Acts 20:24-26

Chapter 78

Prayer

Almighty God, thou art ever warning us. Our whole life is a warning of its own uncertainty and assured brevity. Give us understanding of these things, that we waste not golden hours. In the midst of life we are in death. Our house is built over our grave. Oh that men were wise, that they knew these things, that they would consider their latter end. Every day may be our last. Teach us so to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom; yet give us triumph in Christ Jesus over all fear. May we not be subject to bondage all our lifetime through fear of death. May the coming end be unto us as a new beginning. Show us that we are now in preparation for better things; yea, show us that what we have already seen is but the dim symbol of the infinite brightness. So may we live under inspiring hopes, knowing that, if our earthly house of this tabernacle were dissolved, we have a building of God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens. Enable us, by living faith in the Lord Jesus Christ, our Saviour, now to enter into the realization of eternal joy. By the power of an endless life, may we do the little work of the passing day. Then its burdens shall be light as shadows; its pains shall bring with them their own healing, and sorrow shall become the beginning of joy. May we not be bowed down by the things which are less than we ourselves are. May we stand back from them at a right distance, and see them exactly as they are, in magnitude, in weight, in importance; and, counting all things by the standard of the sanctuary, owning no other reference, trusting no other authority, we shall be able to keep at arm's length the things that do not befit our immortality, and the fascinations that would mock us with their empty spells. We are in Christ Jesus this day. We are upon his Cross; we would be buried with him in the tomb that cannot be long sealed; we would enter into the victory and joy of his resurrection. We would undergo such inspirations of feeling as shall lift us above all fear and doubt, and already carry us beyond the narrow stream of death. We would now enjoy all the blessedness of realized immortality. We would be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus; yea, through his grace we would enter into his glory, and in all spiritual realization we would even now walk with the saints in white, bearing palms in our hands, drinking at the upper fountains, and joining in the upper song. Surely that such delights might fill us hast thou given the days of the Son of man upon the earth. Today we would forget the battle in the victory, the temptation in the sublime reply, the difficulty in the assured rest. Our prayer is that Jesus Christ may, by the power of his priesthood, reign over us, subdue us wholly to his gracious will, sanctify all the events of Providence we cannot understand, prepare us for those higher fellowships which follow the discipline of earth. We would pray for one another. We would find words for the dumb; we would put into the lips of the silent fitting speech before God, to express pain for sin, contrition for iniquity, broken-heartedness for aggravated guilt. May we all unite in the one poignant cry, "God be merciful unto me a sinner." And may personal prayer be answered by personal forgiveness, and personal enjoyment of the living grace of God, revealed in Christ Jesus, in the reconstructed and comforted heart. May our prayers reach those who are out of the way. May we include in our intercession this day those who have escaped every other prayer. May we now appeal on behalf of those who have resisted every entreaty or, are they cut off for ever? May they never, nevermore return? Thou knowest. Thy mercy endureth for ever. May we not yet be surprised into unutterable joy by seeing the most stubborn lay down his weapons of rebellion, and the most distant turning round with tears in his longing eyes? We would that all men might move in one direction, and be found at the end clustering lovingly around the Cross of Christ. Build us up in our most holy faith. Give us strength in the sanctuary; give us to feel that we are building our life-house upon eternal rocks, and help us to build diligently, rightly, wisely, so that when the test of fire is applied to our edifice it may stand approved of God.

The Father of our Lord Jesus Christ comfort us; the Holy Spirit be our light and peace and hope; the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost Three in one, One in Three abide with us. Amen.

Act 20:24-26

24. But I hold not my life of any account as dear unto myself [G., omits "as"; lit., "I make no account of my life ( qua) dear unto myself." This awkward sentence appears more so in the original text, and there are grounds for supposing words to have been omitted. The Evangelist probably wrote, "Neither make I account of anything, nor think my life dear unto myself"], so that I may accomplish my course, and the ministry which I received from the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God.

25. And now, behold, I know that ye all, among whom I went about preaching the kingdom, shall see my face no more.

26. Wherefore I testify unto you this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men.

Paul's Acceptance of Discipline

Referring to the 20th verse, we find the employment of a very significant illustration: "I kept back nothing that was profitable unto you." The illustration implied in these terms, "kept back," is a nautical one. Paul had been sailing; he had watched the manner of the ship; he had seen the uses to which the sails and the tackling had been put, and in this expression he said, in the language which he employed, "I have put on all sail; I have given the ship the advantage of everything belonging to it; I have spared nothing, night or day; the sails have been spread, and the supreme endeavour of the captain has been to bring the ship to the desired haven." This was what Paul had done in his ministry. A little more sail, or all the sail together. Why put it out? for display? No: the sails were not made for display, but for the assistance of navigation. Therefore whatever Paul did he did with the view of bringing the ship to port; he had no other object. He spared no strength; he counted no time ill-spent that was devoted to the interests and the security of the passengers committed to his charge.

