Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, lest at any time we should let them slip.'--Heb. 2:1.
LET them slip'; that conveys a vivid picture of a man holding some treasure with limp fingers, and allowing it to drop from his nerveless grasp. But, striking as that picture is, the one which is really expressed by the original word is more striking still. The Revised Version correctly renders, instead of, we should let them slip,' we drift away from them'; and that is the real meaning. Drifting' is the thing to be afraid of. Just as some boat, not made fast to the bank, certainly glides down stream so quietly and with so little friction that her passengers do not know that they are moving until they come up on deck, and see new fields around them, so the things which we have heard,' and to which we ought to be moored or anchored, we shall drift, drift, drift away from, and, in nine cases out of ten, shall not feel that we are moving, till we are roused by hearing the noise of the whirlpools and the falls close ahead of us; and look round and see a strange country. Therefore we ought to give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard, lest, haply, we should drift away from them.'
We are in danger of drifting unconsciously from the anchorage of our faith--namely, the great words which we have heard. The currents that are brought to bear upon us run as strong as do any that are marked on charts and are the terror of sailors, and they need as careful steering and as great engine power to resist them. Let us try to think of one or two of them.
There is the current of years. Time changes us all; and there is many a professing Christian who all unconsciously has slid away from his early better self, and is not now as devout a man--or with his life as completely under the influence of Christ and His gospel as he was in the early days. He keeps up appearances, but they are deceptive, and years have carried him down the stream and away from his old self.
There is the current of familiarity with the truth. It is a sad illustration of the weakness of human nature that we all tend to think that the familiar is commonplace, and that it is almost impossible for us, without a very specific and continuous effort, to keep up as fresh and deep an interest in a truth that we have believed all our days as in one that comes to us with the attraction of novelty. It has been well said that the most certain truths too often lie in the dormitory of the soul, side by side with exploded errors.' We all know how silently and unconsciously we lose our hold of the things that we think to be most surely believed among us; and whilst we fancy that we are grasping them they are gone from us just because we had never doubted, and always believed' them. Conjurers will tell you that if you press a coin in a man's palm and shut the hand quickly, he does not know for a moment or two whether the coin remains there or not. There are many of us who have closed our hands on the precious gold coin of the gospel, and it has been filched away from us, and we do not know that it has been until we open our hand and see the empty palm. We drift away by time and by familiarity.
Then there is constantly acting upon us the current of the continual pressure of our daily cares and anxieties and duties and joys. All these in their minuteness and their multiplicity tend to weaken our possession of, and to carry us away from, the great central truths of the gospel. A snowflake is a very tiny thing, but when the air is full of them, minute as they are, their white multitudes will bring death and a grave to the creatures on which they fall. And so the thousand trifles of our daily lives are all acting upon us, whether we know it or not, to absorb interest and attention and effort, and to withdraw all three from the truths which we have heard.' You may remember the story of the man in the Old Testament who had a prisoner put into his hands, with an injunction to guard carefully against his escape; and how, as he naively says, As thy servant was busy here and there, lo! he was gone. I had so many other things to do, on this side and that, and in front and behind, that I could not always keep my eyes on him; and he slipped through my fingers, and showed a clean pair of heels, and that is all I know. I never knew that he had gone until I came to look for him in an interval of my business, and found his fetters were empty.'
Ah, dear friends, that is the history of the decline and fall of many a professing Christian's Christianity"Thy servant was busy here and there doing his day's work'--the legitimate things that we are bound to do, and which are not meant to be occasions for withdrawing our hold of the truths of the gospel, but for deepening it. We are busied about them, and that which was committed to our care slips away, and we never know it.
Yes, and it is not only secular' work that does that. It may be done by what is called Christian work too. I believe, for my part, that much as one rejoices in the continual calls for service and activity that are addressed to the Christian Church to-day, there is a distinct danger that there shall be so much work that there is no time for solitude, for contemplation, for reviewing and deepening our communion with Jesus Christ. And I sometimes feel as if I would like to say to all Sunday-school teachers, and visitors, and Christian Endeavourers, and all the host of Christian workers': Come ye yourselves apart into a desert place and rest awhile,' and then you will be ready for better work. At all events, it is quite possible--if we may so use a phrase which is, perhaps, done violence to in such a use--to water other people's vineyards, and leave our own vines to die for want of tending and irrigation.
There are other currents as well, about which I need not say much here, but no doubt they are running very strong to-day, all round us: tides of opinion and ways of thinking about the gospel which will rob us, if we do not take care, of the simplicity and depth of our faith in that Saviour. I just specify these four currents: time, familiarity, work, and the prevalent tone of the people round about us--all these forces are continually operating on the Christian men and women of this day, and in many cases are doing their deadly work.
