Newman Hall, November 27, 1867
"He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty."—Psalm 91:1.
The desert is dreary. The way is long. Heavily burdened, a weary traveler slowly drags onward his wounded feet. Faint by reason of the fiery blaze which smites him from the unclouded sky and the scorching sand, he eagerly looks around for shelter. He pants for even the muddiest pool where he may quench his raging thirst. In such "a weary land," how welcome "the shadow of a great rock," and the clear, cool fountain gushing up within its rugged clefts! But where can such a refuge be found for the soul—weary with wandering, crushed by care, groaning under guilt? Where can its burden be taken off, its sorrows soothed, its mighty thirst assuaged?
A trembling fugitive, long the victim of robbery and violence, has vainly run here and there in quest of a hiding-place from his cruel enemies, who, with threatening gestures and words of hate, are in full pursuit. Now he hears their voices clamoring for his blood, as they press more closely upon his track. Each moment he expects the fatal shot. How joyful, as it suddenly bursts upon him, is the sight of the friendly fortress whose open portal bids him enter, and then shuts impregnably! Beneath the shadow of those strong towers, he may now rest both from his toils and his terrors!
But where for me, pursued by my relentless enemy, the devil, entangled by doubts, haunted by fears, with many a barbed and poisoned arrow rankling in my conscience—where for me is the privileged retreat which no hostile foot may enter, where all my wounds may be healed, and where, taking up my abode, I may be henceforth both safe and happy?
The problem is solved by the text selected for our meditation: "He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty."—Psalm 91:1.
The term here denotes protection. A shadow screens me from the sun, and hides me from my foe. The overshadowing roof of a house shelters its inmates from the storm. And under the shadow of her wings the hen protects her brood. So the glorious attributes of the Most High, the unclouded rays of His perfections, are as a shadow of defense to His people. "How excellent is your loving-kindness, O God! Therefore, the children of men put their trust under the shadow of your wings. Be merciful unto me, O God, for my soul trusts in You: yes, in the shadow of your wings will I make my refuge, until these calamities be overpast." Believing in Jesus, we exult in the fulfillment of the ancient prophecy—"A man shall be as an hiding place from the wind, and a covert from the tempest: as rivers of water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in a weary land."
The privileges of those who abide under the shadow of the Almighty, are described with inimitable force and beauty in this ninety-first Psalm. Here the church possesses a storehouse of varied consolation—a treasury of untold wealth—an unfailing casket of precious jewels—an arsenal, where Faith may find abundant weapons of attack, as well as a shield to quench every fiery dart—a Grand Charter, a Bill of Rights, granted to undeserving rebels, by the Sovereign Grace of the Most High, who bids them honor him by constantly claiming its ratification.
What a catalogue of blessings for all who flee for refuge to Christ! Omnipotence is their hiding-place, God their home. He spreads over them His wing. His faithfulness is their buckler. They are secure from night's vague fears, and from day's plain perils; from the plots of malice, and the ravages of plague; from man's destructions, and from the scourge of God. While ten thousand fall around, they are unhurt. Not all the powers of earth or hell can injure a hair of their heads.—
For them evil turns to good, and sorrows lead to joys. Angel guards unseen attend them. They are borne up beyond the reach of even slightest injuries. They conquer their worst foes. They trample on the roaring lion and the subtle snake. They are admitted to the presence-chamber of the King, and are allowed familiar communion with Him. All their petitions are granted. Jehovah is with them in trouble, to comfort and deliver. They are exalted to high stations, and clothed with glory and honor. Length of days is secured to them, and at last—the Beatific Vision and the Paradise of God.
The text contains a conditional promise. Let us then consider, first, the character described; and then, the promise annexed.
I. THE CHARACTER DESCRIBED—"He that dwells in the secret place of the Most High." The tabernacle-worship suggested eloquent imagery to the devout mind of the psalmist. "In the secret of His tabernacle shall He hide me." The Holy of Holies was secret. None entered it but the high Priest, and he only once a year. Behold him on the great day of atonement. Having sacrificed at the brazen altar in the open court, he leaves the crowd of worshipers, and humbly drawing aside the curtain which conceals the entrance, he stands within the Holy Place. The veil closes behind him, and he is alone. With reverential step he passes the golden altar of incense, and the table of show-bread, and the seven-branched candlestick, towards the second veil which conceals the Holiest of all. With trembling hand he lifts its folds. And now he is in front of the Mercy Seat, and bows before Him who "dwells between the Cherubim." Shut out from all else, he feels surrounded, pervaded by the Divinity. He is in "the secret place of the Most High."Jewish type is Christian fact. The nearness of approach to God thus symbolized, is the privilege, not of one believer, but of all; not once a year, but continually; not with trembling, but in full assurance of faith; we may "come with boldness to the throne of grace."
