Blessings to you all,
I wanted to get this out as soon as possible. It is an important study of the difference between true Christianity and religion. I am reminded that when the children of Israel made the golden calf, they named it as the deity that brought them out of Egypt. "And he received them at their hand, and fashioned it with a graving tool, after he had made it a molten calf: and they said, These be thy gods, O Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt. And when Aaron saw it, he built an altar before it; and Aaron made proclamation, and said, To morrow is a feast to Jehovah." Exo 32:4-5
And later, after God brought his people into the promised land, Israel and Judah split after the death of Solomon, and the king of Israel, Jeroboam, "… took counsel, and made two calves of gold, and said unto them, It is too much for you to go up to Jerusalem: behold thy gods, O Israel, which brought thee up out of the land of Egypt. And he set the one in Bethel, and the other put he in Dan. And this thing became a sin: for the people went to worship before the one, even unto Dan. 1Ki 12:28-30
This excerpt from, the Story of Grace, is only the first half of the chapter. The entire chapter is sent as an attachment. This is where it all started.
In Him,
~Al
CHAPTER XIII
THE TWO WORSHIPPERS
HENCEFORTH all worship must be carried on outside of Eden; for that sacred enclosure is now forbidden ground. Inter course between God and man is not to cease; but it is restricted. The close intimacy of the unfallen state,—in which there was no veil, no distance, no enter posing medium of communication ,-is at an end.
God still permits, nay, commands man, the sinner, to draw near and hold fellowship; but he must stand without. It is only the outer court which the worshipper is at liberty to use. All within this is carefully fenced off from his intrusion. He may take his place close to the guarded entrance; he may build his altar under the very gleam of the flaming sword; he may pitch his tent within full sight of the cherubim: but not one step farther, even for worship, is he permitted to take.
Yet permission to worship, in any circumstances and under any restrictions, is a declaration of grace on the part of God. Liberty to approach and converse, indicated most distinctly to man the gracious purpose of the divine mind which was now beginning to open. Nothing but free love in God could lead him still to acknowledge man as a worshipper, and to accept his worship. It mattered not that there were shadows and distance between. The existence of these was not incompatible with grace. For, simply to be recognized as one who, though a sinner, is yet at liberty to come to God and commune with him on any spot of earth, however far from Eden, is as distinct an assurance of grace as could be given. Nor could Adam fail to understand it as such. Whatever might be the restrictions as to the place and the manner of approach, still, so long as he was at liberty "to come before the Lord and to bow himself before the High God" as a welcome and accepted worshipper, he could not but see that "there was forgiveness with God that he might be feared" (Ps. 130:4).
The method and the medium of communication were, no doubt, new and strange. It was only with blood in his hand that man could draw near. In no other way would God deal with him. But this indicated no reluctance to receive the sinner. It was no withdrawal of grace, nor did it intimate a desire to throw hindrances in the way of the worshipper. Neither did it imply any uncertainty in man's warrant to approach; nor encourage anything like doubtfulness on his part respecting his welcome from God, as if grace was hung upon conditions whose fulfilment was still a matter of suspense. Rather the opposite. For while God was pointing man's eye to obstacles of the most formidable kind, he was declaring, at the same time, his willingness to have them all removed; nay, the absolute certainty of his purpose not to rest till they were entirely surmounted, whatever might be the cost, the time, the toil required in the accomplishment of the stupendous work.
Thus Adam worshipped, with Eve, "the mother of all living," —the mother of the promised seed. And the Being whom he worshipped outside of Eden, was the same Jehovah with whom he had communed within its blessed shades; only it was now as the God of grace that he approached him. Day by day did he lay his lamb upon the altar in token of his belief that it was only grace that had kept him from the same consuming fire that was devouring his offering; and also that it was through that blood alone that even grace could reach him and the God of grace accept him.
