This is a modern-English version of Parables of the Cross, originally written by Trotter, I. Lilias (Isabella Lilias).
It has been thoroughly updated, including changes to sentence structure, words, spelling,
and grammar—to ensure clarity for contemporary readers, while preserving the original spirit and nuance. If
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London & Edinburgh.
There was deep insight in those old words. For man's natural thought of death is that of a dreary ending in decay and dissolution. And from his standpoint he is right: death as the punishment of sin is an ending.
There was deep insight in those old words. For a person's natural thought about death is that of a bleak ending in decay and dissolution. And from his viewpoint, he is right: death as the punishment of sin is an ending.
But far other is God's thought in the redemption of the world. He takes the very thing that came in with the curse, and makes it the path of glory. Death becomes a beginning instead of an ending, for it becomes the means of liberating a fresh life.
But God's perspective on the redemption of the world is completely different. He takes the very thing that came with the curse and turns it into a path to glory. Death transforms from an ending into a beginning, as it becomes the way to liberate a new life.
And so the hope that lies in these parable lessons of death and life is meant for those only who are turning to Him for redemption. To those who have not turned, death stands in all its old awful doom, inevitable, irrevocable. There is no gleam of light through it for them.
And so the hope found in these parable lessons about death and life is intended only for those who are seeking redemption from Him. For those who have not sought Him, death remains as its old terrible fate, unavoidable and permanent. There’s no ray of light for them beyond it.
"The death of the Cross"--death's triumph hour--that was the point where God's gate opened; and to that gate we come again and again, as our lives unfold, and through it pass even on earth to our joyful resurrection, to a life each time more abundant, for each time the dying is a deeper dying. The Christian life is a process of deliverance out of one world into another, and "death," as has been truly said, "is the only way out of any world in which we are."
"The death on the Cross"—the moment of death’s victory—that was the moment when God’s door opened; and we return to that door again and again as our lives progress, passing through it even on earth to our joyful resurrection, to a life increasingly abundant, because each time the dying is a deeper dying. The Christian life is a journey of liberation from one world into another, and "death," as has been rightly said, "is the only way out of any world in which we live."
"Death is the gate of life." Does it look so to us? Have we learnt to go down, once and again, into its gathering shadows in quietness and confidence, knowing that there is always "a better resurrection" beyond?
"Death is the doorway to life." Does it seem that way to us? Have we learned to venture down, time and again, into its gathering shadows calmly and confidently, knowing that there's always "a better resurrection" waiting beyond?
It is in the stages of a plant's growth, its budding and blossoming and seed-bearing, that this lesson has come to me: the lesson of death in its delivering power. It has come as no mere far-fetched imagery, but as one of the many voices in which God speaks, bringing strength and gladness from His Holy Place.
It’s during a plant's growth stages—its budding, blooming, and seed-producing—that I’ve learned this lesson: the lesson of death and its transformative power. This understanding hasn’t come as just an abstract idea, but as one of the many ways God communicates, bringing strength and joy from His Holy Place.
Can we not trace the sign of the Cross in the first hint of the new spring's dawning? In many cases, as in the chestnut, before a single old leaf has faded, next year's buds may be seen, at the summit of branch and twig, formed into its very likeness: in others the leaf-buds seem to bear its mark by breaking through the stem blood-red. Back in the plant's first stages, the crimson touch is to be found in seed-leaves and fresh shoots, and even in the hidden sprouts. Look at the acorn, for instance, as it breaks its shell, and see how the baby tree bears its birthmark: it is the blood-red in which the prism ray dawns out of the darkness, and the sunrise out of the night. The very stars, science now tells us, glow with this same colour as they are born into the universe out of the dying of former stars.[1]
Can we see the sign of the Cross in the first glimpse of spring's arrival? In many cases, like with the chestnut tree, before a single old leaf has fallen, you can spot next year's buds at the tips of branches, resembling the old ones. In other plants, the leaf buds seem to carry this mark by breaking through the stem in a deep red color. Even in the early stages of a plant's life, you can find this crimson hint in seed leaves and fresh shoots, and even in the hidden sprouts. Take the acorn, for example, as it breaks open; notice how the young tree displays its birthmark: it is the blood-red that represents the first light breaking through the darkness, and the dawn that follows the night. Now science tells us that even the stars shine with this same color when they are formed from the remnants of dying stars.[1]
Be it as it may in nature, it is true, at any rate in the world of grace, that each soul that would enter into real life must bear at the outset this crimson seal; there must be the individual "sprinkling of the Blood of Jesus Christ." It must go out through the Gate of the Cross.
Be that as it may in nature, it's true, at least in the world of grace, that every soul looking to enter true life must initially carry this crimson seal; there must be the personal "sprinkling of the Blood of Jesus Christ." It must pass through the Gate of the Cross.
And here is the needs-be. Death is the only way out of the world of condemnation wherein we lie. Shut into that world, it is vain to try by any self-effort to battle out; nothing can revoke the decree "the soul that sinneth it shall die."
And here’s the truth. Death is the only escape from the world of judgment we’re stuck in. Trapped in that world, it’s pointless to try to fight your way out on your own; nothing can change the rule "the soul that sins will die."
The only choice left is this. Shall it be, under the old headship of Adam, our own death, in all that God means by the word, or shall it be, under the headship of Christ, the death of another in our place?
The only choice we have left is this. Will it be, under the old leadership of Adam, our own death in every sense that God intends, or will it be, under the leadership of Christ, the death of someone else in our place?
It is when we come to self-despair, when we feel ourselves locked in, waiting our doom, that the glory and the beauty of God's way of escape dawns upon us, and we submit ourselves to Him in it. All resistance breaks down as faith closes on the fact: "He loved me and gave Himself for me." We receive the atonement so hardly won, and we go out into life not only pardoned, but cleared and justified.
It’s when we hit rock bottom and feel trapped, waiting for our downfall, that the amazing and beautiful way God provides a way out becomes clear to us, and we surrender to Him. All our resistance falls away as faith grasps the truth: "He loved me and gave Himself for me." We accept the hard-won forgiveness and step into life not just forgiven, but also cleared and justified.
And as we go out free, we find that on the other side of the Cross a new existence has really begun: that the love of the Crucified has touched the springs of our being--we are in another world, under an open heaven. "Christ hath suffered for sins, the Just for the unjust, that He might bring us to God."
And as we go out free, we find that on the other side of the Cross a new existence has truly begun: that the love of the Crucified has touched the core of our being—we are in a different world, under an open heaven. "Christ has suffered for sins, the Just for the unjust, to bring us to God."
Does anyone read these words who is trying to struggle from the natural life into the spiritual, by "some other way" than this way of the Cross? It is as impossible as it would be to pass from to-day into to-morrow except through the night. Your battling is a battling against God. Yield and come to His terms. Yield now.
Does anyone reading this feel like they’re trying to move from a natural life to a spiritual one, using "some other way" besides the way of the Cross? It's just as impossible as going from today to tomorrow without going through the night first. Your struggle is really a struggle against God. Surrender and accept His terms. Surrender now.
But blessed as it is, this passage into a life of peace with Him, woe to the soul that stops there, thinking that the goal is reached, and dwindles, so to speak, into a stunted bud. Holiness, not safety, is the end of our calling.
