THE

Bible Christian Magazine,

APRIL, 1871.

THE TRUE RICHES. *

As poor, yet making many rich. 2 Cor. vi. 10.

As THERE is often a very real distinction between what a man is and what he thinks himself to be, so there is frequently a marked contrast between what he is and what he appears to be. Not seldom does he deceive himself, believing himself to be rich, and increased in goods, and to have need of nothing, when in fact he is wretched, and miserable, and poor, and blind, and naked. Almost as frequently does he deceive others, though, in the sense now intended, not as meaning to do so. They look upon him exalted to honour and power, pursuing a prosperous business, or living in quiet affluence and ease, and with mingled discontent and envy are ready to say, Here is the favourite of fortune and the child of joy. Alas, brethren, this in many cases is a melancholy mistake. The outward

appearance does not truly index the inner life. They see the one, and see it at its best, but cannot see the other, least of all at its worst. They behold the purple and fine linen with which he is clothed, but are ignorant of the festering disease which the rich attire conceals. They see, or at least imagine, the sumptuous fare under which his table groans, but know nothing of the load of anxieties under which his spirit groans.

On the other hand, they look upon him straitened in circumstances and struggling with difficulties, enduring a great fight of afflictions, and counted it may be as the filth and offscouring of all things, and in very pity are constrained to say, Here is the hapless victim of misfortune and misery. And yet in fact he it is that has the "true riches," and possesses the "joy that a stranger intermeddleth not with.”

*A Sermon preached in behalf of the Bible Christian Missionary Society, at the Mechanics' Institute, Plymouth, July 31, 1870, and published by request of the Conference.

The temple may be rude, and rudely battered by oft recurring storms, but it enshrines an ever gracious God. No rejoicing may be apparent without, but there is unceasing melody kept up within. This contrast was very great in the case of the early Christians. For the most part they belonged to the poor of this world, and yet they were rich in faith, and heirs of the kingdom which God hath promised to them that love Him. To superficial observers they appeared of all men most miserable, yet none were so happy as they, for their ordinary experience was a "joy unspeakable, and full of glory." Many of them forsook all, or rather were compelled to part with all, that they might follow Christ. Home, friends; property, liberty, even life itself had to be surrendered, and were surrendered. Yet pity was the last thing they needed or desired. They counted it all joy to have fallen into divers temptations. They took joyfully the spoiling of their goods. They rejoiced that they were counted worthy to suffer shame for the name of Jesus. Troubled on every side, they were not distressed; perplexed, they were not in despair. Beaten with rods, they were neither ashamed nor discouraged. Thrust into the inner prison, their joy broke out even at midnight into songs of praise, so that the prisoners heard them. Their very dungeon became to them the house of God and the gate of heaven.

In this chapter we have the personal testimony of one of those who thus suffered and thus sang. In a bold and striking paradox, the Apostle, speaking of himself and of those associated with him in the ministry of the Gospel, describes their condition as at the same time one of sorrow and of joy, of poverty and of riches, of total destitution and of vast and even unlimited possession. His words, forming an impressive climax to a more extended account, are, as sorrowful, yet alway rejoicing; as poor, yet making many rich; as having nothing, and yet possessing all things." No more vivid antithesis of personal experiences could well be exhibited or conceived. Here is wretchedness the very deepest, as men judge of wretchedness; here, too, is blessedness the very greatest, as blessedness is found in God.

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In the text itself the contrast between two opposite conditions is rather implied than expressed. The Apostle declares of himself, and of those for whom he speaks in the same connection, that though poor, they made many rich; which must of course imply that, however poor in one sense, they were rich in another. The riches and poverty which are thus placed in contrast are, I need scarcely say, of wholly different natures, material and spiritual, temporal and eternal: and the words of the text may be taken as affirming that the apostolic ministry was an agency for the communication to mankind of spiritual and eternal wealth. But that ministry was simply the publication of the Gospel, and hence the Gospel itself may be viewed as that which makes man truly and for ever rich. It does this, in the first place, by bringing to light the riches already possessed; and then, secondly, by adding to these other riches specially its own.

I. The Gospel makes rich by revealing to his consciousness the wealth which man already possesses.

It is possible to have riches and not to know it, or if to know it to be ignorant of their value. A man may live in the deepest poverty and yet possess a field which conceals beneath a barren surface inexhaustible mines of wealth. Some of the fairest scenes of nature are looked upon continually by eyes which have never been opened to the perception of beauty, and which therefore know not the wealth of loveliness which is ever within their reach. And portions of our earth, abounding in gems or in mineral treasure, have for ages and centuries been in the hands of races and tribes unaware of their existence, or else of their preciousness. Now to discover to such persons what they unconsciously possess, or to teach them its worth if aware of its existence, is in a real and practical sense to give it them.