But time went on, and Adam stood no longer alone at the altar. The children whom God had given him came with him. From their earliest years he had doubtless brought them to that place of sacrifice, and instructed them as to its design. They knelt along with him upon the turf, while he praised and confessed and made supplication to the Lord, as the smoke of the burnt-offering went up to heaven, or fell in wreaths over the trees of Eden. There seemed to be but "one lip" and one heart, even as there was but one family and one altar. This, however, was not to continue long. The children grew up, and a strange difference began to manifest itself. Hitherto there had seemed to be but one worshipper; now there were two, and these at entire variance with each other, as if there were two Gods, diverse in character, to whom they were paying their homage. Let us look at these two worshippers, and mark the difference between them. It is evidently on no minor point that they differ, and that the views which they entertain, both of God's character and their own, are opposed to each other as noon is to midnight. Nay, it seems to be a different God that they are worshipping.
One thing strikes us much in this narrative respecting Cain and Abel. In them the two great divisions of Adam's race begin to shew themselves: the seed of the woman and the seed of the serpent. Very quickly, indeed, has this separation taken place. It arises in the first generation, in the first family. The first man born of a woman is a child of the devil, one of the serpent's brood.
This difference is not between two neighbors, or friends, or distant kinsmen, but between two brothers; born of one mother of that very woman to whom the promise was made; born within sight of Eden, and with no example of abounding iniquity to mislead and corrupt. This difference is not one of birth. By nature they are the same, begotten in the likeness of their fallen father; not like him, in the image of God. In Abel, however, we see a monument of divine power, a specimen of the Holy Spirit's work, a trophy of Jehovah's sovereign choice. It is not the first-born, but the younger, that is chosen; "the last is first, and the first last." "Even so, Father, for so it seemed good in thy sight."
Nor are these two brothers without some points of resemblance even in the things of God. They both profess to acknowledge the same God. They both come to worship him. They bring gifts in their hands. They come to the same altar. They observe the same time and place of worship. In these respects they are the same. But there the likeness ends, and the difference begins.
In the opinion of the world, these outward features of resemblance are far greater and more important than the points of contrast. Man, in setting up his religion, looks only at the outward and the visible. If he get these he asks no more; nay, he thinks that God has no right to expect more.
"Mouth honor, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, but dare not,[1]"
this is what passes with him under the name of religion! A few prayers and almsdeeds, a reputable life, church-attending decency, "reception of the sacrament" -these are the essential items in the world's religion. But all these items are to be found in Cain's religion, too. The two, indeed, are identical. And if God rejected the worship of the latter, will he accept that of the former? Is the first Cain to be cast off, and his offspring acknowledged and welcomed? No. God seeth not as man seeth: nor does he take the test of earthly balances, which can only weigh the visible and the external. He uses the balances of the sanctuary. And " the things which are highly esteemed among men are abomination in the sight of God." Man's religion has no more resemblance to God's religion, than have the sands of the desert to the groves of Eden. But let us mark more minutely the difference between the two worshippers.
1. Abel comes as a sinner, as one who had naturally no right to come, and who could present no claim for acceptance arising from anything about himself. Cain comes simply as a creature, as one who had a right to approach the God that made him. There is no acknowledgment of sin upon his lips or in his hand. He knew how his father had come before he fell, and he is resolved to come in that very way again. Confession of sin he will not stoop to. His desert of wrath he will not own. Yet still he comes to God. He does not think this unnecessary. Nay, perhaps he thinks it right and seemly. He must have a religion, -but the "religion of nature" is all that he will consent to. A recognition of God as Creator, and of himself as creature, he is willing to make; but no more. God's right to homage he admits; and he feels, perchance, a pride, it may be a pleasure, in rendering that homage. The favor of God he sees to be desirable, and he is willing to part with some of his substance to purchase it. But he will not stoop to confess that he has done aught to forfeit that favor. He will not approach God as one who has deservedly lost it. If God will receive him as a creature, and his gifts as thank offerings for favors bestowed, he will come; for by these gifts he thinks to keep himself from being wholly a debtor to God. But he will not come, save in some such way.
