We are not of the world, though we are in the world. So 'we are not of the night,' though we are in the night. We are 'children of the day;' we belong to the day, and the day belongs to us, as our true heritage, though it has not yet dawned. Hope rests there; and though deferred, will not always tarry, nor when it comes will it shame our trust. 'When the desire cometh it shall be a tree of life.'
Night is around us still; but it is not merely one of weeping, it is also one of watching. No sorrow is to make us less watchful; nay, much more. So far from tribulation throwing us off our guard, it should lead to added vigilance. It prevents our falling asleep, as we should certainly do were all peaceful and prosperous. It makes the night more cold and bitter to us, thereby rendering us more weary of it, and more eager for the day. Were the night air mild, and the night sky clear, we should grow contented with it, and cease to watch for day-break.
This is our night-watch. To this the Master has appointed us during his absence. 'Watch ye therefore; for ye know not when the master of the house cometh, at even, or at midnight, or at the cock-crowing, or in the morning: lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping. And what I say unto you, I say unto all. Watch.' Mark xiii. 35-37. It is the prospect of morning and of the Master's return that keeps us watching—especially in these last days, when watch after watch has come and gone, and he has not yet arrived. 'His going forth is prepared as the morning;' (Hos. vi, 3;) and that morning cannot now be distant.
The church must fulfill her night-watch. Whether long or short, perilous or easy, she must fulfill it. It is watching to which she is especially called; and sadly will she belie her profession, as well as disobey her Lord, if she watches not. She need not think to substitute other duties for this, as more needful, more important, or more in character. She dare not say, 'I love, I believe, I pray, I praise, why should I also watch? will not these do instead of watching, or is not watching included in these?' Her Lord has bidden her watch, and no other duty, no other grace, can be a substitute or an excuse for this.
She is to believe; but that is not all; she is also to watch. She is to rejoice; but that is not all; she is also to watch. She is to love; but that is not all; she is also to watch. She is to wait; but that is not all; she is also to watch. She is to long; but that is not all; she is also to watch. This is to be her special attitude, and nothing can compensate for it. By this she is to be known in all ages, as the watching one. By this the world is to be made to feel the difference between itself and her. By this she is specially to show how truly she feels herself to be a stranger here.
Men ask her, Why stand ye gazing up into heaven? Her reply is, 'I am watching.' Men taunt her, and say, Why this unrestfulness? Her reply is, 'I am watching.' Men think it strange that she runs not with them to the same excess of riot. 1 Pet. iv, 4. She tells them, 'I am watching.' They ask her to come forth and join their gaiety, to come forth and sing their songs, to come forth and taste their pleasures, that thus they may teach her to forget her sorrows. She refuses, saying, 'I dare not, I am watching.' The scoffer mocks her, and says, Where is the promise of his coming? She heeds not but continues watching, and clasps her hope more firmly.
Sometimes too, a feeble, doubting, or, it may be, inconsistent saint, asks in wonder, How are you so strong, so hardy, so able for the struggle, so successful in the battle? She answers, 'I watch.' Or he asks, How do you keep up a tone so elevated, and maintain, a walk so close, so consistent, so unearthly? She answers, 'I watch.' Or he asks, How do you overcome sloth, and selfishness, and love of ease; to check fretfulness and anxiety, or gain the victory over a delaying spirit? She answers, 'I watch.' Or he asks, How do you make head against your fears, and challenge danger, and defy enemies, and keep under the flesh? She replies, 'I watch.' Or he asks, How do you wrestle with your griefs, and dry up your tears, and heal your wounds, nay, glory, in tribulation? She answers, 'I watch.'
Oh what this watching can do, to one who understands it aright! Faith alone will not do. Love alone will not do. Expectation alone will not do. Obedience alone will not do. There must be watching.156
The Lord foresaw the spirit of unwatchfulness into which his people would be apt to fall, while he tarried, and he warns us against it. He would have us always to remember that there will be a danger of our becoming easy-minded and earthly; content with his absence instead of mourning because of it; content with his delay instead of joining in the primitive cry, 'How long?' He saw that the world would throw us off our guard; that few would really keep awake and watch; that many would get tired with watching, and find out excuses for not watching; that many would sit down and try to make themselves comfortable here without him. Hence he so often repeated the warning—WATCH! Hence he added, 'lest coming suddenly he find you sleeping.'
