The Story of Grace
CHAPTER VI.
WHERE THE STORY OF GRACE WAS FIRST TOLD
It was first told in Eden, in the very place where man had broken in upon the story of goodness. It was, indeed, afterwards to be told out of Eden: for man was to be driven forth and the gate closed against him. It was to be told over all the earth, "to every creature that is under heaven." But still it was first to be told in Eden. There man had sinned, and there he was to be forgiven; there he had provoked God, and there he was to learn how God could be gracious even to such a rebel.
It was not till he had finished this story of grace that "he drove out the man." This is striking , and full of meaning. It is not after the manner of men. No stroke of punishment is to fall on the sinner, no rod of chastisement is to be laid upon him, till he has learned the gracious character of that God whom he had so strangely disobeyed. This, of itself, is grace. Not only is the message a loving one, but the manner, the tone, the time, the place of its delivery, all concur in testifying to the love that it contains. They heighten and enhance the love to which man is now called on to listen.
It would, indeed, have been grace anywhere; though spoken in a dungeon or in a desert, it would still have been grace-- grace such as man could not have looked for, yet beyond measure precious and suit able. Still, when meeting him upon the very spot where the deed of evil had been done, it wore an aspect of yet deeper mercy. The whole scene bore witness to man's guilt and to the provocation God had received. God could appeal to each object that stood in view, and say, "What could have been done more to my vineyard that I have not done in it?" (Isa5:4.) Yet it was here that God revealed forgiveness to the sinner. In the place where all the evidences of his guilt hung around, there mercy overtook him, and made known itself to him. What tenderness is here!
But, besides, thus man's mouth was closed. He could not palliate his guilt by pleading unsupplied wants or unkindly circumstances. He did, indeed, try to throw the blame upon the woman, and through her upon God; but he could go no farther. He could not say, "Thou hast been to me a wilderness, and a land of darkness " (Jer. 2:31). He could not say, "Thou hast placed me in most adverse circumstances, thou hast given me nought but a desert to dwell in, and a cold sky for my covering." He had no ground for such excuses; and the place where he stood, listening to the voice of God, prevented him from making the attempt. "What iniquity hast thou found in me, that thou hast gone far from me?" (Jer. 2: 5), might have been God's words to him. "What have I done to deserve all this at thy hands? is this thy kindness to thy friend?".
Thus grace meets him on the very spot where he stood as a sinner; it takes him just as it finds him, not only a sinner, but trying to cover his sin, and hastening away from God in order to be beyond the reach of his eye. It comes up to him as he stands; it does not wait, but hastens, to meet him; it does not proclaim itself afar off, but places itself at his very side; it does not require him to come so much of the way to meet it; it goes the whole way to meet him.[1] It does not call upon him to move one step till it has first taken hold of him; it does not insist upon his obtaining some qualification, some fitness, by throwing off as much of his guilt as he can. It asks for no qualification; it offers to take the whole mass of his guilt at once into its own hand, and to dispose of it in its own way. Such was the fulness, such the absolute freeness, of that grace which was now announced to him in Eden.
Thus has it been ever since. In the place of our sin grace meets us, nay, only there. It was in the land of the Chaldees, the place of his idolatry, that the grace of God met Abraham. He did not come out of Chaldea in order that he might meet with God afterwards in Haran. "The God of glory appeared unto our father Abraham when he was in Mesopotamia, before he dwelt in Charran" (Acts 7:2 ). It was on the way to Damascus, breathing out slaughter against the saints, that the grace of God met with Saul. It was to the woman caught in the act of sin, that the Lord spoke in words of such marvelous grace, "Neither do I condemn thee; go and sin no more." In the prison of Philippi, the scene of his hard-heartedness and cruelty to the saints, the grace of God found the poor heathen jailer, and made him to rejoice in God that very night with all his house. It was to the sinners of Jerusalem that the Gospel was to be first proclaimed; that, on the very spot where the deed of infinite guilt had been done, there grace might find the doers and tell its glad story in their ears.
Grace does not stand upon the distant mountaintop and call on the sinner to climb up the steep heights, that he may obtain its treasures; it comes down into the valley in quest of him; nay, it stretches down its hand into the very lowest depths of the horrible pit, to pluck him thence out of the miry clay. It does not offer to pay the ninety and nine talents, if he will pay the remaining one; it provides payment for the whole, whatever the sum may be. It does not offer to complete the work, if he will only begin it by doing what he can. It takes the whole work in hand, from first to last, presupposing his total help lessness. It does not bargain with the sinner, that if he will throw off a few sins, and put forth some efforts after better things, it will step in and relieve him of the rest by forgiving and cleansing him. It comes up to him at once, with nothing short of complete forgiveness as the starting point of all his efforts to be holy. It does not say, "Go and sin no more, and I will not condemn thee; " it says at once, "Neither do I condemn thee; go and sin no more." Indeed, otherwise it would not be grace, but a miserable mixture of grace and merit, a compound of God's doings and man's deservings. If grace does not meet the sinner just where he stands, just as he is, in all his helplessness and guilt, it is no grace to him; for it still leaves an impassable gulf between, a gulf which he has no means to fill up or to cross. If grace wait for anything to be done or felt by man, before it will go forth to him, it will wait forever. If it had waited till Adam came out of the thicket and began to seek after God again, it would never have revealed itself at all. If it had waited till Saul had ceased to hate the Master and persecute the disciple, it would never have reached him. If it had waited till Jerusalem had somewhat purged itself from the innocent blood which it had shed, no Gospel would ever have been heard within its walls.