But as blessed as it is, this transition into a life of peace with Him, it’s a tragedy for the soul that settles there, believing that the goal has been achieved, and metaphorically shrinks into a stunted bud. Holiness, not safety, is the ultimate aim of our calling.
And so it comes to pass that a fresh need for deliverance is soon pressed upon him who is true to God's voice in his heart. The two lives are there together, one new-born and feeble, the other strong with an earlier growth. "The flesh lusteth against the spirit and the spirit against the flesh," and the will power is distracted between the two, like the sap that flows partly into the old condemned leaves, partly into the fresh buds. Consequently there is the strife of a kingdom divided against itself: sometimes the one life grows and flourishes, sometimes the other; sometimes they struggle on side by side, till the cry is forced out--"Oh, wretched man that I am; who shall deliver me?"
And so it happens that a new need for rescue soon arises for those who are loyal to God’s voice within them. The two lives exist together, one newly born and weak, the other strong from earlier development. "The flesh fights against the spirit and the spirit against the flesh," and willpower gets pulled in both directions, like sap that flows partly into the old, withered leaves and partly into the fresh buds. As a result, there is a struggle of a kingdom divided against itself: sometimes one life grows and thrives, sometimes the other; sometimes they struggle alongside each other, until the cry escapes—“Oh, what a miserable person I am; who will rescue me?”
And here again, when the point of self-despair is reached, and we come to see that our efforts after holiness are as vain as our efforts after acceptance with God, the door of escape opens afresh.
And here again, when we hit rock bottom and realize that our attempts to be holy are as pointless as trying to gain acceptance from God, a new way out presents itself.
A stage of dying must come over the plant before the new leaves can grow and thrive. There must be a deliberate choice between the former growth and the new; one must give way to the other; the acorn has to come to the point where it ceases to keep its rag of former existence, and lets everything go to the fresh shoot: the twig must withdraw its sap from last year's leaf, and let it flow into this year's bud.
A stage of dying has to happen to the plant before the new leaves can grow and thrive. There needs to be a conscious decision between the old growth and the new; one must make way for the other; the acorn has to reach a point where it stops holding on to its old existence and lets everything go to the new sprout: the twig must pull its sap away from last year's leaf and let it flow into this year's bud.
And before the soul can really enter upon a life of holiness, with all its blessed endless possibilities, a like choice must be made: all known sin must be deliberately given up, that the rising current may have its full play.
And before the soul can truly begin a life of holiness, with all its wonderful endless possibilities, a similar choice must be made: all known sin must be deliberately let go, so that the rising current can flow freely.
"But," you say, "I have tried again and again to give up sin: I have prayed, and I have resolved, but the will finds its way back into the old channels, and is keeping alive the past before I know it."
"But," you say, "I've tried over and over to stop sinning: I've prayed, and I've made resolutions, but my will always slips back into old habits and keeps the past alive before I even realize it."
Look at our parable. If you picked off one of the dead leaves and examined the leaf-stalk through a microscope, you would find that the old channel is silted up by a barrier invisible to the naked eye. The plant has shut the door on the last year's leaf, condemning it to decay, and soon without further effort the stalk loosens, the winds of God play around it, and it falls away.
Look at our story. If you took one of the dead leaves and looked at the leaf-stalk under a microscope, you'd see that the old channel is blocked by something invisible to the naked eye. The plant has closed off the previous year's leaf, forcing it to decay, and soon without any more effort, the stalk becomes loose, the winds of God swirl around it, and it falls away.
But where is the barrier that we can place between ourselves and the old nature? Where is the sentence of death that we can pass upon it?
But where is the barrier that we can put up between ourselves and our old nature? Where is the death sentence that we can impose on it?
Back to the Cross again! It is there, within our reach. "Our old man is crucified with Him, that the body of sin might be destroyed, that henceforth we should not serve sin; for he that is dead is freed from sin."
Back to the Cross again! It's right there, within our reach. "Our old self is crucified with Him, so that the body of sin might be destroyed, and we should no longer serve sin; because anyone who has died is free from sin."
The Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ shuts off the life of sin; like the silted-up channel, it stands a blessed invisible barrier between us and sinning, as we "reckon" it there: that is, hold it there by faith and will. And His open grave is the open way into a life, wherein our rising powers can develop into all their spring vigour.
The Cross of our Lord Jesus Christ cuts off a life of sin; like a blocked channel, it acts as a blessed, invisible barrier between us and sinful behavior, as we "reckon" it to be there: that is, we hold it there through faith and will. And His open grave is the open path into a life where our rising strengths can grow into all their spring vitality.
The sap--the will--the "ego"--is withdrawn from the former existence, its aims and desires, and is sent into the new. It is given over to the other side: we hold to it that this is now our life, the only one that has the right to be. We reckon ourselves dead to the old; we reckon ourselves alive to the new; "putting off" the former, "putting on" the latter.
The essence—the will—the "self"—is separated from the past life, its goals and wants, and directed toward the new one. It is surrendered to the other side: we cling to the idea that this is now our life, the only one that is truly worth living. We consider ourselves dead to the old life; we see ourselves alive in the new one; "shaking off" the old and "embracing" the new.
Take a practical instance. An old habit of doubting and fearing asserts itself in your soul, alive and strong. You have two things to do. Close the door upon the doubt: shut your eyes to it: reckon yourself dead to it.
Take a practical example. An old habit of doubting and fearing rears its head in your mind, lively and intense. You have two things to do. Close the door on that doubt: ignore it: consider yourself free from it.
And then reckon into life the new-born growth of faith in your soul, and put all your force into believing: lift up your eyes to the God in Whom you believe: believe in the teeth of everything, as if the cause for doubt were not there. Then the sap, ceasing from feeding the old shoot, will flow into the new.
And then consider the fresh growth of faith in your life, and put all your energy into believing: look up to the God you believe in: hold onto your faith despite any doubts, as if those doubts didn’t even exist. Then the life force, stopping its nourishment of the old growth, will flow into the new.
But is it an act, or a gradual process, this "putting off the old man?" It is both. It is a resolve taken once for all, but carried out in detail day by day. The first hour that the sap begins to withdraw, and the leaf-stalk begins to silt up, the leaf's fate is sealed: there is never a moment's reversal of the decision. Each day that follows is a steady carrying out of the plant's purpose: "this old leaf shall die, and the new leaf shall live." So with your soul. Come to the decision once for all: "every known sin shall go--if there is a deliverance to be had, I will have it." Put the Cross of Christ, in its mysterious delivering power, irrevocably between you and sinning, and hold on there. That is your part, and you must do it. There is no further progress possible to you, till you make up your mind to part company with every sin in which you know you are indulging--every sin of thought, word, or deed, every link with the world, the flesh, or the devil, everything on which the shadow of a question falls, as God's light shines in: to part company, not by a series of gradual struggles, but by an honest act of renouncing, maintained by faith and obedience. And as you make the decision up to your present knowledge, you must determine that this is henceforth your attitude towards all that is "not of the Father," as His growing light shall reveal it.