In a very different way does Abel draw near. He feels that it is only as a sinner that he can come; and that it is only in that character that God can deal with him, or he with God. He does not hide nor palliate[2] his guilt. He does not cast the blame upon others, nor upon his own circumstances, as if he could not help sinning. He does not accuse the law of being too strict, or the lawgiver of being too severe. He comes as a sinner, laying the guilt on no one but himself. The Holy Spirit has taught him what sin is, so that he has learnt to abhor himself because of it. Yet that same Spirit has taught him that God "receiveth sinners," who come to him as such. And therefore he comes. All that he knows about himself is that he is a sinner; yet, having "known and believed" that story of grace which God taught his father when he sinned, he does not stand afar off, but draws near at once, attracted and emboldened by the grace which that story reveals. That grace he sees to be as sufficient as it is suitable. This is his encouragement and his confidence. He comes, because the God of grace has invited him to do so . Does he need more than this? However evil he may be, the grace that is in God tells him that he is welcome.
2. Abel comes acknowledging death to be his due; for he lays his bleeding lamb upon the altar. Cain will not own this, and brings but the fruit of his garden as his gift. There is nothing that betokens death in that which he brings; for he denies that death is his due. Possibly his offering might be as valuable in itself as Abel's. It would cost more toil; for it was gotten by the sweat of his brow in tilling the ground. Yet there was no death acknowledged in it; and therefore no acceptance either for his gift or for himself. For so long as death was not acknowledged as the wages of sin, grace could not flow out. Grace takes for granted the infinite evil of sin, and that nothing short of death is its due. With the man that will not own this, grace refuses to deal. He may own that he is a sinner; but unless he owns that he is such a sinner as is totally unworthy of life, grace turns away. Not that there is not grace enough even for him; but he is shutting it out: he is doing that thing which would make it dishonoring to God to extend it to him; he is putting himself in a position, and taking to himself a character, in which grace cannot recognize him.
It was as one deserving of death that Abel came, as one who felt himself under the sentence, "The soul that sinneth, it shall die." He brought with him the visible symbol of this, in the lamb which he laid upon the altar. Thus he was saying each time he brought it, "I deserve to die; for death is the wages of sin nothing less than death; either I must die, or another must die for me: if I die, then I am shut out for ever from God, for the dead cannot praise him; if another dies for me, then it is just as if I had died and borne the curse myself; in that case I am set free, and allowed to come to God as if the whole penalty had been paid, or had never been due. Let this death, then, which I bring, stand for my death, and let that curse which was my due, pass over to this substitute." Thus it was that Abel took God's estimate of sin and its penalty; and thus it was that he took God's method of atoning for that sin and paying that penalty. His conscience was pacified; his soul found rest in God. He saw that this death was the channel through which grace was flowing to the sinner, and that it was by taking his place as one whose desert was death, that grace was to flow to himself.
Is this the place that we are taking, the footing upon which we are seeking to stand before God? No other will avail us. A less humbling one may suit our pride and self-righteousness, but it will secure only rejection from God. It is to this that the Holy Spirit is seeking to bring us, when he convinces of sin." For it is thus that he shews us what sin is, and what are its wages. It is thus that he brings us to the experience of him that said, "I acknowledged my sin unto thee, and mine iniquity have I not hid. I said, I will confess my transgressions unto the Lord; AND THOU FORGAVEST THE INIQUITY OF MY SIN" (Psalm 32:5).
3. Abel comes with the blood in his hand. There is no blood seen on Cain. Perhaps he thought it unnatural as well as unnecessary. He might point to the stream of blood from Abel's lamb, and contrast it with the beauty of his own fruit-offering which no blood disfigured. He might scornfully contrast the struggles of the suffering lamb with his painless and more attractive offering. He might, per chance, like many a modern pretender to reason, thank God that his was not a religion of blood, whatever his brother's might be. He, at least, was not adding to creation's sorrow! His religion was too rational, too pure, to admit of that! It had nothing to do with the destruction of God's creatures!
Yet it was just the want of that blood that was the cause of his rejection. Whatever man may say, yet God will accept nothing which the blood has not consecrated. It would be defilement to do so. The blood is the only thing that can fit a sinner for going near God. "Without shedding of blood there is no remission." That blood can cleanse even a Cain, and secure his acceptance, if he will but make use of it. But if he undervalue it, if he trample on it, then rejection must be his doom. The blood that would have cleansed him, will condemn him forever.
