And an highway shall be there, and a way, and it shall be called
the way of holiness; the unclean shall not pass over it; but it shall be for
those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall not err therein. No lion
shall be there, nor any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall not be
found there; but the redeemed shall walk there; and the ransomed of the Lord
shall return, and come to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their
heads: they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall
flee away. - Isaiah
xxxv: 8-10.
There are hundreds of people in this
house this morning who want to find the right road.
You sometimes see a person halting at cross roads,
and you can tell by his looks that he wishes to ask
a question as to what direction he had better take.
And I stand in your presence this morning conscious
of the fact that there are many of you here who realize
that there are a thousand wrong roads, but only one
right one; and I take it for granted that you have
come in to ask which one it is. Here is one road
that opens widely, but I have not much faith in it.
There are a great many expensive toll-gates scattered
all along that way. Indeed at every road you
must pay in tears, or pay in génuflexions, or
pay in flagellations. On that road, if you
get through it at all, you have to pay your own way;
and since this differs so much from what I have heard
in regard to the right way, I believe it is the wrong
way.
Here is another road. On either
side of it are houses of sinful entertainment, and
invitations to come in, and dine and rest; but, from
the looks of the people who stand on the piazza I am
very certain that it is the wrong house and the wrong
way. Here is another road. It is very beautiful
and macadamized. The horses’ hoofs clatter
and ring, and they who ride over it spin along the
highway, until suddenly they find that the road breaks
over an embankment, and they try to halt, and they
saw the bit in the mouth of the fiery steed, and cry
“Ho! ho!” But it is too late, and crash! they
go over the embankment. We shall turn, this morning,
and see if we can not find a different kind of a road.
You have heard of the Appian Way.
It was three hundred and fifty miles long. It
was twenty-four feet wide, and on either side the road
was a path for foot passengers. It was made out
of rocks cut in hexagonal shape and fitted together.
What a road it must have been! Made of smooth,
hard rock, three hundred and fifty miles long.
No wonder that in the construction of it the treasures
of a whole empire were exhausted. Because of
invaders, and the elements, and time the
old conqueror who tears up a road as he goes over
it there is nothing left of that structure
excepting a ruin. But I have this morning to
tell you of a road built before the Appian Way, and
yet it is as good as when first constructed.
Millions of souls have gone over it. Millions
more will come.
“The prophets and apostles,
too,
Pursued this road
while here below;
We therefore will, without
dismay
Still walk in
Christ, the good old way.”
“An highway shall be there,
and a way, and it shall be called the way of holiness;
the unclean shall not pass over it; but it shall be
for those: the wayfaring men, though fools, shall
not err therein. No lion shall be there, nor
any ravenous beast shall go up thereon, it shall not
be found there; but the redeemed shall walk there;
and the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come
to Zion with songs and everlasting joy upon their
heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow
and sighing shall flee away!”
I. First, this road of the text is
the King’s highway. In the diligence you
dash over the Bernard pass of the Alps, mile after
mile, and there is not so much as a pebble to jar
the wheels. You go over bridges which cross chasms
that make you hold your breath; under projecting rock;
along by dangerous precipices; through tunnels adrip
with the meltings of the glaciers; and, perhaps for
the first time, learn the majesty of a road built
and supported by government authority. Well,
my Lord the King decided to build a highway from earth
to heaven. It should span all the chasms of human
wretchedness; it should tunnel all the mountains of
earthly difficulty; it should be wide enough and strong
enough to hold fifty thousand millions of the human
race, if so many of them should ever be born.
It should be blasted out of the “Rock of Ages,”
and cemented with the blood of the Cross, and be lifted
amid the shouting of angels and the execration of
devils.
The King sent His Son to build that
road. He put head and hand and heart to it, and,
after the road was completed, waved His blistered
hand over the way, crying, “It is finished!”
Napoleon paid fifteen million francs for the building
of the Simplon Road, that his cannon might go over
for the devastation of Italy; but our King, at a greater
expense, has built a road for a different purpose,
that the banners of heavenly dominion might come down
over it, and all the redeemed of earth travel up over
it.
Being a King’s highway, of course
it is well built. Bridges splendidly arched and
buttressed have given way and crushed the passengers
who attempted to cross them. But Christ, the
King, would build no such thing as that. The
work done, He mounts the chariot of His love, and
multitudes mount with Him, and He drives on and up
the steep of heaven amid the plaudits of gazing worlds!
The work is done well done gloriously
done magnificently done.
II. Still further: this road spoken of is
a clean road.
Many a fine road has become miry and
foul because it has not been properly cared for; but
my text says the unclean shall not walk on this one.
