Good Cheer

Beloved,

What a wonderful sermon!  I find that as I talk with many people, that many are believers, but few have a working relationship with Jesus.  That is sad, because the whole point of the Gospel is to restore a working relationship with God, not to give us some kind of paradise on earth.

This sermon was published in 1893.  I am blessed by it because it unveils many an aspect of a living walk with our Savior.  This is what true preaching is about.  It is a simple sermon, but it was written in a time when people were educated, so several times he quotes from poetry to illustrate a point or a meaning.  I footnoted words and references that may be difficult to understand for your convenience.  The message itself doesn't need the clarification, I only added the footnotes for your edification. 

BTW, I just couldn't help myself.  Some things I had to underline because they jumped out at me.

God's richest Blessings be upon you this day.

~Al

THE "GOOD CHEER" OF JESUS CHRIST.

 

"Son, be of good cheer; thy sins are forgiven." — St. Matt. 9:2 (R.V.).

"Daughter, be of good cheer; thy faith hath made thee whole." — St. Matt. 9:22 (R.V.).

"Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid." —St. Matt. 14:27.

"Be of good cheer; I have overcome the world." — St. JOHN 16:33.  

 

The four occasions on which Jesus used the words "Be of good cheer," are in themselves an interesting and instructive study. They have this in common, that they were all critical moments, when exceptional encouragement seemed to be required. The friends of the paralytic, who let him down through the roof to find more direct access to the great Healer, were not urged solely by the fear of His departure, or of their not being able to approach Him at some future time. For Jesus had not expressed any intention of immediately leaving Capernaum, where, as a matter of fact, He remained for several weeks or months. It must have been something in the paralytic's own condition that quickened his anxiety. His distress of mind, or of body, or both, had become too acute to be borne. Perhaps it seemed as though death were at hand, and a guilty conscience made the prospect intolerable.

The case of the woman with the issue was almost parallel. For twelve years she had suffered, and, in spite of every effort to obtain relief, her sufferings had gone from bad to worse. So long a continuance of her disease, with such a steady aggravation of its symptoms, indicated a well-nigh desperate condition which was not likely to last much longer. The whole narrative leads us to the conclusion that nothing but imperative necessity would have induced her to act as she did.

In both of these instances the words of Jesus were marked by a peculiar tenderness. They adapted themselves to the deep distress, the almost departed hope which He was about to relieve, and rescue from despair. "Son," He said to the one; "Daughter," to the other, using a form of address which was reserved for these two alone among the many sons and daughters of affliction. It was the most gracious recognition of their claims on His compassion. It was an assurance at the same time that they stood so near to Him, they might count with absolute certainty on the completeness of His response. As a father pitieth his children, so He pitied them. They marked the constitution of a new and sacred relationship, and the "Be of good cheer" that followed showed they were at once to reap its fruits.

On the other two occasions on which Jesus used this encouraging word, it was spoken to the disciples, and in their case also the circumstances were critical. The first time they were toiling in rowing against a contrary wind on the lake of Galilee, and were apparently cut off from His approach by the darkness of night and the violence of the storm. When He did appear, in spite of such untoward conditions, His appearance seemed so incredible, it was easier to believe it was a phantom than the Lord Himself, and they cried out for fear. His word reassured them, and dispelled their terror. It rescued them from an imminent danger which His sudden advent had for a moment increased, and straightway they were at the land whither they went. The second time was on the eve of His departure, when His going away seemed to ring the knell of all their hopes, and to leave them defenseless and forlorn. In prospect of the strange and cheerless future before them, He assured them of the conquest of that great enemy to whose hatred they should be exposed. However pitiless and bitter its opposition, they were yet to be "of good cheer," for He had overcome the world.

We seem, then, to be justified in saying that Jesus reserved this word of His for special emergencies, when some unusual despondency or apprehension demanded some strong counteractive. But its significance will become more manifest if we consider these occasions apart, and the particular discouragements it was intended to remove.