Abel took the blood and stood before God on the spot where it was flowing. The Holy Spirit had taught him its meaning. It is the blood that gives him peace, that cleanses, that heals, that emboldens him to come to God, without a sense of guilt upon his soul. It is the blood that purges his conscience from dead works to serve the living God; for it is this that tells him of wrath laid on a substitute and forever passed away from himself.[3] He sees that this is God's way of saving him and he is content with it. He desires no other. He finds the stream of free love pouring itself along this crimson channel, and he pitches his tent upon its banks. He asks no other dwelling save that, beside which this "river of God" is flowing.
4. Abel comes resting on the promise, the promise which made known the riches of divine grace, and invited the sinner to draw near. He could not venture without a promise; but that which God had given was enough. It revealed enough of God to quiet every fear. Had it not been for that promise he could not have come; nay, he would have fled away: but with words of grace such as these, he can come "with boldness;" he can "draw near with a true heart, and in the full assurance of faith." Viewing that promise in connection with the sacrifice on his altar, he gets a glimpse of the coming Deliverer, and of the love which he is to bring fully into view. His eye passes along the ages till it rests on the true seed of the woman, the better sacrifice. He recognizes the bruised heel; and in it the conqueror of Satan. In the promise he discerns the grace; in the sacrifice, the way in which the dispensing of that grace becomes an act of righteousness. And keeping his eye on these two things thus placed side by side, he is confident before God, and can lift up trustful hands, even to the Holy One who hates iniquity.
To Cain the promise is naught. He acts as one that needs no promise and no grace. He comes without any thought of an invitation; nay, such a thing is an incumbrance in his estimation, for it takes for granted what he is by no means willing to admit, that he needs a promise and must be a debtor to grace alone. He acts as if he could invite himself; nay, as if he could be his own Savior; or, rather, as if he did not need a Savior at all.
What is this promise in our eyes? What is the value we put upon it? Do we see it as that in which the free love of God is wrapped up, and on which it is inscribed in glowing characters? Is it this that attracts us, that assures us, that gladdens us? Does it rebuke all fear and awaken all confidence? Is it to us like the Lord's own gracious voice, "Come unto me and I will give you rest" – "Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out"? Is this the staff on which we lean, as we pass in through the veil into the holiest?
What, then, was the chief difference between these two brothers? It was just this. The one believed the story of grace, and the other disbelieved it. We have seen several shades of difference, but they all involve this. Abel's whole religion rested upon this grace, and not one of his religious acts has any meaning apart from this. Cain's religion was totally unconnected with grace; nay, it denied it, and proceeded independently of it. Such was the chief feature of difference. It seems a small one; yet in God's sight it was everything. It was simply on account of this, that the one was cast off and the other welcomed as a beloved son.
It was the same story of grace which was made known to both. The same parental lips had told it, the same scenes had announced it. There was no difference in the grace or in the mode of telling it. Both brothers had heard the tale of love; perhaps too from God himself: for it is plain, from what follows in the narrative, that Cain was no stranger to the voice of God. Yet the one brother listens to it and welcomes it, the other closes his ear against it and turns away. It was the belief of this story that made Abel what he was—a child of God; it was Cain's unbelief that made God reject both his offering and himself.
There is the same division still among the children of men. At the head of the one class is seen "righteous Abel;" at the head of the other is Cain the murderer. The one class consists of those who, believing this story of grace as now made known so fully in the cross of the Lord Jesus Christ, have gone to God and taken their joyful place among his sons, living mean while the life of pilgrims and strangers here. The other is made up of those who, not believing this story, nor heeding the cross, nor prizing the blood, are still remaining aliens, nay, fugitives,-men without a portion here, or an inheritance here after.
Are we living Abel's life of faith? Is the blood of the sacrifice that which speaks to us the "better things," so that each misgiving of our troubled hearts forthwith passes off, when it appears, like mist before the risen sun? Is the sight of that blood all we need to call us back to peace, when sin or doubt has come between us and God? Is the knowledge of its infinite value enough to give us at all times the complete assurance that there is no sin of ours, however great, which it cannot at once wash away, so that, "being once purged, we have no more conscience of sin"? (Heb. 10:2.) Does one look at that blood reassure our hearts when the cloud of guilt spreads darkly over us? And does that one look comfort us unspeakably more than the whole sum of our evidences, the whole register of our graces? Does it so entirely satisfy us, as that while on the one hand it makes us no longer afraid to look down into the depths of our guilt, so on the other it frees us from every wish to know our selves, or to be known of God, as anything but the chief of sinners"? Does the security, which that blood is designed to give us, of acceptance with God, appear to us so certain and so strong, that, with nothing else to recommend us or answer for us, but the blood alone, we can go to God as trustfully and simply as Adam did, ere sin had broken his confidence and cast him out from the presence of the Lord?