His desire is, that we should be so watching, that when he cometh and knocketh, we may open unto him immediately. Luke xii, 36. And he pronounces a special blessing upon those servants whom he finds thus, promising that 'he will gird himself, and make them sit down to meat, and he will come forth and serve them.' To be in such an attitude of watchfulness as that we shall be ready to open to him immediately, is that to which he has promised so special a reward, so wondrous an honor. Ah! who amongst us is in this condition in these last days? Should we be ready to open to him immediately were he arriving now? Should we not be thrown into confusion at the news of his coming, like servants unprepared for their master's return, and not counting on it so soon? Should we not have to be getting ready when we should be opening the door? Should we not be running to put on our needful and proper raiment instead of going forth to welcome him? Ah, what confusion in the household, what amazement, what fear, what bustle, what running to and fro, would there be in our day, were the tidings to be brought us, 'the Lord has come?'
In the repeated command to watch, there is much of rebuke. The Lord could not trust us to remember it of ourselves, or obey unbidden. Had he been able to count on perfect love in us to himself—love full and deep like his own, would he have thought of such a command? would it have been needed? It would not. All that would have been needful would have been to tell us that he meant to return; love would have supplied the rest, and, of itself, have made us watchful; love would have made it impossible that it should be otherwise. It would have needed neither the command nor the declaration of uncertainty and suddenness. It would have anticipated all these. It would have acted upon them unbidden. But the Lord could not trust us. He could not trust our love; and therefore he adds the command, therefore he reiterates the warning. It is strange and sad indeed, that neither the power of love, nor the awe of the command, can quicken us into watchfulness or rouse us into preparation. *
During this our night-watch, faith is to be ever vigorous and in motion. For it is the root of watchfulness. Without faith one can hardly have the idea of what it is to watch. For all the objects towards which watchfulness turns, are connected with things unseen—an unseen Saviour, and an unseen kingdom.
When first we knew the Lord and believed on him as the peace-maker, not only were we freely forgiven, but we were delivered from a present evil world. Things present fell off from us; things to come gathered round us. What was once shadowy became real; what once seemed real seemed then a shadow. Christ's words became real words; his truths real truths; his promises real promises. All else appeared unreal. The veil was not withdrawn, but we realized what was within it. The future did not become present, nor the invisible the visible; but we felt as if they were so. "Our faith was the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen." Believing then that the Lord is coming, that the time is short, that the interval is uncertain, and that his arrival will be sudden, we watch. Unbelief throws us off our guard; but faith sends us to our watch-tower. We know what our Lord meant when he said, "Blessed are they that have not seen and yet have believed."
Or, altering the words of our Lord, may we not also say, "Blessed are they that have seen and yet have not believed?" To see and yet not to believe, is one of the things that faith teaches us, and one of the things that quicken watchfulness. We look upon a world full of ungodliness, and yet believe not that God has forsaken the earth. We see the world's wisdom worshipped, but yet believe not that it is wisdom. We see the power of evil, and yet believe not that evil shall triumph. We see confusion everywhere, and yet believe not but that order is God's law. We see a divided church, and yet believe that the church is one. We see mighty kingdoms ruling, and yet believe not that they shall abide. We see the saints trodden down, but yet believe not in their shame or extinction. . . . We see the church's persecutions and defeats, and yet believe not only that she is conqueror, but invincible. We see the march of anti-Christ, but yet believe not in his progress, save as a progress to doom. We see the world's joy, and yet believe not that it is joy. We see the saint's sorrow, and yet believe not that he is sorrowful. We see night, thick, deep night around us, but yet we believe not in the night, but in the day.
Thus faith triumphs. We believe, we trust, we hope; and, so doing, we stand above the world. We lift up our eyes to the hills whence cometh our help. We look towards the east, where the dawn breaks. We watch for the morning. Our night-watch has been long and weary; but the morning will soon end it. The watching, the waiting, and the hoping, will then be done, but the loving will be for ever.
