Jun 12
24
There are many times when it seems as if this present world could satisfy us—when we build up our earthly paradises, and seek as it were ease and rest here below. But the voice soon comes, “Arise, and depart; for this is not your rest: because it is polluted.” Micah 2:10
How continually in the prophets, and especially in Isaiah, the expression occurs–”The day of the Lord;” and sometimes, in a briefer form, “In that day.” Great and memorable events are almost always connected with “The day of the Lord,” and “That day.” There must then be something very noteworthy in the expression as it occurs so continually, and events so great are connected with it. And as, besides this, our text may be said to hinge almost wholly upon it, it may be desirable to spend a few moments in examining the meaning of the expression. The words convey with them this idea, that it is a day or season for we need not limit it to a period of twenty-four hours’ duration in which the Lord will be everything, and in which he will so conspicuously manifest his greatness and power, so emphatically make bare his arm, that it will be a day wholly His own; in other words, a day in which man will be nothing, and God “all in all.”
“It shall come to pass in that day, that the great trumpet shall be blown;” the trumpet of deliverance. The day of the Lord is that special time or season, when the Lord puts forth his hand, and manifests his almighty power. It is then equally “the day of the Lord,” when he brings down, and when he lifts up; when he puts his hand to wound and kill, or to heal and make alive.
Thus gracious Hannah, in her son’s deliverance, ascribes both of these works to the Lord. “The Lord kills and makes alive, he brings down to the grave and brings up.” As both works are his, the day is also equally his. But we may also reconcile the conflicting passages by observing that the day of deliverance to God’s friends is a day of desolation to God’s enemies, as the Red Sea bore striking witness. The most eminent saints, when sin came between them and God, felt they were, or deserved to be, outcasts. But where this experience is in the soul towards God, it makes a man, in a measure, an outcast also, in his feelings, from the church and people of God. His language is, ‘I feel too base, too vile, too loathsome, too corrupt to have anything to do with them, or for them to have anything to do with me.
These, then, are the characters–”ready to perish,” and “outcasts,” for whom the great trumpet is to be blown. These hail a free grace gospel, for it opens to them their only door of hope. A ‘duty faith gospel’ will never suit these. They are too deeply sunk, too far gone, and in their feelings too utterly lost for anything but mercy to reach, for anything but grace to save. It is not a little salvation, nor a little gospel, nor a little Savior that can suit such; it must be free, sovereign, distinguishing, super-abounding, or to them it is nothing. Thus, those things that seem at first sight to set the soul farthest from God, are the very things which in their outcome are calculated to bring it nearest unto God; whereas, on the contrary, those things that in men’s eyes bring them near to God, are the very thing’s which in God’s eyes set them farthest from him.
Thus, a poor guilty sinner, who in his own feelings is ready to perish, and but a miserable outcast, is brought near to God by the righteousness of the gospel; while the Pharisee is kept far from God by the wall of self-righteousness, which his own hands have built and plastered. It is to the perishing then and the outcast that the gospel makes such sweet melody. And why? Because it tells them the work of Christ is a finished work; that the blood of Jesus Christ cleanses from all sin; because it assures them that his righteousness is “unto all and upon all those who believe;” because it proclaims mercy for the miserable, pardon for the guilty, salvation for the lost, and that where sin has abounded there grace does much more abound.
. Christ came “not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” He came “to seek and to save that which was lost.” These tidings suit him well; for he feels himself to be no common sinner, but the chief of sinners; no ordinary transgressor, but a rebel in chief; a desperate, out of the way wretch, to the depths of whose wicked heart there seems neither end nor bottom. A gospel, therefore, clogged and fettered by conditions, mangled and shorn of its fullness and freeness, diluted and lowered by the water of creature qualifications, is no gospel to him. It does not reach his heart, come into his soul, touch his conscience, melt his spirit, or raise up faith, or hope, or love.
Nothing is so marvellous and mysterious as the work of grace. It is marvellous in pulling down, and marvellous in raising up; and as mysterious as marvellous. Here is one “ready to perish,” and an “outcast.” He would be neither if he could help it; and neither has he made himself. But such he is, and he must have help or die. Now to such a one, all but a free grace gospel is a mockery. It is taunting a drowning man to stand on the bank and bid him swim for his life. Leap in and save him. When brought to shore, he will bless his deliverer. A poor guilty outcast, finds nothing so blessed as to believe the gospel, and yet nothing so hard as to receive it; for he can derive no comfort from it, except as it is applied by free, sovereign, super-abounding grace.
