(Continued from p. 206.)

"In whom we also have obtained an inheritance (In whom we also were made a heritage, R. V.), being predestinated according to the purpose of him who worketh all things after the counsel of his own will, that we should be to the praise of his glory who first hoped in Christ."

A convict in a mid-western prison was recently advised that he had inherited a fortune of some $150,000. Six short years would set him free and then such bliss as money might purchase. How joyous his anticipation, how glorious emancipation day. Thrilling the click of the key in the lock, the wide swinging of the prison door, the calls of a thousand alluring pleasures.

We also are prisoners in a failing flesh, but some day, somehow, whether at the summoning shout and the trump of God, amidst rising myriads, every one of them a brother, or at the still, quiet call of the Beloved, the prison doors shall swing wide for us, and heirs of God and joint heirs with Christ, we shall enter upon our inheritance. Shall we use that inheritance well or shall we abuse it?

The answer comes to us in the words of the Revised Version; "in whom we also were made a heritage," instance of another blessed ambiguity of the original. For we have an "inheritance, incorruptible, undefiled and that fadeth not away," reserved in heaven for us. We have not yet entered upon it, but we are predestinated to it by the immutable purpose of one "who worketh all things after the counsel of His own will" and just as surely as His sun tinging the eastern sky with its radiance, in the dimness before the dawn, assures a coming day, so the word of prophecy, "made more sure" irradiates with its indissoluble hope our prisoner spirits.

And we are "a heritage" and some day God's own possession (ver. 14, R. V.) shall be completely redeemed and with utter purity and with utter wisdom ours, the inheritance shall neither be misused nor abused, but used to the uttermost of enjoyment, as we shall ourselves be to "the praise bf His glory." So the two translations of our two noble versions coalesce and still further ambiguities fuse into unity for our encouragement and consolation.

The "in whom" of our translations is another reminder of the One to Whom we are eternally indebted for it. One of the characters in Goethe's fine idyl, "Hermann und Dorothea," says:"Denn der Anblick des Gebers ist wie die Gaben erfreulich," which we may freely render:"A sight of the Giver, is, like his gifts, a spring of joy." But the Giver here is the chief source of joy. Without Him we are poor no matter how vast the inheritance. With Him we are rich, take what He will away. The sunbeam is warm and bright for sight and feeling. It gladdens the vision and caresses the flesh, but when the sun stops shining, it passes quickly. Our inheritance is all that the most poetic imagination might envision for it is the love-thought of God. But the love-thought would congeal and freeze, were God, the Lover, denied us. Christ not merely gave "Himself for us" but He gave Himself to us, and it is that astonishing thing that makes heaven.

Yet the Scriptures do not belittle heaven, the place. They shower it with glories. They weave its beauties into a golden dream. It is "Jerusalem above, the Mother of us all." It is the city "that hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God." It is a substantial reality and not an unreal phantasm. And that reality flashes out into a vision of all manner of precious stones, gleaming with the splendor of God, Who is Himself its light. We seek such a city. What fools we were, did we not.

Then it is "paradise," a park. It soothes with its verdure. Its fields "lie decked in living green." Its streams ripple and bubble between their banks. Its waters sparkle and quicken. Its fruits refresh, heal.

And if these thoughts suggest weariness and wounding, is it not the Ephesian overcomer, himself, who eats of "the tree of life in the midst of the paradise of God?" "He that drinketh of the water that I shall give him shall never thirst" said the prophet of Samaria's well. The fountain is there forever.

Finally, it is "home, sweet home." It is the many abodes, "mansions," of the Father's house. Each dweller in the "house" is a member of the glorious "family of God." Every domestic felicity of earth is crowned by a "far better," and throughout its love-life, there is shed the love-peace of God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit. It is not a "summation of negations," but is an "eternal yea" stronger than Carlyle's "everlasting nay." It is an affirmation of every good, Christ Himself the triumphant answer to every question. What better inheritance could there be?

And what shall we say more? Its life is a service of song and a song that spells service. Music is harmony and everything there is harmonious. "I will sing unto the Lord as long as I live:I will sing praise to my God while I have my being. My meditation of Him shall be sweet:I will be glad in the Lord." Yea, because "this man" lives there, "Both the singers and the players upon stringed instruments shall say:'all my springs are in thee.' "

The reference in the "first hoped" of our text is apparently to Jewish believers, but it by no means denies the same blessing to the Gentile. The "first" necessarily implies a second, and the second involves a "first." Somebody has said that no one can mount to the heights of faith, who has not first known the depths of self-despair. Now Hope is the daughter of Faith. With faith in nothing, there is hope in nothing. With faith in Christ, real and adequate, there is hope of everything. And when he who has learned self-despair in the rough school of experience scales the topmost peak of faith, his vision of hope may compass no more sublime conception than that vile man should come to be the "praise of God's glory." Let this become intensely personal with each one of us. Let each one of us walk again in retrospect through the grim valley that Paul walked, where all the specters of evil beset his path and he cried, "Oh, wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me?" let the "curse of the law" sting its way once more into our hearts and wither them with its despair; then let us cleave our way upward through the inspissated gloom into the circumambient and pervasive glory of the mansions of hope, we, "the praise of His glory," Who is all perfection, and let us drink again "into that Spirit," for no other power will be adequate to sustain us there and persuade us that we do not dream.

Ah, that is indeed a "living hope," yet, as F.B. Meyer says, "How little does the wailing infant, over whose cradle glistens the coronet, won by the stout arm of a soldier-ancestor, understand of the inheritance to which he has been born. The ancestral home, the far-spread lands, the noble rank, the prestige of an ancient and lofty lineage-all these things are his; but years must pass ere they can be truly realized or appreciated. And how much less do the most saintly and heaven-taught spirits conceive of the inheritance which is ours so soon as we become the children of God through faith in Christ Jesus."

Somebody tells the story of an old Scotch woman who once moved from a basement to a sunny garret. Asked her reason for moving she replied:"Ye canna hear Matheson (the blind preacher) preach and live in a cellar." The narrator calls this a "wonderful tribute" to George Matheson. Shall we not right here and now render the same tribute to our beloved Paul? Shall we not in anticipation dwell in the eternal mansions?

"Oh home of fadeless splendor,
Of flowers that fear no thorn,
Where they shall dwell as children,
Who here as exiles mourn.
Strive man, to win that glory,
Toil man, to gain that light,
Send hope before to grasp it,
Till hope be lost in sight.''

F. C. Grant

(To be continued in next number, D.V.)