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Jdg_5:31
The comparison, we see, is not merely to the sun, but to its going—its course. There is a very parallel passage in Pro_4:18—“The path of the just is as the shining light, that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.” There is this difference, that the comparison to light necessarily ceases at high noon, when the light is perfect; whereas the comparison to the sun itself contemplates the whole of the believer’s course, from the rejoicing rising in the morning, to the glorious setting in the evening. The Scripture is full of images and expressions which, like this, describe the believer’s life as one of progress—progress in knowledge, holiness, and grace. The Psalmist compares the course of the sun to a race—“The sun, which is its a bridegroom coming out of his chamber and rejoiceth as a strong man to run a race,” Psa_19:5; and in like manner, this our Christian course is repeatedly in the New Testament compared to a race, which has for its goal and object “eternal life.” There is in this life, thus characterized—the inner life—no standing still, no rest in present attainments or degree of progress—we must go on, growing into greater conformity to the Divine image, until that day when our own race is run, and we awake satisfied with his likeness. The fruit that does not go on to ripen, rots or falls to the ground; and this our present life, is but a ripening of the soul for the life to come. Let us not, therefore, rest satisfied with any present experience in the divine life, however precious; let us go on, continually on, in earnest prayer for the ripening influences of God’s Spirit upon our souls; in shunning whatever may stain the white robe—the wedding garment, which has been given to us; in seeking whatever things are lovely, true, and of good report; and in cherishing every holy thought, every sacred purpose, every pious impression. To whatever we have reached in this our course, let us not think we have already attained or are already perfect. He who was not behind the very chiefest of the apostles in grace and knowledge, thought not so of himself. “Brethren,” he writes to the Philippians (Php_3:13-15), “I count not myself to have apprehended: but this one thing I do, forgetting those things that are behind, and reaching forth unto those things which are before, I press towards the mark, for the prize of the high calling of God in Christ Jesus.” He adds, “Let us therefore, as many as be perfect, be like minded.” But let us well mark these words. Perfection then, is not in having reached some high point where we can sit still, resting in what has been already attained; but in the most earnest vigor of pursuit, of race, of sun-like progress. He says not “let the imperfect,” but “let the perfect be thus minded.” That is, minded as he describes himself to be; minded to press eagerly onward to lay hold on eternal life.
It is not perhaps necessary that this course should be always visible, even to our own eyes, much less to the eyes of others. It is not perhaps necessary that the soul itself should be exactly conscious of it. The Spirit of God casteth the seed into the ground, and it groweth, by night and day, we know not how, bearing first the blade, then the ear, and then the full corn in the ear. It may be with the soul, even as with the youthful body, which grows from day to day, making great progress, and undergoing most important changes, and yet we know it not—are by no means conscious of all the gradations of this progress, and become sensible of it only when we find that our old clothes have become too strait for us, or when we try to realize the idea of what we were a few years ago.
It may often happen that, in the confusion which the world and the evil one try to raise around us, our sense of perception becomes obscured, and it may appear to ourselves that we have made no progress, or are even going backward—have lost ground in spiritual things. This often tries the soul. It is a grief, and we must bear it. Yet let us strive to be of good cheer. If we know that God has given to our souls a movement in the right direction, and feel that we have striven to avoid whatever might impede, and sought whatever might expedite, our course—if we are sure that “God, who caused the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God, in the face of Jesus Christ”—let us not be too greatly cast down, even though the path of our onward course may not be so obviously clear to our own eyes as we might wish. If we have the treasure of this knowledge—that we are in Christ, let us remember that we hold this treasure in earthen vessels, and that the excellency of the power may be of God, but not of us; and therefore, although we may be troubled on every side, yet let us not he distressed; though perplexed, let us not be in despair; though persecuted, let us feel that we are not forsaken; though cast down, that we shall not be destroyed. It may be
“Through danger’s path and sorrow’s gloom,”
that we march in our heavenward course, but let us be content to feel that we do march, yea, let us be content even if we feel it not. Here also the parallel of the sun’s course holds good. How often is he hid by clouds from our view for hours together! We see not his progress, we cannot find his place in the heavens, yet he has steadily pursued his course behind the clouds that hide him from our view—not less steadily or less speedily than if his glorious career had been all day apparent to us; and at the appointed hour, no less on the gloomy than on the cheerful day, he reaches with unfailing certainty his bourne (or bounds). Besides his course, which figures forth our own, cannot be always hidden from our consciousness. We know that the sun is there, and that he pursues his way behind the clouds that hide his face. We know that these clouds abide not there forever, that they abide not long. In a certain sense the words of the poet are in this case beautifully applicable, and to every human or infernal enemy of the Christian’s sun-like course, might well be spoken:
“Fond impious man, think’st thou yon sanguine cloud,
Raised by thy breath, has quenched the orb of day?
To-morrow he repairs his golden flood;
And warms the nations with redoubled ray.”—Gray.