But is it just an act, or a gradual process, this "putting off the old self?" It’s both. It’s a decision made once for all, but it’s carried out in detail day by day. The moment the sap starts to retreat and the leaf's stem begins to clog, the leaf’s fate is sealed: there’s never a moment of reversing that decision. Each day that follows is a steady fulfillment of the plant's intention: "this old leaf will die, and the new leaf will thrive." The same goes for your soul. Make the decision once and for all: "every known sin must go—if there's a way to be free from it, I will take it." Place the Cross of Christ, with its mysterious, freeing power, irrevocably between you and sin, and hold firm there. That’s your responsibility, and you must follow through. There's no further progress for you until you decide to completely break away from every sin you know you’re indulging in—every sin of thought, word, or deed, every connection with the world, the flesh, or the devil, anything that raises a question in the light of God: to break away, not through a series of gradual struggles, but through a sincere act of renunciation, supported by faith and obedience. And as you make this decision based on what you currently understand, you must commit to making this your stance towards all that is "not of the Father," as His growing light reveals it.
From His side God will come in with a breath of His resurrection power; for the Cross and the empty tomb cannot be long divided. The law of the Spirit of Life can work now, as you deliberately loose hold of all clinging to sin; the expulsive power of His working within, and the play of His winds around, will make you "free indeed," like these young shoots when last year's leaves have fallen.
From His side, God will arrive with the breath of His resurrection power; the Cross and the empty tomb can't stay apart for long. The law of the Spirit of Life can operate now, as you intentionally let go of everything holding you back from sin; the powerful force of His work within you, combined with the movement of His winds around you, will set you "free indeed," like these young shoots when last year's leaves have fallen.
This brings us to the positive side; for when the sentence of death on the old nature is realised, the new nature can be manifested. Separation from all known sin is the starting-point for santification, not the goal: it is only the negative side of holiness; it is only reaching the place where God can develop His ideal in us unhindered. It is when the death of winter has done its work that the sun can draw out in each plant its own individuality, and make its existence full and fragrant. Holiness means something more than the sweeping away of the old leaves of sin: it means the life of Jesus developed in us.
This brings us to the positive aspect; because when we truly embrace the sentence of death on the old nature, the new nature can be revealed. Separating from all known sin is the starting point for sanctification, not the finish line: it’s just the negative aspect of holiness; it’s simply reaching the point where God can develop His ideal in us without any obstacles. It’s when the death of winter has done its job that the sun can bring out each plant's unique individuality and make its existence vibrant and fragrant. Holiness means more than just clearing away the old leaves of sin: it means the life of Jesus flourishing within us.
No matter if we feel utterly helpless before that lovely life of His. Given the conditions--the hidden power within, and the old outlets of growth shut off--the sun will do the rest; out of the midst of apparent lifelessness, of barrenness, of difficulty, the blossoms will be drawn forth. Do not let us "limit the Holy One of Israel" by putting off His power to work this miracle into a distant future. How hopeless the naked wood of a fruit tree would look to us in February if we had never seen the marvel of springtime! Yet the heavenly bloom bursts straight out, with hardly an intermediate step of new growth.
No matter how helpless we might feel compared to His beautiful life. Given the situation—the hidden strength within us, and the traditional paths of growth blocked off—the sun will take care of the rest; from what seems like lifelessness, barren ground, and challenges, blossoms will emerge. Let's not "limit the Holy One of Israel" by pushing His ability to create this miracle into the far-off future. Just think how hopeless the bare branches of a fruit tree would seem to us in February if we had never witnessed the wonder of spring! Yet the heavenly blooms burst forth directly, with hardly any intermediate stage of new growth.
Once allow the manifestation of His grace in these poor hearts of ours to be a miracle, and there is no need to defer it vaguely. How many of the wonders wrought by Christ on earth lay in concentrating the long processes of nature into a sudden act of power. The sick would, many of them, have been healed by degrees in the ordinary course of things; the lapse of years would have brought about the withering of the fig-tree; the storm would have spent itself in few hours. The miracle in each case consisted in the slow process being quickened by the Divine breath, and condensed into a moment.
Once we allow His grace to show itself in our hearts, it becomes a miracle, and there's no need to leave it undefined. Many of the wonders Jesus performed on earth involved transforming long processes in nature into a sudden display of power. The sick would have been healed over time under normal circumstances; the fig-tree would have withered over the years; the storm would have calmed down in a few hours. The miracle in each situation was that the slow process was accelerated by the Divine touch and condensed into a single moment.
Cannot we trust Him for like marvels in our souls? There, too, "a day is with the Lord as a thousand years." There is no needs be on His part that He should prolong this first act of makings us holy over the rest of our lives. A miracle--a wonder--is all that we need, and "He is the God, that doeth wonders." Satan is quite content that we should have faith for future sanctification, just as he was content that we should have faith for future salvation. It is when the soul rises to "here and now" that he trembles.
Can't we trust Him for similar wonders in our souls? After all, "a day is with the Lord as a thousand years." There's no reason for Him to extend this initial act of making us holy throughout the rest of our lives. A miracle—a wonder—is all we need, and "He is the God, that does wonders." Satan is perfectly fine with us having faith in future sanctification, just as he was okay with us having faith in future salvation. It’s when the soul embraces the "here and now" that he gets anxious.
Whatever is the next grace for your soul, can you believe for its supply at once, straight out from the dry, bare need? Christ's process is very simple and very swift: "Whatsoever things ye desire, when ye pray, believe that ye receive them, and ye shall have them."
Whatever the next blessing for your soul is, can you believe that you can receive it right away, directly from the dry, bare need? Christ's method is very straightforward and quick: "Whatever things you desire, when you pray, believe that you receive them, and you will have them."
And not only with the barrenness of our souls can God deal with His quickening breath, but with our difficulties as well: with those things in our surroundings that seem the most unfavourable.
And not only can God handle the emptiness of our souls with His life-giving breath, but He can also deal with our challenges: with the things in our environment that appear to be the most unfavorable.
See this bit of gorse-bush. The whole year round the thorn has been hardening and sharpening. Spring comes: the thorn does not drop off, and it does not soften; there it is, as uncompromising as ever; but half-way up appear two brown furry balls, mere specks at first, that break at last--straight out of last year's thorn--into a blaze of fragrant golden glory.
See this piece of gorse bush. All year round, the thorn has been hardening and sharpening. Spring arrives: the thorn doesn’t fall off, and it doesn’t soften; there it is, just as unforgiving as ever; but halfway up, two brown furry balls appear, tiny at first, that eventually burst—straight out of last year’s thorn—into a brilliant display of fragrant golden beauty.
See this bit of gorse-bush. The whole year round the thorn has been hardening and sharpening. Spring comes: the thorn does not drop off, and it does not soften; there it is, as uncompromising as ever; but half-way up appear two brown furry balls, mere specks at first, that break at last--straight out of last year's thorn--into a blaze of fragrant golden glory.
See this piece of gorse bush. All year long, the thorn has been hardening and sharpening. Spring arrives: the thorn doesn’t fall off, and it doesn’t soften; there it is, as tough as ever; but halfway up, two brown furry balls appear, just tiny spots at first, that eventually burst—directly out of last year’s thorn—into a brilliant display of fragrant golden beauty.
"Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them that are exercised thereby." Never mind if the trouble shews no sign of giving way: it is just when it seems most hopelessly unyielding, holding on through the spring days, alive and strong, it is then that the tiny buds appear that soon will clothe it with glory. Take the very hardest thing in your life--the place of difficulty, outward or inward, and expect God to triumph gloriously in that very spot. Just there He can bring your soul into blossom!