Let us give the more earnest heed.' Just because these forces are in operation, therefore there is more need that the vessel shall be very safely moored to the strong post on the quay, than there would be if it was lying in a tideless harbour where the water was motionless. The more earnest heed'-if we know the danger we have gone a long way to escape it. If we will open our eyes to the fact that all about us there are thieves lurking and waiting to steal away our possessions, then we shall have done something towards securing the possessions. As in Christ's parable, there are light-winged flocks of birds filling the air about us, and ready to pounce down upon the seed the moment the sower's back is turned, and with a dig and a peck to pick it up, and then with glancing whir of the wings to be off, bearing away their prey out of sight and out of shot. If we realise that that is the condition of things, we shall have boys with clappers in the field to keep off the birds, at all events. If we have a clear sight of the fact that the world is full of thieves, we shall be likely to get strong locks to our doors, and bars to the windows, and not go to sleep, lest the house should be broken into.
But let me say a word or two about what we ought to do. Let us give the more earnest heed to the things which we have heard.' That word give heed' suggests that there must be a concentration of attention, and a distinct effort of will in the way of resisting the tendencies. If you hold a thing slackly it goes out of your hands. If you have flung a careless bight of the rope round the post, and then lie down to sleep, the force of the stream will do the rest. There must be resistance to the continually acting tendencies, or they will become facts and realities. I have already suggested in the previous remarks what seems to me to be the great thing wanted in our present average Christian character, and that is the honest occupation of mind and heart with the truths of the gospel. We read newspapers, books, and magazines of all sorts, and we do not read our Bibles as our fathers used to do. There are many professing Christian people who do not make the Word of God familiar by daily and prayerful perusal; and there are many who do not understand much more about the whole majestic orb of divine truth than the one bit of it that they beheld at first, when they turned from darkness to light. That Jesus Christ is your Saviour is, in one sense, the whole gospel, but that is no reason for your not trying to understand all that is involved in, and all that flows from, that great truth, and all on which it rests as upon rock pillars. If we had more honest occupation of thought with, and more quiet feeding like a ruminant animal upon, the truths of the gospel, we might bid defiance to all the currents to sweep us away.
There is another thing by which we may hold ourselves fast moored to these truths--that is, by bringing them habitually to bear upon and to shape and dominate the little things of our daily lives. One way by which we can freshen up the most familiar, commonplace truth is by acting on it. If you will do that, you will find that the old truths have sap and vitality in them yet. People talk about toothless commonplaces.' Take the commonplaces of your Christian profession, and conscientiously try to shape your lives by them; and take my word for it, you will find thai; they are not toothless. There is a bite in them. If a man wants to be confirmed in his creed, let him make it the law of his conduct. So if we will meditate upon the truth, and if we will live the truth, we may snap our fingers at all the currents that seek to draw us away from it.
You will notice that it begins with a therefore,' and that therefore' sums up all that has gone before in the epistle; and it is further expanded by a for' which follows. And what are the reasons thus suggested? I have no time to enlarge on them, and I do not know that they need it.
They are three, and the first of them is the dignity of the speaker. The writer has just been demonstrating the superiority of the Son by whom God hath, in these last times, spoken unto us,' over all former ministers and messengers of His Word, and over all angels before His throne. And he says, because such august lips have spoken, Let us give earnest heed to the things which we have heard.' For if the words spoken by angels' demanded attention, how much more the word spoken in these last times unto us by the Son,' whom He hath appointed heir of all things.' That is reason number one.
Reason number two is the steadfastness of the truth. I have been working perhaps till it is threadbare the metaphor underlying my text; I come back to it for a moment more. What is the good of a strong cable, which is my faith, unless it is wrapped round a strong post? Why should I give heed to a truth, unless it is an irrefragable and undeniable and important truth? And so says this writer, it is worth your while to give your whole attention to these truths, and to grapple yourselves to them with hooks of steel, for they stand fast. The word spoken by angels was steadfast, but the word of the gospel was at the first spoken by the Lord, and was confirmed by them that heard it. He fixed the post; they hammered it in; there it stands. You may hold on to it, and if your tackle does not give, nothing will sweep you away.
And reason number three is, what we lose if we let our moorings there slip. For if the word spoken by angels was steadfast, and every transgression and disobedience received its just recompense of reward, how shall we escape if we neglect …'--not reject; not fight against, simply neglect'--so great salvation,' and so let ourselves be drifted away from the things which we have heard?