Man has a treasure

A service like this the Gospel renders. in himself. A mine of wealth is hidden in the depths of his own being. In that material organism which we call his "outward man,’ as in a casket of most curious workmanship, is contained the most precious of all precious things. There is a gem, uncut, unpolished, it may be, but of such essential and indestructible excellency, that it is capable of exercising and even exhausting the lapidary's most consummate skill, by taking a lovelier form or flashing with an intenser brightness at his every touch. Unlike other jewels, of human merchandise, it is not restricted to certain localities or to single persons. It belongs to man, as man, and so to mankind universally and without exception. There are millions however who live and die with scarcely the suspicion of its existence; and millions more who, though professing to know this, live and die without a single effort to realize its value. The one class are almost as uncon. scious of what they possess as the mountain is of the precious ore that lies concealed within its bosom; and the other have as little practical apprehension of its worth as the savage has of the gold or gems he willingly parts with for the gauds and trinkets he ignorantly takes in exchange.

In other words, "there is a spirit in man, and the inspiration of the Almighty giveth him understanding." This is man in the nobler part of his nature, in that which constitutes his proper eminence and dignity. So great is the endowment, so much greater than can be represented by any comparison within our reach, that the gain of the whole world, and the enjoyment of it to the longest possible period of human life, would be no consideration for its loss. Its worth is seen in its origin, as the breath of the Almighty, or rather in that resemblance to Himself in spirituality and glory which the origin implies. It is seen in the complex variety and yet essential harmony of its intellectual and moral powers, as also in their indefinite capability alike for good and for evil. It is seen in the vast provision made for its development and improvement in the world without, in the diversity and beauty and endless meaning and magnificence of the universe of objects created for its use and ready to minister to its enjoyment. It is seen especially in its relation to the Divine Being as the subject of His moral government, and in the perpetually accumulating measure of its responsibility to Him; in the amazing price that has been paid for its deliverance from sin and its perfection in holiness; and

in the everlasting destiny that awaits it, whether for weal or for woe, when its present career shall have come to a close.

Now of this divine gift how few are there who have any adequate, or indeed any real, apprehension whatever. I speak not of men uncivilized, or of the heathen alone, but of multitudes even in nominally Christian lands. These live hardly any other than a purely animal and brutish life. Though endowed with the wonderful power of self-introspection, they have never turned their eye inward to look down into themselves. Their gaze has been always outward, and their desires and hopes always of the earth, earthy. They have felt the craving of appetite and the excitement of passion, and to the gratification of these they have devoted their lives; but they have never gone behind or below them, and centred their thought on that "inspiration of the Almighty" which is of the essence of their being, and which remains the same, undecayed and undecaying, when appetite and passion fall off in sickness or expire in death. They are indeed themselves but so many bundles, or at least, so many organized collections, of appetites and passions, with just so much of active intellectual faculty as is necessary to secure them a fuller enjoyment of their respective objects. They are "in honour," to apply the words of the Psalmist, "but understanding it not, are like the beasts that perish."

The

Somewhat different must be our judgment of those who have recognised the claims of reason as well as the solicitations of sense; who have learnt even to speak of the " dignity of human nature,' because they have seen or felt something of its purely intellectual capability. Yet even of these, while only at this point, it may be said that they are far from a just estimate of themselves. heaven-descended precept, "know thyself," has been observed by them but in part. Besides an animal and intellectual, they have, what is higher than both, a moral and religious nature; and this, with its stupendous powers and possibilities, is to them, for the most part, a region yet unknown, or at least a mine yet unexplored. They have been compelled now and then to recognise its existence, as one or more of its secret chords have been struck into painful vibration by some unusually startling event; but they have never seriously considered either what it is, or what it was destined to become; never thought of it in its vast capacity for good or for evil, for happiness or for misery; never viewed it, or sought to view it, with any just impression of its almost immeasurable claims and responsibilities, in its solemn yet ennobling relations to God and eternity. They have thus in themselves a treasure of incalculable preciousness, but, unhappily, it is as "a treasure hid in a field.”

Now the Gospel makes rich by revealing what is thus hidden, by putting man into conscious possession of what he has but knows it not, or knows it so imperfectly that he may be said to be practically ignorant of it. It does not do this formally and discursively, as its object is not to teach philosophy, but to make wise unto salvation. Purely rational demonstration would fail of the effect required. Only a few would be able to follow it, and still fewer would care to make the effort. Moreover, what addresses the intellect does not for that reason necessarily "search the reins and the heart." It