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TOPIC: Gordon, Samuel Dickey - Quiet Talks on Following the Christ (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 75. "With You Always."
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"With You Always."
Have you ever seen Christ? No, I don't mean have you been to some uplifting convention, and been tremendously caught by some talented, earnest speaker, and been swayed by the atmosphere of the hour and place, and felt that all was not just as it should be with you; and then you prayed more, and made some new resolves, or re-made some old ones, and left off some things, and put on some things; I don't mean that, but this—have you ever seen Christ?
No, of course, you don't see Him with these outer eyes. Well, then just what do I mean practically? This—has there come to you a real sense of Himself? of His presence? of the tremendous plea His presence makes? and, possibly, you don't know just how to answer. You say, "I'm not just sure," or "How can I know?" Well, you'll never say it that way, nor ask that question again after the experience has come.
May I tell you a little bit about it? Yet, mark you, only "a little bit." You can never tell another one what it means to see Him. When once the sight has come, every word you utter about it, or Him, seems so lame and weak that you despair of ever being able to let out at your lips what has gotten into you. But let me try, even if lamely, in the eager yearning that it may help you know if, thus far, you have missed seeing Him, and maybe—so much better—help you to see Him. For until you have—well, nothing, absolutely nothing, is worth while.
When you see Him there comes such a sense of His purity that, instantly, you are down on your face in utter despair, because of your own self—your impurity; your lack of purity; the sharp contrast between Him and you. You feel that young Isaiah's outcry in the temple that morning is wholly inadequate. "Unclean lips," is it? Why, the whole thing, from innermost recesses clear through and out, is unclean. Then it dawns upon you that this is really what Isaiah is feeling and trying to express in his "woe" and "undone."
And that vivid sense of contrast between Him and you never grows less, but more acute and deeper. Even when you come to know Him better, and the sweet peace comes with its untellable balm to your spirit, yet you are always conscious of the contrast, and you know that you are not pure; only He is; and all you can do is to keep under the cleansing stream of His blood, very low down.
"Never higher than His piercèd feet,
Never farther than His bleeding side."
With that comes such a sense of Himself, of His—what word can tell it?—His glory,—which means simply His character, what He is in Himself—that again words can never tell out the sense of your own littleness; no, that is not the word, your own nothingness. And now you recall, with an inner shrinking, how well you have thought of yourself, how much you have talked about yourself and your view of things, perhaps in the language of a properly phrased humility. Now you are dumb. His presence dumbs you. You begin to wonder at the strange self-confidence and self-complacence that have been so common even in your holiest moments and experiences. It seems, in this Presence, as though you could never open your lips again—except to speak of Him.
Then your eyes are drawn more intently to His person,—His face, His wounds. The scars where the thorns tore His great, patient face; the grief-whitened hair, draped above those deep, tender, unspeakable eyes; that strangely rough place in the palm so lovingly outstretched; the spear-scar, the nail-marks in those feet coming over to you,—these grip you. Their meaning begins to come. There's cleansing; yes, blessed fact! there's cleansing from this horrid impurity whose stain you are so conscious of. Yet, what it cost Him! What my impurity forced upon Him! Yes, cleansed; blessed Jesus! What a relief to be cleansed! Yet I must stay under the stream; only so can the sense of relief be continual. And I must stay down on my face at His feet. It is the only place for such as I discover myself to be. Yet what grace to let me stay at His feet!
Have you seen Christ? This is what begins to come when you have—His purity, your contrasted lack; His glorious self, your own nothingness in yourself; His suffering—the price of your cleansing. This is only a beginning, yet a beginning that comes to be the continuous thing.