Room on either side to throw away your sins. Indeed,
if you want to carry them along, you are not on the
right road. That bridge will break, those overhanging
rocks will fall, the night will come down, leaving
you at the mercy of the mountain bandits, and at the
very next turn of the road you will perish. But
if you are really on this clean road of which I have
been speaking, then you will stop ever and anon to
wash in the water that stands in the basin of the
eternal rock. Ay, at almost every step of the
journey you will be crying out: “Create
within me a clean heart!” If you have no such
aspirations as that, it proves that you have mistaken
your way; and if you will only look up and see the
finger-board above your head, you may read upon it
the words: “There is a way that seemeth
right unto a man, but the end thereof is death.”
Without holiness no man shall see the Lord; and if
you have any idea that you can carry along your sins,
your lusts, your worldliness, and yet get to the end
of the Christian race, you are so awfully mistaken
that, in the name of God, this morning I shatter the
delusion.
III. Still further, the road
spoken of is a plain road. “The wayfaring
men, though fools, shall not err therein.”
That is, if a man is three fourths an idiot, he can
find this road just as well as if he were a philosopher.
The imbecile boy, the laughing-stock of the street,
and followed by a mob hooting at him, has only just
to knock once at the gate of heaven, and it swings
open: while there has been many a man who can
lecture about pneumatics, and chemistry, and tell the
story of Farraday’s theory of electrical polarization,
and yet has been shut out of heaven. There has
been many a man who stood in an observatory and swept
the heavens with his telescope, and yet has not been
able to see the Morning Star. Many a man has
been familiar with all the higher branches of mathematics,
and yet could not do the simple sum, “What shall
it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose
his own soul?” Many a man has been a fine reader
of tragedies and poems, and yet could not “read
his title clear to mansions in the skies.”
Many a man has botanized across the continent, and
yet not know the “Rose of Sharon and the Lily
of the Valley.” But if one shall come in
the right spirit, crying the way to heaven, he will
find it a plain way. The pardon is plain.
The peace is plain. Everything is plain.
He who tries to get on the road to
heaven through the New Testament teaching will get
on beautifully. He who goes through philosophical
discussion will not get on at all. Christ says:
“Come to Me, and I will take all your sins away,
and I will take all your troubles away.”
Now what is the use of my discussing it any more?
Is not that plain? If you wanted to go to Albany,
and I pointed you out a highway thoroughly laid out,
would I be wise in detaining you by a geological discussion
about the gravel you will pass over, or a physiological
discussion about the muscles you will have to bring
into play? No. After this Bible has pointed
you the way to heaven, is it wise for me to detain
you with any discussion about the nature of the human
will, or whether the atonement is limited or unlimited?
There is the road go on it. It is
a plain way.
“This is a faithful saying,
and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came
into the world to save sinners.” And that
is you and that is me. Any little child here
can understand this as well as I can. “Unless
you become as a little child, you can not see the kingdom
of God.” If you are saved, it will not
be as a philosopher, it will be as a little child.
“Of such is the kingdom of Heaven.”
Unless you get the spirit of little children, you
will never come out at their glorious destiny.
IV. Still further: this
road to heaven is a safe road. Sometimes the
traveler in those ancient highways would think himself
perfectly secure, not knowing there was a lion by
the way, burying his head deep between his paws, and
then, when the right moment came, under the fearful
spring the man’s life was gone, and there was
a mauled carcass by the roadside. But, says my
text, “No lion shall be there.” I
wish I could make you feel, this morning, your entire
security. I tell you plainly that one minute
after a man has become a child of God, he is as safe
as though he had been ten thousand years in heaven.
He may slip, he may slide, he may stumble; but he
can not be destroyed. Kept by the power of God,
through faith, unto complete salvation. Everlastingly
safe.
The severest trial to which you can
subject a Christian man is to kill him, and that is
glory. In other words, the worst thing that can
happen a child of God is heaven. The body is only
the old slippers that he throws aside just before
putting on the sandals of light. His soul, you
can not hurt it. No fires can consume it.
No floods can drown it. No devils can capture
it.
“Firm and unmoved are
they
Who rest their
souls on God;
Fixed as the ground where
David stood,
Or where the ark
abode.”
His soul is safe. His reputation
is safe. Everything is safe. “But,”
you say, “suppose his store burns up?”
Why, then, it will be only a change of investments
from earthly to heavenly securities. “But,”
you say, “suppose his name goes down under the
hoof of scorn and contempt?” The name will be
so much brighter in glory. “Suppose his
physical health fails?” God will pour into him
the floods of everlasting health, and it will not
make any difference. Earthly subtraction is heavenly
addition. The tears of earth are the crystals
of heaven. As they take rags and tatters and put
them through the paper-mill, and they come out beautiful
white sheets of paper, so, often, the rags of earthly
destitution, under the cylinders of death, come out
a white scroll upon which shall be written eternal
emancipation.
There was one passage of Scripture,
the force of which I never understood until one day
at Chamounix, with Mont Blanc on one side, and Montanvent
on the other, I opened my Bible and read: “As
the mountains are around about Jerusalem, so the Lord
is around about them that fear Him.” The
surroundings were an omnipotent commentary.
