Matthew 11:28-30

The Meek and Lowly One and Rest, Rest

The Meek and Lowly One

July 31st, 1859

by

C. H. SPURGEON

"Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you

rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in

heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my

burden is light."-- Matthew 11:28-30 .

The single sentence which I have selected for my text consists of these

words:--"I am meek and lowly in heart." These words might be taken to

have three distinct bearings upon the context. They may be regarded as

being the lesson to be taught: "Learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in

heart." One great lesson of the gospel is to teach us to be meek--to put

away our high and angry spirits, and to make us lowly in heart.

Peradventure, this is the meaning of the passage-- that it we will but

come to Christ's school, he will teach us the hardest of all lessons,--how

to be meek and lowly in heart. Again; other expositors might consider

this sentence to signify, that is the only Spirit in which a man can learn

of Jesus,-- the Spirit which is necessary if we would become Christ's

scholars. We can learn nothing, even of Christ himself, while we hold

our heads up with pride, or exalt ourselves with self-confidence. We

must be meek and lowly in heart, otherwise we are totally unfit to be

taught by Christ. Empty vessels may be filled; but vessels that are full

already can receive no more. The man who knows his own emptiness

can receive abundance of knowledge, and wisdom, and grace, from

Christ; but he who glories in himself is not in a fit condition to receive

anything from God. I have no doubt that both of these interpretations

are true, and might be borne out by the connection. It is the lesson of

Christ's school--it is the spirit of Christ's disciples. But I choose, rather,

this morning, to regard these words as being a commendation of the

Teacher himself. "Come unto me and learn; for I am meek and lowly in

heart." As much as to say, "I can teach, and you will not find it hard to

learn of me."

In fact, the subject of this morning's discourse is briefly this: the

gentle, lovely character of Christ should be a high and powerful inducement

to sinners to come to Christ. I intend so to use it: first of all, noticing

the two qualities which Christ here claims for himself. He is "meek;" and

then he is "lowly in heart;" and after we have observed these two things, I

shall come to push the conclusion home. Come unto him, all ye that are

labouring and are heavy laden; come unto him, and take his yoke upon you;

for he is meek and lowly in heart.

I. First, then, I am to consider THE FIRST QUALITY WHICH JESUS CHRIST

CLAIMS. He declares that he is "MEEK."

Christ is no egotist; he takes no praise to himself. If ever he utters a

word in self-commendation, it is not with that object; it is with another

design, namely that he may entice souls to come to him. Here, in order

to exhibit this meekness, I shall have to speak of him in several ways.

1. First, Christ is meek, as opposed to the ferocity of spirit manifested

by zealots and bigots. Take, for a prominent example of the opposite of

meekness, the false prophet Mahomet. The strength of his cause lies in

the fact, that he is not meek. He presents himself before those whom he

claims as disciples, and says, "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of

me, for I am neither meek, nor lowly in heart; I will have no patience

with you; there is my creed, or there is the scimitar-- death or

conversion, whichever you please." The moment the Ma- hometan

religion withdrew that very forcible argument of decapitation or

impalement, it stayed in its work of conversion, and never progressed;

for the very strength of the false prophet lays in the absence of any

meekness.

How opposite this is to Christ! Although he hath a right to demand man's

love and man's faith, yet he comes not into the world to demand it with fire

and sword. His might is under persuasion; his strength is quiet forbearance,

and patient endurance; his mightiest force is the sweet attraction of

compassion and love. He knoweth nothing of the ferocious hosts of Mahomet;

he bids none of us draw our sword to propagate the faith, but saith, "Put up

thy sword into its scabbard; they that take the sword shall perish by the

sword." "My kingdom is not of this world, else might my servants fight."

Nay, Mahomet is not the only instance we can bring; but even good men are

subject to the like mistakes. They imagine that religion is to be spread by

terror and thunder. Look at John himself, the most lovely of all the

disciples: he would call fire from heaven on a village of Samaritans,

because they rejected Christ. Hark to his hot enquiry,--"Wilt thou that we

command fire to come down from heaven and consume them?" Christ's disciples

were to him something like the sons of Zeruiah to David; or when

Shimei mocked David, the sons of Zeruiah said, "Why should this dead

dog curse my lord the king? let me go over, I pray thee, and take off his

head." But David meekly said, "What have I to do with you, ye sons of

Zeruiah? "--and put them aside. He had something of the spirit of his

Master; he knew that his honour was not then to be defended by sword

or spear. O blessed Jesus! thou hast no fury in thy spirit; when men

rejected thee thou didst not draw the sword to smite, but, on the

contrary, thou didst yield thine eyes to weeping. Behold your Saviour,

disciples, and see whether he was not meek. He had long preached in

Jerusalem without effect, and at last he knew that they were ready to

put him to death; but what saith he, as, standing on the top of the hill,

he beheld the city that had rejected his gospel?