"Right now, no one enjoys being corrected; it feels tough and painful. But in the end, it produces a peaceful harvest of righteousness for those who learn from it." Don’t worry if the struggle shows no signs of easing up: it’s usually when things seem most hopeless, holding on through the spring days, alive and strong, that it’s then that the tiny buds appear that soon will decorate it with beauty. Take the toughest challenge in your life—the spot that’s hard, whether it’s outside or within, and anticipate that God will achieve something amazing right there. That’s where He can make your soul flourish!
And so the spring-time expands, till it passes once more into the shadow of Calvary. For the blessedness of receiving is not all that God has for us: a new world lies beyond--a world of giving: a giving first to God in surrender, then to man in sacrifice.
And so springtime unfolds until it once again enters the shadow of Calvary. Because the joy of receiving isn't everything God has for us: there's a new world ahead—a world of giving: first, giving to God in surrender, then to others in sacrifice.
A flower that stops short at its flowering misses its purpose. We were created for more than our own spiritual development; reproduction, not mere development, is the goal of matured being--reproduction in other lives. There is a tendency in some characters, running parallel to the high cultivation that spends its whole energy on the production of bloom at the expense of seed. The flowers that are bent on perfecting themselves, by becoming double, end in barrenness, and a like barrenness comes to the soul whose interests are all concentrated upon its own spiritual well-being, heedless of the needs around. The true, ideal flower is the one that uses its gifts as means to an end; the brightness and sweetness are not for its own glory; they are but to attract the bees and butterflies that will fertilise and make it fruitful. All may go when the work is done--"it is more blessed to give than to receive."
A flower that doesn’t fully bloom misses its purpose. We were meant for more than just our own spiritual growth; the aim of mature existence is reproduction, not just personal development—spreading our influence to other lives. Some people tend to focus their energy solely on their own growth, neglecting the need to create new life. Flowers that obsess over perfecting themselves often end up sterile, just like a soul that centers its interests only on personal spiritual wellness while ignoring the needs of others. The true, ideal flower is one that uses its gifts to achieve a greater purpose; its beauty and sweetness aren't for its own sake but are meant to attract the bees and butterflies that will help it thrive. Once the work is complete, all can fade—"it is more blessed to give than to receive."
And we ourselves are "saved to save"--we are made to give--to let everything go if only we may have more to give. The pebble takes in all the rays of light that fall on it, but the diamond flashes them out again: every little facet is a means, not simply of drinking more in, but of giving more out. The unearthly loveliness of the opal arises from the same process, carried on within the stone: the microscope shows it to be shattered through and through with numberless fissures that catch and refract and radiate every ray that they can seize.
And we are "saved to save"—we're meant to give—ready to let everything go just so we can have more to give. A pebble absorbs all the light that touches it, but a diamond reflects it back: every tiny facet serves not just to soak up more, but to release more. The incredible beauty of the opal comes from the same process happening inside the stone: a microscope reveals it to be shattered inside with countless tiny fissures that capture, refract, and radiate every ray they can grab.
Yes, there lies before us a beautiful possible life--one that shall have a passion for giving: that shall be poured forth to God--spent out for man: that shall be consecrated "for the hardest work and the darkest sinners." But how are we to enter in? How are we to escape from the self-life that holds us, even after the sin-life has loosed its grasp?
Yes, ahead of us is a beautiful possible life—one filled with a passion for giving: that will be offered to God—devoted to humanity: that will be dedicated "to the toughest challenges and the deepest sinners." But how do we get there? How do we break free from the self-centered life that holds us, even after we’ve let go of our sinful ways?
Back to the Cross: not only from the world of condemnation and from the world of sinning does it free us as we accept it, but from the power of outward things and from the thraldom of self: not only does it open the door into the world of acquittal, and again into that of holiness, but yet again into the new realm of surrender, and thence into that of sacrifice. For the essential idea of the Cross is a life lost to be found again in those around.
Back to the Cross: it frees us not only from the world of judgment and sin as we accept it, but also from the control of external things and from the bondage of self. It not only opens the door to a world of forgiveness and again to a world of holiness, but also into a new realm of surrender, and from there into the realm of sacrifice. The core idea of the Cross is a life given up to be rediscovered in those around us.
Let us look at God's picturing. As the plant develops there comes a fresh stage of yielding. At first it was only the dead, disfiguring leaves that had to go--now it is the fair new petals: they must fall, and for no visible reason--no one seems enriched by the stripping.
Let’s consider how God represents things. As the plant grows, a new stage of yielding emerges. Initially, it was just the dead, ugly leaves that needed to be removed—now it’s the beautiful new petals: they must drop, and for no obvious reason—no one appears to benefit from this shedding.
And the first step into the realm of giving is a like surrender--not manward, but Godward: an utter yielding of our best. So long as our idea of surrender is limited to the renouncing of unlawful things, we have never grasped its true meaning: that is not worthy of the name for "no polluted thing" can be offered.
And the first step into the world of giving is a kind of surrender—not to people, but to God: a complete giving up of our best. As long as we think of surrender as just giving up bad things, we haven't really understood its true meaning: that doesn’t even deserve the name because "no corrupted thing" can be offered.
The life lost on the Cross was not a sinful one--the treasure poured forth there was God-given, God-blessed treasure, lawful and right to be kept: only that there was the life of the world at stake!
The life sacrificed on the Cross was not a sinful one—the wealth that was given there was divinely bestowed, blessed by God, and was rightful to be valued: it was simply that the life of the world was at risk!
Look at this buttercup as it begins to learn its new lesson. The little hands of the calyx clasp tightly in the bud, round the beautiful petals; in the young flower their grasp grows more elastic--loosening somewhat in the daytime, but keeping the power of contracting, able to close in again during a rainstorm, or when night comes on. But see the central flower, which has reached its maturity. The calyx hands have unclasped utterly now--they have folded themselves back, past all power of closing again upon the petals, leaving the golden crown free to float away when God's time comes.
Look at this buttercup as it starts to learn its new lesson. The little hands of the calyx grip tightly around the beautiful petals; in the young flower, their hold becomes more flexible—loosening a bit during the day but still able to close up again during a rainstorm or when night falls. But notice the central flower, which has matured. The calyx hands have completely unclasped now—they’ve folded back, unable to close around the petals again, leaving the golden crown free to drift away when it's God's time.
Have we learned the buttercup's lesson yet? Are our hands off the very blossom of our life? Are all things--even the treasures that He has sanctified--held loosely, ready to be parted with, without a struggle, when He asks for them?
Have we figured out the lesson of the buttercup yet? Are we letting go of the very essence of our lives? Are all things—even the treasures that He has blessed—held lightly, prepared to be released without a fight when He asks for them?
It is not in the partial relaxing of grasp, with power to take back again, that this fresh victory of death is won: it is won when that very power of taking back is yielded; when our hands, like the little calyx hands of God's buttercups, are not only taken off, but folded behind our back in utter abandonment. Death means a loosened grasp--loosened beyond all power of grasping again.
It’s not by simply loosening our grip, holding on just enough to take back control, that this new victory of death is achieved; it’s achieved when we completely surrender that power of control. When our hands, like the delicate little hands of God’s buttercups, are not only released but folded behind our back in total surrender. Death represents a release—a release beyond any ability to grasp again.
