disciples were filled with holy awe in the presence of the majestic Son of God; they were brought low in the dust before Him, and they said, “What manner of man is this, that even the wind and the sea obey Him?” His glory had burst upon their view. Ah! this was no mere man; this was the God-man. “Great is the mystery of godliness: God was manifest in the flesh, justified in the Spirit, seen of angels, preached unto the Gentiles, believed on in the world, received up into glory.”
And oh! my friends, what a happy result this would be of trials in connection with the individual soul, the family, the Church, the nation, if the ultimate result would be that we would be constrained to fall down in humble and loving wonder at the grace and power of this glorious Redeemer. He sitteth upon the floods, and He shall reign till all His enemies be made His footstool. His people will, with holy reverence and burning love, at the end of the day put the crown of their eternal deliverance upon His glorious head. “Unto him that loved us and washed us from our sins in his own blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father; to him be glory and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.”
May He bless unto us His truth!
“He that spared not His own Son . . .”
By Rev. Octavius Winslow
But behold God’s love! See how He has inscribed this glorious perfection of His nature in letters of blood drawn from the heart of Jesus. His love was so great, that nothing short of the surrender to the death of His beloved Son, could given an adequate expression of its immensity. “For God so loved the world that he gave his only begotten Son.” Here was the greatest miracle of love. Here was its most stupendous achievement — here its most brilliant victory, and here its most costly and precious offering. Seeing us fallen, obnoxious to the law’s curse, exposed to its dreadful penalty, guilty of innumerable sins, and deserving of as many deaths, yet how did it yearn to save us! How did it heave, and pant and strive, and pause not, until it revealed a way infinitely safe for God and man; securing a glory to every Divine attribute in the highest degree, and happiness to the creature, immense, unspeakable, and eternal. “Herein is love!” as though Paul would say, “and nowhere else but here!” That God should punish the innocent for the guilty — that He should exact the blood of His Son to cancel the guilt of His rebels — that He should lay an infinite weight of wrath on His soul, in order to lay an infinite weight of love on ours — that He should sacrifice His life of priceless value for ours, worthless, forfeited, and doomed — that He should not only give His Son, but should bruise Him, put Him to grief, afflict Him, should make His soul an offering for sin — that the Lord of glory should become a man of sorrows — the Lord of life should die — and the Heir of all things should be “as him that serveth.” O depth of love unfathomable! O height of love unsearchable! O length and breadth of love immeasurable! O love of God which passeth knowledge!
And how shall we set forth the love of the Redeemer — the deep and precious love of Christ? We can only say, it is equal in its eternity, its immensity, its freeness, and its unchangeableness, with the Father’s love. Persuasion did not induce Him to undertake redemption. Compulsion did not bring Him to the cross. His own love constrained Him. Love for His church, His bride, bore Him on its soft wings, from the highest throne in glory to the deepest abasement on earth. How forcibly and touchingly was His love depicted in His carriage, when on the eve of suffering — “Jesus, therefore, knowing all things that should come upon Him, went forth.” He not only knew that death awaited Him, but with equal prescience He knew all the circumstances of ignominy with which that death would be attended. The storm, the outskirts of which had already touched Him, was now thickening and darkening, each moment concentrating its elements of destruction, and preparing for the tremendous outburst. Yet He went forth, as if eager to meet its central horrors, not with the fame-panting spirit of Achilles, when he hastened to the Trojan war, knowing that he should fall there; but with the irresistible power and constraint of His own love, which would have served him for a thousand deaths, had His Father’s law demanded, and the salvation of His church required it. “Christ also hath loved us, and hath given Himself for us an offering and a sacrifice to God, for a sweet-smelling savour.”
And now, beloved, with this ocean of mercy rolling its swelling waves at your feet, each billow as it breaks murmuring in the sweetest cadence, “God is love,” can you for a moment question the wise, gracious tender conduct toward you, of that Father from whose heart this ocean flows? Look at the cross; behold His precious Gift transfixed to it, and that by His own hand, and for your sins; then look at your present circumstances, survey your wants, your trials, your chastisements, your bereavements, your heart-sickening, heart-breaking tribulations, and know that God still is love if He had love strong enough, deep enough to give you Jesus, to tear him, as it were, from His bosom, and to hang him on yonder accursed tree for your iniquities, has He not love enough to bow His ear to your cry, and His heart to your sorrow? Will He not rescue you from this difficulty, deliver you out of this trouble, shield you in this temptation, supply this want, and support, succour and comfort you in this grief? O yes, He will! doubt it not! The cross of Calvary is a standing pledge — standing until sin and guilt, want and woe, shall be known no more — that God, who “spared not His own Son, but delivered Him up for us all, will with Him freely give us all things” necessary to our good and promotive of His glory.