We watch; for it is night, and though we are not children of the night, still the night with its shadows rests heavily upon us, making us with wistful keenness to look out for its passing away. We grow more dissatisfied with it as it deepens. It brings so many griefs, it gathers round us so many temptations, it calls up so many dangers, it gives courage to so many enemies, that we grow troubled at its lasting so long. Yet we cannot shake it off. God's purpose must be served, and his time must run out. Till then let us possess our souls in patience, whilst watching for day-spring. . . .
We watch; for the day is ours, with all that it contains of gladness and sunshine. We are weary of the night, and we rejoice that it is not ours, though we are in it; but that the day is ours. Just as we can say, "the kingdom is ours," so we can say, "the day is ours." And we watch for it as being ours. Its light is ours; its blue sky is ours; its mild air is ours; its cheerful sounds are ours; its friendly greetings are ours; all that it calls forth of joy, and health, and purity are ours. Need any wonder that we should watch for such a day?
We watch; for the night is far spent. . . . Hours, years, ages have gone by. And if the whole night was to be brief, only "a little while," then surely very much of it must now be over. "The night is far spent," says the apostle; literally, it is "cut off," it is foreshortened, that is, it is becoming shorter, it is drawing to a close. Behind us are lying centuries of tears and shadows; the greater part of the "little while" must be past; "the day" must be at hand. The nearness makes the thought of day doubly welcome. We bend towards it with warm longings; we strain our eyes to catch the first token of it; we rouse ourselves to vigilance, knowing that now is our salvation nearer than when we believed.
How it disappoints, how it damps, to be told, there are centuries more of this night-watching still to come! Could that be proved, it would sadly chill our hope. We might at once come down from our watch-tower and give up our expectations. To "look for and haste unto the coming of the day of God," would be no longer a duty. The last generation of the church, living at the close of the millennium, might get up into the watch-tower, but for us, watching would be a name, a mere attitude of form or show.
It has ever been Satan's object to interpose some object between the church and her Lord's arrival; but never did he light upon a more specious, more successful device than that of making the interposed object a glorious and blessed one. To no other would the church have listened. She would have shrunk and turned away from a thousand years' sorrow; but she is attracted and dazzled by the promise of a thousand years' rest and joy. Yet, is the interposition of any fixed interval, (be it sad or joyous,) lawful or scriptural? If the Lord's advent be thrust into the distance, it matters not what may be introduced to fill the interval. If the Hope of the church be hidden, it is of small moment whether it be by a shroud of sack-cloth or by a veil of woven gold.
God deals with the church as one. Though consisting of many generations, he looks upon it as one body. And in reference to her hope, he has so framed his revelation, that every generation of the church should stand upon the same footing as the last. How has this been done? How has the first age, and how have all subsequent ages, been placed in the same position as the last? Simply by concealing the interval. In this thing it has been truly "the glory of God to conceal a matter." (Prov. xxv, 2.) For by this method, so simple and so natural, each age of the church has been made to feel, precisely as the last will feel, to watch, just as the last will watch, when the Lord is in very deed at hand. And thus that body which is spread over centuries, has at all times been made to occupy a position and present a character, the same as if it had been a body whose life and actings were summed up in one generation. So that any known interval interposed before the advent, alters the posture, destroys the character, and breaks the oneness of the church, while it defeats the object which God had so specially in view in keeping the times and seasons in his own power.
Often, since the Lord left the earth, has the watch been changed and the guard relieved. God has not tried too sorely the faith of any one age by making the watch too long. In mercy he has cut down man's age from patriarchal longevity to three-score years and ten, lest the over wearied watchers should sink under the toil and hardship. It is this that makes unwatchfulness so inexcusable. Adam, or Seth, or Methuselah, or Noah, might have had the edge of their watchfulness blunted by the long conflict of nine hundred years; but what excuse have we for heedlessness? Our time of service is brief, and to fall asleep or grow impatient, would indicate sad indolence and unfaithfulness. "What! could ye not watch with me one hour? watch and pray, lest ye enter into temptation." {H. Bonar.