I. The paralytic was commanded to be "of good cheer" because his sins were forgiven. This may seem a strange method of administering comfort. For the man had not come to have his sins forgiven, but to have his palsy cured. And perhaps this was all it seemed possible to expect. For Jesus had never yet assumed the power to forgive sins, and none could have supposed He would do so now. This was a prerogative which belonged to God, and its exercise involved a claim which was quite unparalleled. But this does not prove that forgiveness was not the very gift which the paralytic most required. His four friends who carried him may have believed that his palsy was his only trouble, and that with its removal all his misery would cease. But how often men mistake the true sources of their unhappiness! They imagine it is due to indifferent health, or to external causes which may seem sufficient to account for it. And we ourselves may conceal, because we shrink from exposing our secret wound, or possibly may even be ignorant of its true nature. And it may have been so with the paralytic and his friends. But Jesus knew the real fountain of his sorrow. He could read through the wasted features of the man before him the story of his erring and misspent life. And without tarrying at the threshold, or working a cure which would yet leave the deepest evil untouched, He spoke to him these wonderful words, words which had never before been heard upon earth —"Thy sins be forgiven thee."

It may be, brethren, there are those amongst you whose lives are sadly crippled by some chronic spirit of discontent, that finds everything out of joint. Circumstances seem to adjust themselves on purpose to harass you. Your business or pursuits are not to your taste. Your home is not congenial, and provides a constant friction which you would give anything to escape. You are so straitened that you can never accomplish what you wish, and are compelled to decline the most tempting opportunities. The prizes and pleasant things of this life always seem to lie beyond your reach, and the undesirable things to fall to your share. Perhaps the climax of your misfortunes is a weakness which circumscribes your movements, or some irritating ailment that condemns you to a mediocrity of achievement which you would otherwise easily surpass. To many of us life may be full of what seems to justify complaint, and even a standing quarrel with the Providence that has arranged it. But, after all, the true root of bitterness may lie deeper than we suppose. It may be wrapped up and hidden in our sin — sin for which we have never received forgiveness, and which must therefore be a constant source of feverish disquiet. If so, what we need, primarily and most of all, is no outward or physical change, but the gracious absolution and cleansing of Christ. Forgiven much, the love of God will enter with divine sweetness into your heart, healing its angry sores, and bidding its evil humors[1] depart.

But this word of Christ is full of helpfulness, not only by what it says in itself, but by what it reveals of the manner in which His forgiveness is bestowed. For consider first of all how freely it was granted. The palsied man brought nothing with him but his sense of need. He had no claim upon Jesus but the claim constituted by his own helplessness. It was the faith, we are told, of the paralytic and his friends that moved our Lord to interpose. And what was their faith but the conviction of their own insufficiency, urging them to have recourse to Him, the eagerness of their desire impelling them to put Him to the proof? For faith brings nothing but the conviction it has nothing to bring. It stretches forth its powerless hand that a stronger may grasp it and lift it up. And even if our deepest want is hidden from our eyes, and we are only vaguely conscious of it by the discomfort it creates, yet Christ always understands and can satisfy our need. Our perception of our poverty is not the measure of His gift. On the contrary, our very ignorance is part of the evil from which He has come to deliver us. And He will not confirm our self-deception, or mock us in our misery, by giving what we mistakenly ask, and withholding the blessing we need to receive. And then how complete and full was His forgiveness. Jesus makes no exception. Without a moment's hesitation or the slightest reserve, He forgives this man everything. Did He know what this might involve? Could He read his whole history from the very hour in which he had first transgressed? And was He sure there was not a single sin which might transcend His power of absolution? Yes; Jesus was sure that for all sin He possessed the salve, and that none, no matter what it was, could transcend the mercy which He was bringing to men. Without the slightest fear of exceeding His prerogative, without the least qualification or condition, but with a royal grace, He utters the plenary release, "Thy sins be forgiven thee." And so it is still. We are tempted to believe that Christ has departed from this glorious precedent. We imagine that His mercy may be straitened and thwarted by our unworthiness, that there are offences which stand out stubbornly against it, and compel it to pause and be uncertain in its utterance, so that it has lost its free and unfaltering tones. But it is not so. To all who are carrying some secret burden of guilt, and who cannot look up with confidence because of its haunting and paralyzing fear, to all who tremble lest they have done something which the blood of Christ Himself cannot wash away, His word still comes and repeats itself with its ancient power, "Be of good cheer; thy sins are forgiven thee." For to leave one sin untouched would be equivalent to leaving all. It would still surrender us to the power of our own forebodings, and abandon us to exile from the fellowship of God.