And it is no strange thing that happens to us, if God takes us at our word, and strips us for a while of all that made life beautiful. It may be outward things--bodily comfort, leisure, culture, reputation, friendships--that have to drift away as our hands refuse to clasp on anything but God's will for us. Or it may be on our inner life that the stripping falls, and we have to leave the sunny lands of spiritual enjoyment for one after another of temptation's battlefields, where every inch of our foothold has to be tested, where even, it may seem to give way--till no experience, no resting-place remains to us in heaven or earth but God Himself--till we are "wrecked upon God."
And it's not unusual for us to experience this when God takes us at our word and temporarily removes everything that made life beautiful. It could be external things—comfort, leisure, culture, reputation, friendships—that we have to let go of as we refuse to hold onto anything but God's plan for us. Or it might be our inner life that gets stripped away, forcing us to leave the bright spaces of spiritual joy for one challenging temptation after another, where every step we take must be tested, where it might feel like we’re losing our grip—until we have nothing left to rely on in heaven or on earth but God Himself—until we are "wrecked upon God."
Have faith, like the flowers, to let the old things go. Earn His beatitude, His "Blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in Me"--"the beatitude of the trusting," as it has well been called--even if you have to earn it like John the Baptist in an hour of desolation. You have told Him that you want Him only. Are you ready to ratify the words when His emptying begins to come? Is God enough? Is it still "My God" that you cry, even as Jesus cried when nothing else was left Him?
Have faith, like the flowers, to let go of old things. Earn His blessing, His "Blessed is he, whoever shall not be offended in Me"—"the blessing of the trusting," as it has been aptly called—even if you have to earn it like John the Baptist in a moment of despair. You've told Him that you want Him only. Are you ready to confirm those words when His emptiness starts to unfold? Is God enough? Is it still "My God" that you cry out, just as Jesus did when nothing else remained?
Yes, practical death with Him to lawful things is just letting go, even as He on the Cross let go all but God. It is not to be reached by struggling for it, but simply by yielding as the body yields at last to the physical death that lays hold on it--as the dying calyx yields its flower. Only to no iron law with its merciless grasp do we let ourselves go, but into the hands of the Father: it is there that our spirit falls, as we are made conformable unto the death of Jesus.
Yes, practically dying with Him to lawful things is just letting go, just as He let go of everything but God on the Cross. It can't be achieved through struggle, but simply by surrendering, like the body finally gives in to the physical death that takes hold of it—like the dying bud releasing its flower. We don't just let ourselves go into some unforgiving law with its cruel grip, but into the hands of the Father: it is there that our spirit descends, as we become aligned with the death of Jesus.
Does all this seem hard? Does any soul, young in this life and in that to come, shrink back and say "I would rather keep in the springtime--I do not want to reach unto the things that are before if it must mean all this of pain."
Does all this seem difficult? Does anyone, young in this life and in the next, hesitate and say, "I would rather stay in springtime—I don’t want to face what’s ahead if it means all this pain."
To such comes the Master's voice: "Fear none of those things which thou shalt suffer": You are right to be glad in His April days while he gives them. Every stage of the heavenly growth in us is lovely to Him; He is the God of the daisies and the lambs and the merry child hearts! It may be that no such path of loss lies before you; there are people like the lands where spring and summer weave the year between them, and the autumn processes are hardly noticed as they come and go. The one thing is to keep obedient in spirit, then you will be ready to let the flower-time pass if He bids you, when the sun of His love has worked some more ripening. You will feel by then that to try to keep the withering blossoms would be to cramp and ruin your soul. It is loss to keep when God says 'give'.
To such comes the Master's voice: "Fear none of those things that you will suffer": You’re right to be happy during His April days while He gives them. Every stage of our spiritual growth is beautiful to Him; He is the God of the daisies, the lambs, and the joyful hearts of children! It may be that no such path of loss lies ahead for you; there are people like the lands where spring and summer flow smoothly into one another, and the autumn changes are barely noticed as they come and go. The important thing is to stay obedient in spirit, then you will be ready to let the flower-time pass if He asks you to, when the sun of His love has ripened you some more. By that time, you’ll realize that trying to hold onto the fading blossoms would only stifle and ruin your soul. It is a loss to keep when God says 'give'.
For here again death is the gate of life: it is an entering in, not a going forth only; it means a liberating of new powers as the former treasures float away like the dying petals.
For here again, death is the doorway to life: it's an entry point, not just an exit; it signifies the release of new energies while the old treasures drift away like fading petals.
We cannot feel a consciousness of death: the words are a contradiction in terms. If we had literally passed out of this world into the next we should not feel dead, we should only be conscious of a new wonderful life beating within us. Our consciousness of death would be an entirely negative matter--the old pains would be unable to touch us, the old bonds would be unable to fetter us. Our actual consciousness would have passed into the new existence: we should be independent of the old.
We can't truly be aware of death; those words don't make sense together. If we had really moved from this world to the next, we wouldn't feel dead; instead, we would only be aware of a new, fantastic life growing inside us. Our awareness of death would be completely negative—past pains wouldn't affect us, and old ties wouldn't hold us back. Our current awareness would have shifted to this new existence: we'd be free from the old.
And a like independence is the characteristic of the new flood of resurrection life that comes to our souls as we learn this fresh lesson of dying--a grand independence of any earthly thing to satisfy our soul, the liberty of those who have nothing to lose, because they have nothing to keep. We can do without anything while we have God. Hallelujah!
And this kind of independence is what defines the new wave of resurrection life that fills our souls as we grasp this new lesson of dying—a powerful freedom from needing anything earthly to satisfy us, the freedom of those who have nothing to lose because they have nothing to hold onto. We can get by without anything as long as we have God. Hallelujah!
Nor is this all. Look at the expression of abandonment about this wild-rose calyx as time goes on, and it begins to grow towards the end for which it has had to count all things but loss: the look of dumb emptiness has gone--it is flung back joyously now, for simultaneously with the new dying a richer life has begun to work at its heart--so much death, so much life--for
Nor is this all. Look at the expression of abandonment on this wild-rose calyx as time passes, and it starts to lean toward the end for which it has had to regard everything as a loss: the look of dumb emptiness is gone—it has been joyfully thrown back now, for along with the new dying, a richer life has begun to grow within it—so much death, so much life—for
The warp and woof of the world."
The lovely wild-rose petals that have drifted away are almost forgotten in the "reaching forth unto the things that are before:" the seed-vessel has begun to form: it is "yielded . . . to bring forth fruit."
The beautiful wild rose petals that have blown away are nearly forgotten in the "reaching forth unto the things that are before:" the seed pod has started to develop: it is "yielded . . . to bring forth fruit."
Yes, there is another stage to be developed in us after the lesson of absolute unquestioning surrender to God has been learnt. A life that has been poured forth to Him must find its crown, its completion, in being poured forth for man: it must grow out of surrender into sacrifice. "They first gave their own selves to the Lord, and unto us by the will of God."
Yes, there’s another stage we need to reach after we learn the lesson of completely surrendering to God. A life that has been dedicated to Him must find its fulfillment in serving others: it needs to evolve from surrender into sacrifice. "They first gave themselves to the Lord, and then to us by the will of God."