Now we come to the 22nd verse: "And now, behold, I go bound in the Spirit unto Jerusalem, not knowing the things that shall befall me there: save that the Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city, saying that bonds and afflictions abide me." He knew the greater, but did not know the less: he knew the solemn total; he did not know the items which constituted its great sum. That is the method of God's providence. He often shows us the end without showing the process; He is accustomed to speak to us in great words that need to be taken to pieces and searched into, and it will be found, in pursuing that quest devoutly, how wondrous much God can pile into one word. The word is only one, yet when it is taken to pieces, so to say, every letter becomes a revelation, and the whole word spread itself out into a great discipline. Paul knew that he was going in the Spirit, and by the Spirit, and through the Spirit. That was a greater knowledge than any detailed information as to the separate items and particulars. Is there anything greater than truth? In a sense there is. It is more important that we should have the truthful spirit than the truth-quantity. The lave of truth is a greater force in life than the mere acquisition of truth. We only pray as we love prayer; the prayerful spirit is larger than any prayer that is possible to the human tongue. So the knowledge of God's purpose, acquiescence in that purpose, docile, child-like, loving union with all the operations tending to the culmination of that purpose, is infinitely greater, better, than knowledge of each particular incident that is to befall us in the outworking and development of life. What I want to know, if my spirit is right with God, is the purpose of God concerning me. He tells me nothing, and yet he tells me everything. In other words, he tells me everything, and yet tells me nothing. How can that be? With men this is impossible, but with God all things are possible. He sends me out upon his battles and errands with this one assurance: "All things will work together for thy good, O sound heart." That is all we want to know. We do not want to forecast the "all things" in detail, and to enumerate them as if parts of a catalogue; it is enough for the devoted and loving heart to know that all things work together for good to them that love God. You do not know what tomorrow will bring forth, but you know it cannot surprise God, it cannot outwit omniscience, it cannot overlap the resources of almightiness. We stand in the sanctuary of assured conviction that, not being our own, we are being watched and secured by the One Proprietor. How happy should we be if, in the spirit of that apostolic consecration, we could not vex and worry ourselves about daily details, but simply fall on the almighty arms, completely trust the Eternal Oath, and lovingly expect the fulfilment of the exceeding great and precious promises! That is the end of faith. Paul knew that the result of the whole would be God's approval, heaven's rest, and therefore he took what he calls the "things" just as they came. He executed them; he set his table that he might play the host to sorrow and loss and pain; and if other guests came to eat the humble feast, the greater would be his surprise and joy.

What was the Apostle's ground of triumph? It was that the Holy Spirit had undertaken the whole scheme and plan of his life. The "bonds and afflictions" that were foretold were foretold by Divine lips. The message is often made the better or the worse by the messenger who delivers it. There is a tone in which you can tell a man that sorrow is coming upon him which will multiply that sorrow sevenfold. There is also a tone in which you can announce the certainty of physical decay and social degradation that shall have in it the very music of the heart of God. We should take our life charge from the lips of the Holy Spirit; we should look upward for the map or chart by which we are to journey or to voyage. When the sketch of the road, or the sea, is handed us from above, the hand that drew the plan will secure the obedient outworking of it in completeness and joy. How could the Apostle Paul be apparently so reckless concerning the things that would befall him? This is not understood by those who do not grasp the greater prudence; it is a mystery to minds that only see the little prudence of self-security, self-care, or self-protection. What had the Apostle done that made him so callous to all human seeming, about "bonds and afflictions"? This he had done: he had first consecrated his whole life to Christ. If we give to Christ small portions of our life only, then the gift appears to be tedious, and. is of necessity painful. We must begin by giving all. Then the gifts in detail are only the out-carrying of a solemn step that involved the entire life. Have we yet entered into that mystery of self-immolation? Until we learn that lesson our Christianity will be a frequent vexation and a very infrequent enjoyment or peace. To cut off the right hand is much to him who has done nothing more, but to the man who has first cut down himself, root and branch, the whole man, it is very little, it is a detail concerning the painfulness of which he speaks with gracious contempt. It is just here that we have to make the beginning of progress, and it is just here so many of us may possibly have made no beginning at all. You cannot give Christ any mere portions of yourself. You cannot say, "I will give him one day in seven, one hour in the day, one portion of my income, one tribute of my talent or influence." That, apparently so easy, is a moral impossibility. Could that lesson be got well into the thought and heart of all students of Christianity and all professors of the Gospel, we should have a vital and most beneficial revolution. We must begin by giving ourselves to Christ not the right hand, not the single day in the week, not an assigned part or parcel of this or that property or resource, but the sum total, every whit of it; nothing kept back in the left hand by some subtle plan or skill of palming; but the whole man, the whole ten strings of the heart; then away you go, praising God upon an instrument complete the whole instrument of tuneful life. The result will be utter impossibility on the part of any detail to give you one moment's concern. We live in totals; we are vexed by details. Hear the Apostle's great, triumphant speech: "But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself." That is the explanation. Where the life is not dear the single finger cannot be much. Where the life is on the altar the suffering of a night's sleeplessness cannot be a martyrdom. Where the whole man is pledged, as with sevenfold oath, to serve the Cross, then any detail, coming under that great category of self-transfer to the Cross of Christ, may be spoken of with the contempt of spiritual triumph. This is the Christian victory. Another consideration under this, yet entering into it and vitally belonging to it, is that Paul had a definite purpose in life. What was that purpose? His own words shall tell: "That I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the Gospel of the grace of God." There is no mistake about the directness of that speech. You do not wonder whether the man was an academician, a philosopher, a lecturer, an inventor of magic; you know what he was: a man with a cross, a man with a ministry, a man with a ministry he had received of the Lord Jesus, a man whose ministry was limited to testimony. You cannot burn him; you cannot slay him; you cannot imprison him; he is beyond your power. It is in these spiritual realizations, rising into holy ecstasies, that the Christian soul realizes at once its sonship and its freedom. Paul wished "to testify." If the ministry were more than that, who could stand its continual strain? If ministers were sent out to convert the people, who could take upon him the yoke and burden of the ministry? The ministry of the kingdom of heaven is a ministry of testimony. The minister must give the warning, speak the truth, offer the welcome, point to the Cross, show the way, and then await the issue of events. He must work as if everything depended upon him, and then rest as if he could do nothing; he must entreat men, persuade them, wrestle with them, more in sympathy than in argument; he must soften his reasoning with his tears; he must ennoble his eloquence by his pathos; he must cause his eloquence to be forgotten in his intercessions; and then, when this ministry is fulfilled, he must stand back and see the salvation of God.