As Omnipresent, God "is not far from every one of us." Yet it is possible to be infinitely distant from Him. Two men may dwell in the same house, and sit at the same table, and yet be far asunder by uncongenial tastes and hostile feelings; while other two, divided by half the globe, may be inseparably close by mental harmony and the bonds of love. Though in God "we live, and move, and have our being," yet while impenitent, we are spiritually afar off. Our sins have separated us. We are alienated from Him by wicked works. We desire not the knowledge of his ways. We practically bid Him depart from us. But He entreats us—"Return unto me, and I will return unto you." He has rendered such return possible. The great gulf of separation is bridged over by the mediation of Christ. As the High Priest entered the Most Holy Place "not without blood," even so Jesus by his own blood entered within the veil, and opened the path for all on whom that blood is sprinkled. So let us approach the Mercy Seat.
We have provoked You, O Lord, to anger. We have wickedly avoided your presence. We have loved to keep far away. But we are weary with our self-caused exile. This banishment is darkness, despair, death. O, suffer us to return! Let our past rebellion be forgiven! Let the enmity of out heart cease! Our only plea is the name of Jesus. Because He died to bring near those who were afar off; because You have Yourself commanded us to come—have mercy upon us sinners, and let us enter your "Secret Place."
While we thus draw near, He whose throne is the Mercy Seat, watches with love every advancing step. The Prodigal is still a long way off when the father goes to meet him, saying, "Bring forth the best robe and put it on him, and put a ring on his hand, and shoes on his feet—for this my son was dead, and is alive again, he was lost, and is found."
Our sins are at once forgiven. Christ's spotless robe is thrown around us. We see not wrath darkening, but love illumining the countenance of Him whom we dreaded but now trust, whom we hated but now love. Rebellion is changed to homage, aversion to delight. Hallowed communion results. Our soul thirsts for God. We pour out our hearts before Him. There is not a joy or grief, a hope or fear, which we may not utter in the ear of One, the vastness of whose concerns hinders not his attention to the minutest needs of each individual worshiper; who "pities those who fear Him," even "as a father pities his children," and who is "touched with a feeling of our infirmities."
Let us never forget that He is "Most High." To Him is ascribed "Glory in the highest." With what reverence should we approach Him! And let me adore His condescension. "Though the Lord be high, yet has He respect unto the lowly." As the Most High," He is able to do "abundantly above all that we can ask or think." He is on high, and can see all things. He is on high, and can do all things. Out of the depths of our misery we may look up to the heights of His Majesty. He is our Friend, but a Friend seated on the throne of universal empire. He is our Father, but our Father in heaven. The secret place of the "Most High," must be also the shadow of "the Almighty."
This communion of the soul with God is "secret." True religion cannot be understood, its joys cannot be known, by those who do not experience it. The wise virgins could not give of their oil to others; the foolish must buy for themselves. So the High Priest was concealed from the multitudes who stood only in the outer court. "The secret of the Lord is with those who fear Him, and He will show them his covenant." The life of the Christian is concealed, it is "hidden with Christ in God." The "Secret Place" cannot be seen but by entering it.
Yet why should it be unknown to any? The true Holy of Holies is open to all. None need fear to lift the veil for themselves. It is presumption to stay afar off when God calls us near. Obedience is the best humility. If we are the very chief of sinners, we may be sure of a kind reception. Let us then remain no longer ignorant of this glorious mystery, but enter and examine for ourselves "The Secret Place of the Most High." The "Secret Place of the Most High "is the soul's true home. We are exiles and wanderers, until we dwell there. Other places invite, only to betray. Self-righteousness says, "Dwell in me and be safe." But no structure composed of our good actions can afford shelter from the storm; let pride rear them ever so high, they serve but to attract the lightning's stroke. The world says, "Dwell in me and be happy." But earthly vanities are an impertinence to the soul that seeks salvation—even the rational enjoyments of life arc not enough to fill the void. But in the "Secret Place of the Most High," the believer finds both safety and happiness.
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