But where there is a case for mercy, the “ready to perish,” the “outcast,” when he hears the gospel trumpet, and it makes sweet melody in his soul, comes. This coming shows that the trumpet is heard.
When the soldier hears the sound of the bugle he hurries to do what the bugle bids. If it call him to quarters, he comes without delay. So when the child of God hears the trumpet call, he comes; and his coming is a sign that he hears and knows what the tones mean.
But how does he come? He comes as the gospel bids him come, unto Jesus–”Come unto me, all you who labor and are heavy laden.” “To whom coming as unto a living stone.” This coming is “the obedience of faith.” “When they hear of me they shall obey me.” They come humbled, broken, prostrate, and yet with a sweet sense of acceptance in the Beloved, and are thus brought near unto God. Now if any poor soul here has ever felt the gospel in this way, in its freeness, fullness, and blessedness, he has heard the sound of the great trumpet.
But a Galatian gospel, a mixed gospel, a free-will gospel, a duty gospel, will never thus draw sinners unto God. Such a gospel cannot remove guilt from the conscience, and therefore gives no liberty of soul, and no access into God’s presence. A bound and imprisoned gospel will always breathe its own spirit, which is bondage and death. It proclaims no liberty, and therefore gives none. If ever it speaks of mercy it is frightened at its own words, and recalls or qualifies them as soon as uttered. It is a gospel of uncertainties, and therefore can give no sweet and blessed certainty of the pardon of our sins, or acceptance of our persons; resting half its weight on the creature, it can afford no assurance of our standing in the Lord Jesus Christ, or of being bound up in the bundle of life with the Lord the Lamb.
The words are easily learned–”free, sovereign, and super-abounding;” but none can enter into their divine import unless they are applied by the Spirit to the heart. We hail poor souls ready to perish, outcasts in their feelings; for these are the only people who know what a free grace ministry is; there is always some duty to be done by everybody else; some sneaking, lurking self-righteousness not rooted out. With others there is always some SELF at the bottom, until the trials and distressing sensations which the “outcast,” and “ready to perish” feel, become brooms to rout out that miserable fellow– self-righteousness But you will say– Is there not an easier way of learning the gospel than this? No! Must we then be “ready to perish” before the gospel saves us, and “outcasts” before the gospel takes us in? Yes, surely; for we are so already. The gospel does not make us so, but finds us so. This was the confession that the Lord himself put into the mouth of the Israelite when he stood before the altar. “A Syrian ready to perish was my father.” De 26:5 To see and feel ourselves “ready to perish” is but to see and feel our real condition. It is like a person ill of consumption learning for the first time the nature of his disease. To tell him so does not make him so. It is only making known to him his terrible plight. Now would not such a sinking patient hail and embrace a miraculous cure? And would he quarrel with the remedy because it perfectly healed him without his first making himself a little better? So with the gospel. It reveals a certain, an infallible remedy; but until we are ready to perish, we slight and despise it. “Few, if any come to Jesus, until reduced to self-despair.”
But, you ask, is there to be no practical holiness, no obedience of the hands, no consistency in the life? Yes, surely. But do not confound cause and effect, root and fruit, source and stream. Is this holiness produced by obedience, by doings, by duties? I read not so. I find it thus–”In that day shall the great trumpet be blown”– the trumpet of the gospel, which proclaims mercy to the miserable, and pardon to the guilty, which declares that Christ has finished the work which the Father gave him to do, and washed away sin in his own precious blood. The outcast hears, believes, feels, realizes. As these heavenly notes produce sweet melody in his soul, he comes to Mount Zion and to the blood of sprinkling, which speaks better things than the blood of Abel. There the Holy Spirit takes of the things of Christ, and reveals them to his soul. He thus sanctifies him, and produces love to Jesus, and obedience to the truth. Old things pass away, and all things become new. This is spiritual holiness, a thing as different from fleshly holiness, as heaven from hell.
Now, this may explain why the gospel in our day is so much despised. It is too pure, too free, too sovereign, too super-abounding. Most people like the gospel wine to be mingled with a considerable mixture of water, because the pure wine of gospel grace is too strong for them. But who are those that love gospel wine? They are those that Lemuel’s mother bade him pay special attention to. “Give strong drink,” said she, “to him who is ready to perish, and wine unto those that be of heavy hearts. Let him drink and forget his poverty, and remember his misery no more.” She was a wise woman, and she gave wise advice. What was true then is true now. The heavy in heart still love the gospel wine; and the perishing and the outcasts still come at the sound of the great trumpet, and worship the Lord in the holy mount at Jerusalem. (extract from )- The blowing of the great trumpet- J.C. Philpot- 1852.