Back to the Cross once more: if there is any place where this fresh lesson can be learnt, it is there! "Hereby perceive we the love of God, because He laid down His life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brethren." It is the very love of Calvary that must come down into our souls, "Yea, if I be poured forth upon the service of your faith I joy and rejoice with you all:" so spoke the apostle who drank most deeply into the Master's spirit: and again--"Death worketh in us, but life in you." "Neither count I my life dear unto myself, that I may finish . . . the ministry."
Back to the Cross once again: if there's any place to learn this important lesson, it's there! "We know what love is because God laid down His life for us, and we should lay down our lives for our fellow believers." It’s the pure love from Calvary that needs to fill our hearts. "Indeed, if I am being poured out as a sacrifice for your faith, I am filled with joy and rejoice with all of you," said the apostle who truly embraced the Master's spirit. And again—"Death brings us suffering, but life to you." "I do not consider my life valuable to me, so that I can finish... the ministry."
Deeper and deeper must be the dying, for wider and fuller is the lifetide that it is to liberate--no longer limited by the narrow range of our own being, but with endless powers of multiplying in other souls. Death must reach the very springs of our nature to set it free: it is not this thing or that thing that must go now: it is blindly, helplessly, recklessly, our very selves. A dying must come upon all that would hinder God's working through us--all interests, all impulses, all energies that are "born of the flesh"--all that is merely human and apart from His Spirit. Only thus can the Life of Jesus, in its intensity of love for sinners, have its way in our souls.
Deeper and deeper must be the dying, for wider and fuller is the lifetide that it is to liberate--no longer limited by the narrow range of our own being, but with endless powers of multiplying in other souls. Death must reach the very springs of our nature to set it free: it is not this thing or that thing that must go now: it is blindly, helplessly, recklessly, our very selves. A dying must come upon all that would hinder God's working through us--all interests, all impulses, all energies that are "born of the flesh"--all that is merely human and apart from His Spirit. Only thus can the Life of Jesus, in its intensity of love for sinners, have its way in our souls.
This dandelion has long ago surrendered its golden petals, and has reached its crowning stage of dying--the delicate seed-globe must break up now--it gives and gives till it has nothing left.
This dandelion has long since lost its golden petals and has reached the peak of its life cycle—the fragile seed globe is about to burst—it keeps giving and giving until it has nothing left.
What a revolution would come over the world--the world of starving bodies at home--the world of starving souls abroad, if something like this were the standard of giving; if God's people ventured on "making themselves poor" as Jesus did, for the sake of the need around; if the "I"--"me"--"mine" were practically delivered up, no longer to be recognised when they clash with those needs.
What a revolution would take place in the world—the world of hungry people at home—the world of suffering souls abroad—if this kind of giving became the norm; if God’s people dared to “make themselves poor” like Jesus did, for the sake of those in need; if the “I”—“me”—“mine” were actually set aside, no longer acknowledged when they conflict with those needs.
The hour of this new dying is clearly defined to the dandelion globe: it is marked by detachment. There is no sense of wrenching: it stands ready, holding up its little life, not knowing when or where or how the wind that bloweth where it listeth may carry it away. It holds itself no longer for its own keeping, only as something to be given: a breath does the rest, turning the "readiness to will" into the "performance." (2 Cor. 8. 11.) And to a soul that through "deaths oft" has been brought to this point, even acts that look as if they must involve an effort, become something natural, spontaneous, full of a "heavenly involuntariness," so simply are they the outcome of the indwelling love of Christ.
The time for this new release is clearly set for the dandelion globe: it’s defined by letting go. There’s no feeling of struggle: it stands prepared, holding onto its small life, unaware of when, where, or how the wind that blows wherever it wants might carry it away. It no longer holds onto itself for its own sake, but as something to be given: a simple breath does the rest, transforming the "readiness to will" into the "action." (2 Cor. 8. 11.) And for a soul that has often faced "deaths" to reach this stage, even actions that seem like they must require effort become something natural, spontaneous, filled with a "heavenly involuntariness," so effortlessly are they the result of Christ’s abiding love.
Shall we not ask God to convict us, as to where lies the hindrance to this self-emptying? It is not alone mere selfishness, in its ordinary sense, that prevents it; long after this has been cleansed away by the Precious Blood there may remain, unrecognised, the self-life in more subtle forms. It may co-exist with much that looks like sacrifice; there may be much of usefulness and of outward self-denial, and yet below the surface may remain a clinging to our own judgment, a confidence in our own resources, an unconscious taking of our own way, even in God's service. And these things hold down, hold in our souls, and frustrate the Spirit in His working. The latent self-life needs to be brought down into the place of death before His breath can carry us hither and thither as the wind wafts the seeds. Are we ready for this last surrender?
Should we not ask God to show us what is blocking our self-emptying? It's not just ordinary selfishness that gets in the way; even after we've been cleansed by the Precious Blood, there might still be unnoticed aspects of self that linger in more subtle forms. These can coexist with many things that seem like sacrifice; there could be plenty of usefulness and outward self-denial, but underneath, we might still be holding on to our own judgment, relying on our own resources, or unconsciously following our own path, even in serving God. These things weigh down our souls and hinder the Spirit's work. The hidden self needs to be brought to its end before His breath can carry us wherever He wants, like the wind dispersing seeds. Are we prepared for this final surrender?
Do you ask "Does God really mean the emptying to reach so far as this?" Study the inner life of Jesus. "I speak not of Myself" He says. "I can of Mine own self do nothing." "I seek not Mine own will, but the will of Him that sent Me." His human self-life, sinless though it was, was laid down that He might live by the Father, and our self-life, defiled and worthless, shall we not lay it down that we may live by Him?
Do you wonder, "Does God really require this level of sacrifice?" Look at the inner life of Jesus. "I’m not speaking on my own," He says. "I can’t do anything by myself." "I don’t seek my own will, but the will of the One who sent me." His human life, though completely sinless, was surrendered so that He could live through the Father, and our flawed and worthless self-life—shouldn’t we surrender it too so that we can live through Him?
But how? Again not by struggling and wrestling, but by dying to it in Jesus. "I am crucified with Christ"--I myself in the very essence of my being, I let myself go to that death, and by the mysterious power with which God meets faith, I find that He has made it true: the bonds are loosed and He can have His way with me.
But how? Again, it’s not by fighting or struggling, but by surrendering to it in Jesus. "I am crucified with Christ"—I, at the core of my being, allow myself to embrace that death, and through the mysterious power that God uses to respond to faith, I discover that He has made it real: the chains are broken and He can guide me.
See in these wild iris-pods how the last tiny threads must be broken, and with that loosing, all that they have is free for God's use in His world around. All reluctance, all calculating, all holding in is gone; the husks are opened wide, the seeds can shed themselves unhindered. Again and again has a breaking come:--the seed broke to let go the shoot--the leaf-bud broke to let go the leaf, and the flower-bud to let go the flower--but all to no practical avail, if there is a holding back now. "Love is the fulfilling of the law," and sacrifice is the very life-breath of love. May God shew us every witholding thread of self that needs breaking still, and may His own touch shrivel it into death.
See in these wild iris pods how the last tiny threads must be broken, and with that release, everything they have is available for God's work in His world around us. All hesitation, all calculation, all holding back is gone; the shells are wide open, and the seeds can drop freely. Time and again there has been a breaking: the seed broke to let go of the shoot—the leaf bud broke to let go of the leaf, and the flower bud to let go of the flower—but it's all pointless if there's still holding back now. "Love is the fulfilling of the law," and sacrifice is the lifeblood of love. May God show us every part of ourselves that needs to be released, and may His own touch cause it to wither away.