As those on whom this blood is sprinkled, are we separating ourselves from a present evil world, feeling that this blood, in removing the veil which hung between us and God, has done so, only to draw it between us and the world? We look before us, to the place where Jehovah is, and, behold, the veil has vanished! God and we have come together, face to face, meeting in peace and communing in love. But we cast our eye behind us, to the "tents of wickedness," where we dwelt so long,—and, lo, the veil has come between them and us! We feel that, just as formerly it separated us from a holy God, so now it separates us from an unholy world. Are we then walking apart from all which that world contains of vanity, or lust, or pleasure, or companionship, like men who have bidden them no unwilling adieu?
As those whose "life is hid with Christ in God," are we looking for his arrival, knowing that, "when he who is our life shall appear, then shall we also appear with him in glory"? (Col. 3:4.) As those who have no city here, but, like Abel or like Abraham, are content to be strangers on earth, are we expecting "the city of habitations," and anticipating the promise, "Blessed are they that do his commandments, that they may have right to the tree of life (from which Adam was shut out), and may enter in through the gates into the city"? (Rev. 22: 14.) And as those who are dwelling, for a while, outside of Eden, because of the first Adam's sin, are we holding fast our hope of entrance into the better Eden, of which we have been made the heirs, through the righteousness of the second Adam, who is the Lord from heaven?
Or, reader, is your life that of Cain, like those of whom it is written, "Woe unto them! for they have gone in the way of Cain"? (Jude 11.) His "way" was "according to the course of this world." His portion was here. He builded a city and dwelt in it, as one who was resolved to make the earth his home, and whose object was to be happy and prosperous without God. The life of the pilgrim did not suit his taste. A present home, not a future one, is what he seeks. It matters not to him though that home be in the land of the brier and the thorn. He prefers that to the hope of the incorruptible inheritance. This world is the vessel in which all his joys are freighted. Out of it, or beyond it, he has no hope. It is the treasure-house in which he has laid up his gold and silver.
Cain's world was one in which God was not; nay, in which it was impossible that God could be: for the friendship of that world was enmity with God, and friendship with God was enmity with that world. Thoughts of God would be unwelcome visitors, like drops of wormwood in the cup, or clouds drawn across the sun. Cain's object would be to multiply his occupations and enjoyments, so as to prevent God, and the things of God, from having any place in his soul. Thus would he try to steep his conscience in forgetfulness, - forgetfulness of his sins, forgetfulness of God. Cares, burdens, toils, would be naught to him, if they could only assist him in shutting out God.
Cain's religion would be like all his other occupations, an instrument for keeping God at a distance and preventing him from getting access to the soul. This is, perhaps, strange and almost incredible; yet we see it exemplified every day. What is the religion of most men? Is it a life of happy fellowship with God, the loving service of a gracious master? Nay, its object is to soothe or stifle an unquiet conscience, which is ever and anon witnessing for God, and for his claims, in the midst of the busiest scenes. It is performed as a sort of bribe, to induce God not to trouble them with his claims. Instead of being delighted in, as that which brings them into the presence of God and keeps them there, it is merely submitted to,—and that for the purpose of excluding God altogether. They seem to go to their knees with this as the burden of their prayers, "Depart from us." This was Cain's religion. This is the world's religion still. Nay, it is man's religion. A world without God, and a religion framed for the purpose of shutting out God, —these are the two things which man would fain secure for himself.
Is this your lot, reader?...
[1] Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act 5, scene 3.
[2] To make (an offense or crime) seem less serious; extenuate.
[3] Perhaps some of our readers may here call to mind the well-known hymn which thus begins:
"I will praise thee every day,
Now thine anger's turn'd away:
Comfortable thoughts arise
From the bleeding sacrifice."
[O Lord, I will praise thee, William Cowper, Olney Hymns.]
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