II. The encouragement given to the woman with the issue was somewhat different. It was based not simply on the fact that she had been healed, but also on the fact that her faith had made her whole. Her faith, indeed, though it had carried her to Jesus, and been the means of obtaining her cure, was accompanied by much ignorance and superstition. She imagined He possessed a power which was independent of His will, and might be secured without His consent by mere physical contact with His garments. But there was one point she was sure of, and that was that the virtue was there, and in sufficient power to serve her purpose. The timidity she displayed on the discovery of Jesus was due to the fear that He had resented her temerity, and might withdraw the blessing she had received, as well as to her natural shrinking from publicity. But her approach to Him does not seem to have been characterized by any such feeling. She had no doubt about His ability to help her. She was sure that if she could but touch the hem of His garment she should be whole. And in the circumstances how great a triumph of faith was this! For twelve years she had gone from physician to physician only to meet with disappointment, till with the means of her livelihood hope itself was almost gone. Neither the inveteracy[2] of her ailment, nor the failure of everyone to whom she had applied, weakened in the least degree her confidence in Christ. It rallied and rested upon Him. And if you add to this that she seems to have been equally confident her poverty would prove no obstacle in her way, that the power of Christ was as free to her as to any other, you have the substance, the heart and living center of her faith. It was simply that Jesus was able and willing to help her. This was a conviction He could not resist. The fountain of all grace opened at its touch, and the healing waters began to flow. It was acknowledged, honored, and joyfully strengthened by the hopeful word, "Be of good cheer; thy faith hath made thee whole."

And what is the "good cheer" here for us? It is surely not difficult to see. Have you enjoyed the help of Christ, and yet when you consider how you received it are abashed by the ignorant thoughts that were also in your heart? Does it seem to you as though it must have come without His being conscious of His gift, or that it can scarcely have been His gift at all? Have you not been betrayed by a passing emotion into what may prove a long succession of pitiful mistakes by supposing that virtue from the great Healer had entered your heart, and in the prospect of returning health addressing yourself to the labors of a new life? You can hardly venture to think that if Jesus had known you as you really are, and known what you were yet to become, He would have led you into the true grace wherein His servants stand. But this miracle, not to mention others, surely shows us how foolish it is to lay down stereotyped lines along which sinful and hopeless men must come to Christ. The stream will furrow out its own channels and overleap the careful cuttings which husbandry has made to carry off its waters with a waywardness which defies calculation, and delights to set it at naught. So does spiritual need follow its own course in obedience to impulses which cannot always be measured, and whose source is as inscrutable as God Himself. For as each of us has turned aside into his own way, so are we each led back by subtle promptings and mysterious drawings, which are known only to those who receive them, and to the Bishop and Shepherd of our souls. Let us hold fast our conviction of His power to help us in every time of need; let us be assured it is always available for us, and never so much so as when we need it most, and all other things will adjust themselves to this. Knowledge will grow and truth become clearer. God's ways will open and emerge from the darkness. The light is still light, even when it shines through the dense folds of many clouds, and we may walk and work in it without stumbling, though the sun itself be hidden from our sight. And Christ's help may succor us, though Christ Himself be but dimly seen; faith knowing He is there, but knowing little else; convinced that He is able and willing to redeem us, but with no great wealth of conviction besides.

III. Of the two occasions on which Jesus addressed His word of "good cheer" to the disciples, the first was after the feeding of the multitude in the neighborhood of Bethsaida. He had sent the twelve to cross the lake while He Himself remained to dismiss the crowds. In the meantime the night had fallen, and, caught in a sudden storm, they were toiling and struggling in the midst of the sea. About the fourth watch, when the darkness deepens before the dawn, Jesus appeared. But they could not believe it was He. How could these be His garments that hung unruffled by the gusts of the tossing storm? Could flesh and blood walk upon the waters? Could it move impassive to the fierce rush and onset of the wind? Such a thing had never been known, and, however great their peril, they could not have conceived that their Master should come to them then. It was beyond the bounds of possibility. It was contrary to all reasonable expectation. Yet He came. For had He not sent them? And He never sends His servants where He cannot reach and follow them. The darkest night and the wildest fury of the tempest were equally powerless to arrest His steps. He was with them. The incredible had happened. And His assuring word left no room for doubt, though it deepened their amazement, as He calmly stepped into the rocking and wave-beaten boat.