See how this bit of oat-grass is emptying itself out. Look at the wide-openness with which the seed-sheaths loose all that they have to yield, and then the patient content with which they fold their hands--the content of finished work. "She hath done what she could." Oh, the depth of rest that falls on the soul when the voice of the Beloved speaks those words! Will they be said to us?
See how this piece of oat grass is letting go of everything. Look at the openness with which the seed sheaths release everything they have to offer, and then the patient satisfaction with which they fold their hands—the satisfaction of work completed. "She has done what she could." Oh, the profound peace that washes over the soul when the voice of the Beloved says those words! Will they be spoken to us?
The seed-vessel hopes for nothing again: it seeks only the chance of shedding itself: its purpose is fulfilled when the wind shakes forth the last seed, and the flower-stalk is beaten low by the autumn storms. It not only spends, but is "spent out" (R. V.) at last. It is through Christ's poverty that we are rich--"as poor" in their turn "yet making many rich" is the mark of those who follow His steps.
The seed pod doesn’t hope for anything anymore: it only wants the chance to let go of itself. Its purpose is complete when the wind shakes loose the final seed, and the flower stalk is brought down by the autumn storms. It not only gives everything, but is also "used up" (R. V.) in the end. It is through Christ's poverty that we become rich—"as poor" in their own way, "yet making many rich" is the characteristic of those who follow His path.
Are we following His steps; are we? How the dark places of the earth are crying out for all the powers of giving and living and loving that are locked up in hearts at home! How the waste places are pleading dumbly for the treasure that lies there in abundance, stored as it were in the seedvessels of God's garden that have not been broken, not emptied for His world, not freed for His use.
Are we walking in His footsteps; are we? The dark corners of the world are crying out for all the gifts of generosity, life, and love that are trapped in the hearts of those at home! The desolate places are silently begging for the wealth that exists in plenty, held like seeds in God's garden that haven't been shattered, haven't been shared for His world, and haven't been released for His purpose.
Shall we not free it all gladly.--It is not grudgingly or of necessity that the little caskets break up and scatter the seed, but with the cheerful giving that God loves. Have you ever noticed how often the emptied calyx grows into a diadem, and they stand crowned for their ministry as if they gloried in their power to give as the time draws near?
Shall we not gladly set it all free? It’s not out of reluctance or obligation that the little containers break open and spread the seed, but with the joyful giving that God loves. Have you ever noticed how often the emptied flower cup turns into a crown, and they stand adorned for their purpose as if they take pride in their ability to give as the moment approaches?
Even here in measure the faithfulness unto death and the crown of life go together: even here, if we suffer, we shall also reign with Him.
Even here, faithfulness to death and the crown of life go hand in hand: even here, if we suffer, we will also reign with Him.
It is when the sun goes out from our horizon to light up the dayspring in far-away lands, that the glory of the day comes on: it is in the autumn, when the harvest is gathered and the fruit is stored for the use of man, that the glow of red and gold touches and transfigures bush and tree with a beauty that the summer days never knew.
It’s when the sun sets beyond our horizon to brighten the dawn in distant places that the glory of the day appears: it’s in the autumn, when the harvest is collected and the fruit is stocked for people to use, that the warm shades of red and gold illuminate and transform the bushes and trees with a beauty that summer days never experienced.
So with us--The clear pure dawn of cleansing through the Blood--the sunrise gladness of resurrection life; the mid-day light and warmth of growth and service, all are good in their own order: but he who stops short there misses the crown of glory, before which the brightness of former days grows poor and cold. It is when the glow and radiance of a life delivered up to death begins to gather: a life poured forth to Jesus and for His sake to others--it is then that even the commonest things put on a new beauty, as in the sunset, for His life becomes "manifest in our mortal flesh;" a bloom comes on the soul like the bloom on the fruit as its hour of sacrifice arrives.
So with us--The clear, pure dawn of cleansing through the Blood--the joyful sunrise of resurrected life; the bright light and warmth of growth and service, all are good in their own way: but those who stop there miss out on the crown of glory, which makes the brightness of past days seem dull and lifeless. It’s when the glow and energy of a life given over to death starts to accumulate: a life dedicated to Jesus and, for His sake, to others--it’s then that even the simplest things take on a new beauty, like in the sunset, for His life becomes "evident in our mortal flesh;" a bloom appears on the soul like the bloom on fruit as its moment of sacrifice comes.
Oh, that we may learn to die to all that is of self with this royal joyfulness that swallows up death in victory in God's world around! He can make every step of the path full of the triumph of gladness that glows in the golden leaves. Glory be to His Name!
Oh, may we learn to let go of everything selfish with this royal joy that conquers death in victory in God's world around us! He can fill every step of our journey with the triumph of joy that shines in the golden leaves. Glory be to His Name!
And the outcome, like the outcome of the autumn, is this: there is, a new power set free; a power of multiplying life around. The promise to Christ was that because He poured forth His soul unto death, He should see His seed: and He leads His children in their little measure by the same road. Over and over the promise of seed is linked with sacrifice, as with Abraham and Rebekah and Ruth; those who at His bidding have forsaken all receive an hundred-fold more now in this time, for sacrifice is God's factor in His work of multiplying. "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone; but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit."
And the outcome, like the outcome of autumn, is this: a new power is unleashed; a power that multiplies life all around. The promise to Christ was that because He gave up His life for us, He would see His followers: and He guides His children, in their own way, along the same path. Time and time again, the promise of descendants is connected with sacrifice, as seen with Abraham, Rebekah, and Ruth; those who have followed His call to give up everything receive a hundred times more in this life, because sacrifice is God's way of multiplying His work. "Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it produces many seeds."
The reason is this:--that into the being that is ready to let the self-life go, God the Holy Ghost can come and dwell and work unfettered; and by that indwelling He will manifest within us His wonderful Divine power of communicating vitality--of reproducing the image of Jesus in souls around.
The reason is this: that in a person willing to let go of self-centeredness, God the Holy Spirit can come, dwell, and work freely; and through that presence, He will show us His amazing Divine power of communicating life—of reflecting the image of Jesus in the souls of those around us.
It is true that it is a rule that sometimes has exceptions: there are those to whom a blessed life of fruitfulness to God comes in a simple way, with seemingly no hard process of dying involved, just as there are plants that reproduce themselves by bulb and tuber, sucker and shoot, without going through the stripping and scattering that we have been watching. But the law of creation is "the herb yielding seed and the fruit-tree yielding fruit after its kind, whose seed is in itself." And let us count it all joy if this law is carried out in us.
It’s true that this is a rule that sometimes has exceptions: some people have a blessed life of being fruitful for God in a straightforward way, without the tough process of dying involved, just like certain plants that multiply through bulbs and tubers, suckers and shoots, without the stripping and scattering we’ve seen. But the law of creation is “the herb yielding seed and the fruit tree yielding fruit after its kind, whose seed is in itself.” And let’s consider it all joy if this law is fulfilled in us.
"If it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." Whether it is laid down in toil among the lost, or in travail of soul among His children that Christ be formed in them, either way there will be life brought forth.
"If it dies, it produces a lot of fruit." Whether it's sacrificed through hard work among the lost or through deep struggle for His children to have Christ formed in them, either way, new life will emerge.