“Though troubles assail,
and dangers affright;
Though friends should all
fail, and foes all unite;
Yet one thing secures us,
whatever betide,
The Scriptures assure us the
Lord will provide.”
V. Still further: the road spoken
of is a pleasant road. God gives a bond of indemnity
against all evil to every man that treads it.
“All things work together for good to those
who love God.” No weapon formed against
them can prosper. That is the bond, signed, sealed,
and delivered by the President of the whole universe.
What is the use of your fretting, O child of God,
about food? “Behold the fowls of the air:
for they sow not, neither do they reap, nor gather
into barns; yet your heavenly Father feedeth them.”
And will He take care of the sparrow, will He take
care of the hawk, and let you die? What is the
use of your fretting about clothes? “Consider
the lilies of the field. Shall He not much more
clothe you, O ye of little faith?” What is the
use worrying for fear something will happen to your
home? “He blesseth the habitation of the
just.” What is the use of your fretting
lest you will be overcome of temptations? “God
is faithful, who will not suffer you to be tempted
above that ye are able; but will with the temptation
also make a way to escape, that ye may be able to bear
it.”
O this King’s highway!
Trees of life on either side, bending over until their
branches interlock and drop midway their fruit and
shade. Houses of entertainment on either side
the road for poor pilgrims. Tables spread with
a feast of good things, and walls adorned with apples
of gold in pictures of silver. I start out on
this King’s highway, and I find a harper, and
I say: “What is your name?” The harper
makes no response, but leaves me to guess, as, with
his eyes toward heaven and his hand upon the trembling
strings this tune comes rippling on the air:
“The Lord is my light and my salvation.
Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of
my life; of whom shall I be afraid?” I go a
little further on the same road and meet a trumpeter
of heaven, and I say: “Haven’t you
got some music for a tired pilgrim?” And wiping
his lip and taking a long breath, he puts his mouth
to the trumpet and pours forth this strain: “They
shall hunger no more, neither shall they thirst any
more, neither shall the sun light on them, nor any
heat, for the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne
shall lead them to living fountains of water, and God
shall wipe away all tears from their eyes.”
I go a little distance further on the same road, and
I meet a maiden of Israel. She has no harp, but
she has cymbals. They look as if they had rusted
from sea-spray; and I say to the maiden of Israel:
“Have you no song for a tired pilgrim?”
And like the clang of victors’ shields the cymbals
clap as Miriam begins to discourse: “Sing
ye to the Lord, for He hath triumphed gloriously;
the horse and the rider hath He thrown into the sea.”
And then I see a white-robed group. They come
bounding toward me, and I say: “Who are
they? The happiest, and the brightest, and the
fairest in all heaven who are they?”
And the answer comes: “These are they who
came out of great tribulations, and had their robes
washed and made white with the blood of the Lamb.”
I pursue this subject only one step
further. What is the terminus? I do not
care how fine a road you may put me on, I want to know
where it comes out. My text declares it:
“The redeemed of the Lord come to Zion.”
You know what Zion was. That was the King’s
palace. It was a mountain fastness. It was
impregnable. And so heaven is the fastness of
the universe. No howitzer has long enough range
to shell those towers. Let all the batteries
of earth and hell blaze away; they can not break in
those gates. Gibraltar was taken, Sebastopol was
taken, Babylon fell; but these walls of heaven shall
never surrender either to human or Satanic besiegement.
The Lord God Almighty is the defense of it. Great
capital of the universe! Terminus of the King’s
highway!
Doctor Dick said that, among other
things, he thought in heaven we should study chemistry,
and geometry, and conic sections. Southey thought
that in heaven he would have the pleasure of seeing
Chaucer and Shakespeare. Now, Doctor Dick may
have his mathematics for all eternity, and Southey
his Shakespeare. Give me Christ and my old friends that
is all the heaven I want, that is heaven enough for
me. O garden of light, whose leaves never wither,
and whose fruits never fail! O banquet of God,
whose sweetness never palls the taste, and whose guests
are kings forever! O city of light, whose walls
are salvation, and whose gates are praise! O
palace of rest, where God is the monarch and everlasting
ages the length of His reign! O song louder than
the surf-beat of many waters, yet soft as the whisper
of cherubim!
O my heaven! When my last wound
is healed, when the last heart-break is ended, when
the last tear of earthly sorrow is wiped away, and
when the redeemed of the Lord shall come to Zion,
then let all the harpers take down their harps, and
all the trumpeters take down their trumpets, and all
across heaven there be chorus of morning stars, chorus
of white-robed victors, chorus of martyrs from under
the throne, chorus of ages, chorus of worlds, and
there be but one song sung, and but one name spoken,
and but one throne honored that of Jesus
only.