And what and to whom is the special encouragement which this word of Jesus gives? It is to those who at His command have embarked upon the sea of life, resolved to follow His directions wherever they may lead. All may be tranquil at first, and seem to promise a continual calm. "The lightest wind is in its nest, the tempest in its home.[3]" But the sky may soon be overcast. The wind may buffet us with its pitiless rage. The waves may drive us furiously about, and all thought of progress be lost in an absorbing concern for personal safety. But Christ will not forget us. He has not led us into danger to leave us there to perish. He knows He is responsible, and He will not fail. Though everything may seem to exclude His approach, though such waves as encompass us may never heretofore have yielded to the pressure of His feet, He will come. Are not all things in His hands? Are not the circumstances of our lives of His making? Can Nature, with all her bolts and bars, shut Him out? Can any darkness be so deep but that He can thread His way through its folds? Can any sea of troubles be so wild and vast, or stretch so far and wide with its black and sunless waters, but that He can come and furrow it with a track of golden light?

And to those whom He has sent upon errands of service, whose end they cannot foresee, and which seem to involve them in dangers fatal to their success, this word also comes with its strong consolation. For He is able to guide His purpose, and those who have it at heart, through the most deadly perils without its suffering shipwreck by the way. Even when difficulties accumulate around us, and rise like a high wall to cut us off from help, and the hours pass unrelieved, and failure seems at last to have us in its grasp and to exult over our miserable downfall, the footsteps of Christ are surely on the way. He will come, and not tarry His "Be of good cheer" shall ring through the darkness and herald the approaching victory. Some years had passed since this incident on the lake, though it still lived in the memory of His servants as a comparatively recent event, when Jesus said to an apostle by the Spirit, "Go into Macedonia and preach the gospel." He crossed the blue waves that severed his familiar world from the unknown isles of the West. A favoring wind wafted him to the opposite shore. But then the storm of persecution arose. Seized and beaten by the rage of his foes, he is thrust into the inner prison at Philippi, and his feet made fast in the stocks. Surely there is no escape from thence. Even Christ cannot reach him there, and his enemies may exult without the fear of disappointment. But at midnight the earth trembles at the footsteps of the Deliverer. The foundations of the prison are shaken, its doors flung open, and every man's bonds are loosed. Amid the confused cries, and the clatter of the bolts and bars, the ear of faith can distinguish the words, "Be of good cheer; it is I; be not afraid." And ever since Jesus has been repeating this miracle, sometimes in ways almost equally astonishing. The hardest barriers of resistance have fallen, and the most defiant opposition has vanished at His presence. Nothing can exclude Him from the world He has redeemed, or keep Him from the side of His disciples in their distress. This mighty system of things, this nature with its immutable laws that seems to push God backward, and upward, and out of our lives, and leave Him seated on some far-off throne, helpless, as Xerxes at Salamis, to turn defeat into victory, presents no obstacle to His swift, sure, effectual approach. Nay, He weaves all the endless and intricate threads and forces of the world into networks of defense for His servants, and into subtle contributors to His own purpose. "Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing? and not one of them shall fall to the ground without your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Fear ye not therefore, ye are of more value than many sparrows."

IV. The second time Jesus accosted His disciples with His "Be of good cheer" was in His farewell discourse. He was about to leave them, and sorrow was filling their heart. We cannot wonder, for they must have been keenly apprehensive of a future bereft of His presence. To Him they had turned in every perplexity, and no pressure of anxiety or care had touched them with its foreboding weight. The Bridegroom had been with them, and they had lived in the gladness of the festal hour. But how different it would be when He was gone-gone, too, it seemed, without restoring the kingdom to Israel! They remembered mysterious hints about fasting and mourning. They could recall with a vague sense of discomfort intimations of coming persecution, when all men should hate them and cast them out of the synagogues for His name's sake. It was a cheerless prospect for a band of Galilæan fishermen, with no experience of life beyond their little province, unlettered, unskilled in the arts of sophistry or the eloquence of the schools, ignorant of the management of men and the conduct of critical affairs. But, "Be of good cheer," said Jesus; " everything that can be hostile to you, has acknowledged My prowess, and bent before My superior strength. I have overcome the world." Was this the utterance of an ignorance that

 

"Took the rustic murmur of its bourg[4]

For the great wave that echoes round the world"[5]?

