(Continued from p. 391, Dec., 1930)

CHAPTER TWO

"And you hath He quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins."

Commentators have often pointed out the logical parallelism of the quickening and resurrection of the spiritually dead, in this second chapter, with the resurrection of Christ from among the dead, at the close of the first chapter. The parallelism is indeed perfectly obvious, even to the most casual reader, and though precious in the lessons that it teaches us, we shall, for the moment, because of oft reiteration of these lessons, eschew logic and embrace psychology.

J. H. Jowett tells of a friend who dreamed a very vivid dream. In his dream he saw, afar off on the horizon, a range of sunlit mountains, their lower reaches veiled in a thick, white mist. In an ecstasy of longing he besought the Lord that he might dwell upon them, when a voice responded:"Thou must first descend into the vale."

Down into the gloomy valley he went, to find the ground all alive with "fierce, ugly, loathsome things." He quickly became aware that these specters were the incarnations of his own sins. Imagine his horror.

Presently approaching footsteps resounded on his ear, and instinctively he realized that it was his Lord. He covered his face in very shame with his cloak, and bowing his head, waited. Soon the Lord and the sinner confronted one another, standing in silence for some time. How long they thus stood none may know. Minutes sometimes drag themselves out as hours, hours are lengthened into days. What thoughts filled the sinner's heart no one has told us. Perhaps our own experience may whisper them. Very sober and solemn doubtless they were. Finally, however, apprehensively he ventured to withdraw from his face the edge of his cloak and look, and lo, all the loathsome creatures covered his Lord. God had laid upon Christ all his sins.

The dreamer went through the valley before ascending the mountains. We, on the other hand, who have already been dwelling on the "sunlit" mountains, are now to descend into the valley, "lest we forget," lest, like the apostle Paul, when caught up into the third heavens, we should become unduly exalted by the lofty heights on which we have dwelt; lest, like Lucifer, son of the morning, enamored with his own beauty, we should become proudly intoxicated with the marvels of our blessing. The benediction of another "Mount of Beatitudes" is to be brought to us, "Blessed are the poor in spirit," and is to mingle with the "spiritual blessings" of which we have so bounteously partaken, lest we "let them slip," lest they "flow by us." We are to walk through another "valley of humiliation" that we might cry fervently, with overrunning hearts, "Not unto us, not unto us, O Lord, but unto Thee, be all the glory."

Let us then descend into the valley. Let us listen to the message that there comes to us. It is "inspired."
You were "dead through trespasses and sins" (so good manuscript authority changes it); you were dead to God, dead to a life with God, dead to eternal blessings. You were swept along in a mill-race, a worldly course. No undertow that sucks the feeble swimmer to the depths more certainly drags him down, than you were being drawn to "destruction" (see Phil. 3:18), for you "minded earthly things." You were driven helpless before the ill, evil winds of the Prince of the Power of the Air, all-pervasive, inescapable, energizing you with the spirit of rebellion, yourself a "son of disobedience," "alienated from the life of God, through the ignorance that was in you." You were an assiduous purveyor to your own "fleshly desires" and carnal "mind"; you were naturally a "child of wrath;" for "he that believeth not the Son, hath not life, but the wrath of God abideth on him." You could not by any possible effort or combination of circumstances save yourself, you were still "without strength" after the long lapse of centuries of self-help; you were dead, dead by every test that might be applied to you.

"But GOD"-the God whose wrath "abides upon him," the God who is "so pure that He cannot look upon iniquity," the God, before whom the seraphim veil their faces, crying "Holy, holy, holy," the God whose holiness found expression in "The Holy One who knew no sin," whose righteousness was as the driven snow-that God was and did, because He was "rich in mercy."

"The criminal sat crouched on his hard bench, chained hand and foot. He did not look up. He was a dreadful sight, his brutal face haggard, unshaven, his eyes bloodshot, his whole appearance almost like some low animal. Through the shadowy prison the Little Major crept to those chains, those symbols of the man's degradation" (he was the vilest kind of murderer) ; "and still the man did not look up. 'You must be in great trouble, brother. Can I help you any?' asked the Little Major, with a wonderful Christlike compassion in his voice."

"But GOD, who is rich in mercy," did.

"If I might venture without seeming irreverent, I would point to that pathetic page in the Old Testament history of his darling son, and careless of victory, and forgetful of everything, and oblivious that Absalom was a rebel, and only remembering that he was his boy, burst into that monotonous wail that has come down over all the centuries as the deepest expression of undying love, 'Oh, my son, Absalom, my son, my son, Absalom! Oh, Absalom, my son, my son!' We are all His Absaloms, and though we are dead in trespasses and sins, God, who is rich in mercy, bends over us and loves us with His great love."

"God, who is rich in mercy, for the great love wherewith He has loved us."

"The man lifted his bleared eyes under the shock of unkempt hair, and spoke, startled:

"'You call me brother. You know what I'm here for, and you call me brother? Why?'

"The little Major's voice was steady and sweet as he replied without hesitation:

"'Because I know a great deal about the sufferings of Christ on the Cross, all because He loved you so. So why shouldn't I call you 'brother'"?
"God, who is rich in mercy, for the great love wherewith He hath loved us, even when we were dead in trespasses and sins?'

"Then the murderer suddenly looked up and exclaimed:'It's true what you said. Christ has pardoned me. Now I can die like a man.' "*

*From "The War Romance of the Salvation Army."*

"He hath quickened us together with Christ."

Yes, but God is not satisfied with half-way measures. Gather together the precious statements that throughout the New Testament associate us with Christ, that link us with Him hi the triumphal procession of His love, that steal into our hearts like the sweet odors from swinging censers (2 Cor. 2:14-17), that render us "heart-captives" of the "One who loved us," and we find the story gathering head around Calvary (we were "crucified with Christ;" we died "with Christ") descending the solemn mount in mournful procession to the "rock-hewn" tomb (we were "buried with Him"), where it might seem as if all the hopes of the ages found sepulture, lingering there regretfully, until the "soul that might not be left in Hades" returned to its holy, incorruptible temple (we were "quickened together with Christ"), until the "mighty stone" was wrenched from its solid bases and the "Prisoner of Death" came forth in triumph (we were "raised up together," we are "risen -with Christ"), gathering treasure from the "sweet communings" with "His Own" during all those sacred days that clothed the wondrous tale with a Shekinah cloud of glory "that fadeth not away," until, in seeming, He is "parted from them," though now we know that even in His very ascension we have ascended also into the highest heaven (we are "seated together in heavenly places in Christ Jesus"), and we hear celestial choirs filling the heavenly temple with the music of:

"Come, let us sing the matchless worth,
And sweetly sound the glories forth,
Which in the Saviour shine."

F. C. Grant