"And now, behold, I know that ye all, among whom I have gone preaching the kingdom of God, shall see my face no more." That is the spirit in which every sermon is to be preached; and that is the spirit in which every sermon is to be heard. This is the last time you and I will ever meet in this house exactly as the assembly is constituted at this moment. There can be no repetition of this event. It may be largely reproduced possibly for years it may be reproduced in its largest and broadest features; we ourselves do not doubt or fear respecting that; yet here is the thing that gives accent to the immediate occasion we shall never meet again just as we are meeting at this solemn moment. When we meet again the old man will not be just where he is now. We will look round and say, "Children sat in that pew; are they there now?" No. "An earnest, sympathetic listener sat quite close to me on that occasion; he will be here presently"? No; he is dead. This opportunity returns no more. Richard Baxter was wont to say that he preached as a dying man to dying men. That is the spirit that gives solemnity to every appeal, pathos to every entreaty, urgency to every welcome.

Now the noble challenge: "Wherefore I take you to record this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men." Is it a question of blood? Is it a matter of blood? Then how far wrong have we been who thought it was a matter of amusement, enjoyment, excitement, social delight, and comfort! "Wherefore I take you to record this day, that I am pure from the blood of all men." Might there have been spots of blood upon the preacher? Might he have been arraigned as a murderer of men? Might it have been that the angels could have pointed to the blood spots upon his skin and upon his robe, and said, "These are the witnesses against thee, thou faithless watchman"? Is it a question of blood? If, on the one hand, the ministerial, a question of blood, then just as surely, on the other hand, the congregational and the individual, a question of blood. This is no occasion for simple intellectual enjoyment, or theological gratification; this is a question of who is guilty the preacher or the hearer? the watchman or the man warned of coming danger? The Apostle was not pure from the blood of "one" man, or "many" men, but of "all" men. He had no fear of man; he spoke to the rich as well as to the poor, to the poor as well as to the rich. How stands the case between you and me today, seeing that we will never meet on earth exactly as we are meeting at this moment? We are keeping strictly within the lines of the text in putting this burning question to ourselves. Is there blood on me? Have I spared some men? Have I not given the Gospel welcome broadly enough, luminously enough? Have I delivered it with my lips only, or with my heart? Is there any one here under the impression that he is excluded from Christ's Cross, from God's forgiveness? This possible charge of blood makes me afraid. I am not speaking with the inimitable emphasis of the text, yet I cannot withhold the utterance of the yearning purpose of my heart, which has been that all men might be saved. I have not shut the door in the face of any man. To no applicant have I said, "You are too poor, too mean, too guilty, too low-born, too deeply sunk in sin." To contrition of heart no harsh word has been spoken; but, if in the unhappy and imperfect past I have not declared this Gospel of Christ with sufficent fulness and emphasis, may I endeavour to repair the omission in any individual case now before me, and say,