Grace of this kind would have been but a mockery to man. If it hang upon some condition to be previously fulfilled, if it insist upon some qualification to be previously obtained, it comes in vain to the sinner; nay, it gives him a stone instead of bread. It points to an ark whose door is shut against him; it tells him of a city of refuge to which he can have no access.
But the grace of God that met Adam in Eden was not such as this. It met him as a sinner, and only as such; it dealt with him as a sinner, and not after he had become something better. This was the only grace that could suit the case of man; it was the only grace that was worthy of God. "If there be any pardon with God," says one of another age, "it is such as becomes him to give. When he pardons, he will abundantly pardon. Go with your half-forgiveness, limited, conditional pardons, with reserves and limitations, unto the sons of men. It may become them; it is like themselves. That of God is absolute and perfect, before which our sins are as a cloud before the east wind and the rising sun. Hence he is said to do this work with his whole heart and with his whole soul" (Owen on the 130th Psalm).
Such is the grace that is still going forth to us. It is absolutely and unconditionally free; it comes up to us where we stand; it finds us "in a desert land, and in a waste howling wilderness." And there it does its work with us. How little is this understood, especially by the anxious and inquiring! They try to get away from the spot where the guilt was contracted, and where its dark memorials lie thickly scattered on every side. They shrink from dealing with God about forgiveness upon such a spot. They think that God cannot there deal with them in grace, and that to speak of immediate forgiveness to him in the midst of such a scene would only provoke a repulse, if not his hottest vengeance. Yet it is just there that God meets with them, just there that he calls on them to listen to the story of his grace. The effort to escape from that spot, and the wish to deal with God in some less gloomy, less guilty place, are the struggles of self-righteousness. The sense of shame arising from being compassed about with such memorials of sin, and the desire not to appear in the sight of God totally unworthy, are our true reasons for standing aloof from his free grace.
And is not this just the essence of all unbelief — the refusal to own one's self wholly a criminal, and to submit to owe all to grace? And is it not here, at the very outset, that the Holy Spirit's power is so absolutely needful? First, to keep the sinner in the place of guilt, and then to prevent his attempts to shift his ground and to deal with God on some other spot and on some other footing? And then to show him, that though his case be the very worst that God ever dealt with, grace is altogether sufficient and exactly suitable?
How often is this the stumbling-point with many, whom God is visiting with conviction! They have plunged deep into sin; they have lived as strangers to God, perhaps blasphemers of his name; their life has been one eager chase of pleasure. And when conscience summons them to return from these paths, then they sit down desponding. Their whole course of sin rises up between them and God. They think that the retracing of their steps will be a long, weary process; they do not see it possible that they can deal with God about forgiveness just as they are and just where they stand. They think that they must set about undoing as much as they can of the evil of their former ways before they can transact with God. And hence they too often return in sullen desperation to their former ways.
But is it so, thou weary, half-persuaded one, that God will not deal with thee as thou art? Did he not deal with Adam in the very place of guilt? Did not grace find him there? And is not grace the same? And is not the God of grace the same? You may shrink from his eye; you may say, "I dare not look upon God as I stand here, in the midst of my sins; I must seek some other less polluted spot where I may meet with him.'' But God does not think as you do; he is willing to meet you at this moment, just where you are. And if he is willing, why should you refuse? If he shrinks not from you, why should you shrink from him? It is your turning away from him, in whose favor is life, that has embittered your days. And will you not now take his offered hand of welcome, and end all your sorrows in the joy of his endless love?
He is willing to deal with you just now to have the whole controversy adjusted between you and him. I do not say he is willing "to come to terms." He has come to terms already, when he bruised his Son upon the cross and made him our peace. These terms, already made, he is now exhibiting to you in the "Gospel of his grace," that is, the good news about his gracious character as "the Lord, the Lord God, merciful and gracious, long-suffering, and abundant in goodness and truth, keeping mercy for thousands, forgiving iniquity and transgression and sin" (Exod . 34:6). The sum of these terms is, "Whosoever will, let him take the water of life freely." Or, in John Bunyan's words, "The Lord, the governor of the country, hath recorded it in His Book, that if we be truly willing to have it, he will bestow it upon us freely."
--The Story of Grace, Horatious Bonar.
[1] * An Eastern proverb says, "If man draws near to God an inch, God will draw near to him an ell." This is an approach to the truth, yet a poor one; for where should we be if God waited for our "inch"? (An ell is a former English unit of length (as for cloth) equal to 45 inches.)
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