It does not follow that every seed will spring up: it is not so in the natural world. The plant's business is to scatter it, not withholding, not knowing which shall prosper, either this or that, or whether they both shall be alike good; once scattered, the responsibility is transferred to the ground that receives it. But the aim of the plant--the goal of all the budding and blossoming and ripening--is that every seed should carry potential life.
It doesn't mean that every seed will grow: that's not how the natural world works. The plant's job is to spread its seeds, not to hold back, not knowing which ones will thrive—this one or that one—or if both will do equally well; once spread, the responsibility shifts to the soil that gets it. But the plant's purpose—the reason for all the budding, blooming, and ripening—is for each seed to have the potential for life.
Thus are we responsible, not for the tangible results of our ministry to others, but for its being a ministry in demonstration of the Spirit and of power, such a ministry as will make those around us definitely responsible to God for accepting or rejecting the fulness of His salvation. If so, the "signs following" will not be wanting. It will be to the one the savour of death unto death, and to the other the savour of life unto life, but "whether they will hear, or whether they will forbear, they shall know that there hath been a prophet among them."
Thus, we are responsible not for the actual outcomes of our ministry to others, but for ensuring that it is a ministry that demonstrates the Spirit and power. Such a ministry will hold those around us accountable to God for accepting or rejecting the fullness of His salvation. If that’s the case, the "signs following" will be present. It will be, for some, the smell of death leading to death, and for others, the smell of life leading to life. But "whether they will listen or refuse, they will know that a prophet has been among them."
But even when the plant's goal is reached, it is not a finality. "There is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning. Every ultimate fact is only the beginning of a new series."[2] "While the earth remaineth seed-time and harvest . . . shall not cease." Life leads on to new death, and new death back to life again. Over and over when we think we know our lesson, we find ourselves beginning another round of God's Divine spiral: "in deaths oft" is the measure of our growth, "always delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh."
But even when the plant's goal is reached, it isn't the end. "There is no end in nature, but every end is a beginning. Every ultimate fact is just the starting point for a new series."[2] "While the earth remains, there will be seed-time and harvest . . . shall not cease." Life leads to new death, and new death leads back to life again. Over and over, when we think we've learned our lesson, we find ourselves starting another cycle of God's Divine spiral: "in deaths oft" is the measure of our growth, "always delivered unto death for Jesus' sake, that the life also of Jesus might be made manifest in our mortal flesh."
This bit of sphagnum shows the process in miniature: stage after stage of dying has been gone through, and each has been all the while crowned with life. Each time that the crown has sunk down again into death, that death has again been crowned in the act of dying: and the life all the time is the apparent thing: the daily dying that underlies it is out of sight to the passing glance.
This piece of sphagnum illustrates the process on a small scale: each stage of dying has occurred, and each has been simultaneously topped with life. Whenever the crown has once more descended into death, that death has also been marked by the act of dying: and throughout it all, life stands out as the visible aspect; the constant dying underneath is hidden from a casual look.
Yes, life is the uppermost, resurrection life, radiant and joyful and strong, for we represent down here Him who liveth and was dead and is alive for evermore. Stress had to be laid in these pages on the death gateway, but a gateway is never a dwelling-place; the death-stage is never meant for our souls to stay and brood over, but to pass through with a will into the light beyond. We may and must, like the plants, bear its marks, but they should be visible to God rather than to man, for above all and through all is the inflowing, overflowing life of Jesus: oh let us not dim it by a shadow of morbidness or of gloom: He is not a God of the dead, but a God of the living, and He would have us let the glory of His gladness shine out.
Yes, life is the ultimate, resurrected life—radiant, joyful, and strong—because we represent here Him who lived, died, and is alive forever. It's important to highlight the gateway of death in these pages, but a gateway is never a place to live; the stage of death isn’t meant for our souls to linger and dwell upon, but to pass through willingly into the light beyond. We can and should, like plants, show its marks, but they ought to be visible to God rather than to people, because over everything is the inflowing, overflowing life of Jesus: oh, let us not dampen it with shadows of negativity or gloom. He is not a God of the dead, but a God of the living, and He wants us to let the brilliance of His joy shine through.
Think of the wonder of it--the Fountain of Life Himself wells up within us, taking the place of all that we have delivered, bit by bit, into His grave. "I live, yet not I, but Christ liveth in me." Little have we proved, any of us, the resources that lie in that mighty indwelling, little have we learnt what it is to have all our soul-fibres penetrated by its power. May God lead us, no matter what the cost, into all that can be known of it, here on earth.
Think about the amazing reality of it—the Fountain of Life Himself flows within us, replacing everything we have gradually given over to His grave. "I live, yet not I, but Christ lives in me." We have barely tapped into the resources that come from that powerful presence; we have little understanding of what it means for every part of our being to be filled with its strength. May God guide us, no matter the cost, into all that can be experienced of it, here on earth.
And the results need not end with our earthly days. Should Jesus tarry our works will follow us. The closing in of the signs around us make it seem as if we should not taste of death, and as if the time left us to work and suffer for Him were growing very short; but if that last gate has to be passed before our spirits are sent free into the land of perfect life, God may use, by reason of the wonderful solidarity of His Church, the things that He has wrought in us, for the blessing of souls unknown to us: as these twigs and leaves of bygone years, whose individuality is forgotten, pass on vitality still to the new-born wood-sorrel. God only knows the endless possibilities that lie folded in each one of us!
And the results don’t have to end with our time on earth. If Jesus delays His return, our good deeds will follow us. The signs around us make it feel like we might not experience death, and that our time to work and suffer for Him is running out; however, if we have to pass through that final gate before our spirits are released into the realm of complete life, God might use, because of the incredible unity of His Church, the things He has accomplished in us, to bless souls we don’t even know about: just like these twigs and leaves from years past, whose individual identities are forgotten, still pass on life to the new-born wood-sorrel. Only God knows the endless possibilities contained within each of us!
Shall we not let Him have His way? Shall we not go all lengths with Him in His plans for us--not, as these "green things upon the earth" in their unconsciousness, but with the glory of free choice? Shall we not translate the story of their little lives into our own?
Shall we not let Him have His way? Shall we not go all the way with Him in His plans for us—not like these "green things upon the earth" in their unawareness, but with the glory of free choice? Shall we not turn the story of their little lives into our own?
For all their teaching of surrender and sacrifice is no fanciful mysticism; it is a simple reality that can be tested at every turn--nay, that must be so tested. If we are apprehending Christ's death in its delivering power, our homes will not be slow to find it out.
For all their lessons on surrender and sacrifice, it’s not some fanciful mysticism; it's a straightforward reality that can be proven at every turn—indeed, it must be proven. If we truly understand Christ's death and its saving power, our homes will quickly notice it.
O Jesus the Crucied I will follow Thee in thy path. Inspire me for the next step, whether it leads down into the shadow of death or up into the light. Surely in what place my Lord the King shall be, whether in death or life, even there also will thy servant be.
O Jesus the Crucified, I will follow You on Your path. Inspire me for the next step, whether it leads down into the shadow of death or up into the light. Surely wherever my Lord the King is, whether in death or life, there also will Your servant be.
Transcriber's note: Footnotes have been numbered for ease of reference.
Transcriber's note: Footnotes have been numbered for easy reference.
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