 

or of an inordinate vanity that ridiculously exaggerated its own achievement? or of a crazed fanaticism incapable of measuring its words? It was none of these, but the calm dispassionate announcement of a great victory, in which there leaped into light the result of a mighty struggle, a struggle in which all the forces of the world had been wrestling for the mastery within the arena of a single life, and had been completely overthrown. Surveying it all as it rose into "the eye and prospect of His soul,[6]" Jesus pronounced it "overcome." And His servants were to issue forth upon it as upon a conquered province, whose strongholds had capitulated or been levelled to the dust, and where no force existed that could make head against Him.

And this word of Jesus still stands, and conveys the certitude of victory. Read in the light of His death and resurrection, it assumes a deeper significance, and gathers around it ever-increasing confirmations. We see that whatever makes it hard to follow Him has already retired at His approach. The subtlest atmosphere of temptation enveloped Him, and its fiercest darts were directed against Him, but He passed through the ordeal without scathe. "All that is in the world, the lust of the flesh, the lust of the eye, and the pride of life," appealed to him in vain. The weapons before which all other men had fallen with mortal wounds found no joint in His armor. One after another they were tried and failed, till the arsenal was exhausted, and nothing else remained to test His constancy.

"Be of good cheer," then, is the inspiring word of the Captain of our salvation, that still rings above the din, and reaches the thickest of the fight. This it is that rallies His scattered hosts and turns the battle from the gate. Tribulation there will be, but not defeat; fierce assaults of the foe, desperate attempts to press back the ranks of the faithful to utter route and ruin, but they shall not succeed. Like a shout of triumph from the victor on the high places of the field, rises clearer and ever clearer above the tumult of the fight, the resounding cry, "Be of good cheer, for I have overcome the world." And so, brethren, at every development of spiritual life, at every turn of our emergency, comes the "Be of good cheer" of Jesus Christ. Burdened with our, sin, it brings to us the message of forgiveness. The royal prerogative of "Whoso cometh unto Him shall in no wise be cast out." In days of timidity and uncertainty, when faith can scarcely grasp its gift, and all other convictions seem to have fled, but the assurance of His power and willingness to help us, it comes to lead to stable ground, and to confirm us in the grace wherein we stand. When storms have risen as we press onwards, and we fear to perish belated and far from succor, it bids us remember that the proudest waves will kiss His kingly feet. When we look round on the mighty forces that are marshalled against us, and the combat seems so long and unequal we doubt of the ultimate issue, it comes to remind us the victory is sure. All along, from the first step to the last, it takes us by the hand and leads us on. The "good cheer" of Jesus Christ shall never fail, till it merges in the word of everlasting welcome, "Well done, good and faithful servant; enter thou into the joy of thy Lord

 

--The "Good Cheer" of Jesus Christ, Rev. Charles Moinet, 1893

---

[1] Not laughter humor.  Humorism was a system of medicine detailing a supposed makeup and workings of the human body, adopted by Ancient Greek and Roman physicians and philosophers.  If a person was sick, he was said to be of ill humor.

[2]  long continuance; firmness or deep-rooted persistence.

[3] A poem by Percy Shelley.  Too long to fully quote, the passage referred to is:

We wander'd to the Pine Forest

  That skirts the ocean's foam.

The lightest wind was in its nest,

  The tempest in its home;

The whispering waves were half asleep,

  The clouds were gone to play,

And on the bosom of the deep

  The smile of heaven lay:

It seem'd as if the hour were one

  Sent from beyond the skies

Which scatter'd from above the sun

  A light of Paradise!

 

[4] A medieval village, especially one situated near a castle

[5] The Marriage of Geraint, Idylls of the King, Tennyson

[6] Shakespeare