Did he invoke a curse upon it? Did he suffer one word of anger to leap from

his burning heart? Ah! no; there were flames, but they were those of love;

there were scalding drops, but they were those of grief. He beheld the city,

and wept over it, and said, "O Jerusalem, Jerusalem, how often would I

have gathered thy children together, as a hen gathereth her chickens

under her wings, and ye would not." And for a further proof of the

absence of all uncharitableness, observe that, even when they drove the

nails into his blessed hands, yet he had no curse to breathe upon them,

but his dying exclamation was, "Father, forgive them, for they know

not what they do." O sinners! see what a Christ it is that we bid you

serve. No angry bigot, no fierce warrior, claiming your unwilling faith:

he is a tender Jesus. Your rejection of him has made his bowels yearn

over you; and though you abhor his gospel, he has pleaded for you,

saying, "Let him alone yet another year, till I dig about him;

peradventure he may yet bring forth fruit." What a patient master is he!

Oh! will you not serve him!

2. But the idea is not brought out fully, unless we take another sense.

There is a sternness which cannot be condemned. A Christian man will

often feel him self called to bear most solemn and stern witness against

the error of his times, But Christ's mission, although it certainly did

testify against the sin of his times, yet had a far greater reference to the

salvation of the souls of men. To show the idea that I have in my own

mind, which I have not yet brought out, I must picture Elijah. What a

man was he! His mission was to be the bold unflinching advocate of the

right, and to bear a constant testimony against the wickedness of his

age. And how boldly did he speak! Look at him: how grand the picture!

Can you not conceive him on that memorable day, when he met Ahab,

and Ahab said, "Hast thou found me, O mine enemy?" Do you mark

that mighty answer which Elijah gave him, while the king trembles at

his words. Or, better still, can you picture the scene when Elijah said,

"Take you two bullocks, ye priests, and build an altar, and see this day,

whether God be God or Baal be God." Do you see him as he mocks the

worshippers of Baal, and with a biting irony says to them, "Cry aloud,

for he is a god." And do you see him in the last grand scene, when the

fire has come down from heaven, and consumed the sacrifice, and

licked up the water, and burned the altar? Do you hear him cry, "Take

the prophets of Baal; let not one escape?" Can you see him in his might

hewing them in pieces by the brook, and making their flesh a feast for

the fowls of heaven? Now, you cannot picture Christ in the same

position He had the stern qualities of Elijah, but he kept them, as it

were, behind, hike sleeping thunder, that must not as yet waken and lift

up its voice. There were some rumblings of time tempest, it is true,

when he spoke so sternly to the Sadducees, and Scribes, and Pharisees;

those woes were like murmurings of a distant storm, but it was a distant

storm; whereas, Elijah lived in the midst of the whirlwind itself, and

was no still small voice, but was as the very fire of God, and hike the

chariot in which he mounted to heaven-- fit chariot for such a fiery

man! Christ here stands in marked contrast. Picture him in somewhat a

like position to Elijah with Ahab. There is Jesus left alone with an

adulterus woman. She has been taken in the very fact. Her accusers are

present, ready to bear witness against her.

By a simple sentence he emptied the room of every witness; convicted by

their conscience they all retire. And now what does Christ say? The woman

might have lifted her eyes, and have looked at him, and said, "Hast thou

found me O mine enemy? "--for she might have regarded Christ as the enemy of

so base a sin as that which she had committed against her marriage bed.

But instead thereof Jesus said, "Doth no man condemn thee? Neither do

I condemn thee; go and sin no more." Oh, how different from the

sternness or Elijah! Sinners! if I had to preach Elijah as your Saviour I

should feel that I had a hard task, for you might throw it in my teeth--

"Shall we come to Elijah? He will call fire from heaven on us, as he did

upon the captains and their fifties. Shall we come to Elijah? Surely he

will slay us, for we have been like the prophets of Baal?" Nay, sinners;

but I bid you come to Christ. Come to him, who, although he hated sin

more than Elijah could do, yet nevertheless, loved the sinner--who,

though he would not share iniquity, yet spares the transgressors, and

has no words but those of love and mercy, and peace and comfort, for

those of you who will now come and put your trust in him.

I must put in a word here by way of caveat. I am very far from

imputing, for a single moment, any blame to Elijah. He was quite right.

None but Elijah could have fulfilled the mission which his Master gave

him. He needed to be all he was, and certainly not less stern; but Elijah

was not sent to be a Saviour; he was quite unfit for that. He was sent to

administer a stern rebuke. He was God's iron tongue of threatening, not

God's silver tongue of mercy. Now, Jesus is the silver tongue of grace.

Sinners! hear the sweet bells ringing, as Jesus now invites you to come

unto him. "Come unto me, all ye that are weary and heavy laden;' for I

am not stern, I am not harsh, I am no fire- killing Elijah; I am the meek,

tender, lowly-hearted Jesus."

3. Christ is meek in heart. To exhibit this quality in another light, call

to your minds Moses. Moses was the meekest of men; and yet Christ far

excels Moses in his meekness. Around Moses there seems to be a hedge, a ring

of fire. The character of Moses is like Mount Sinai; it hath bounds set

about it, so that one cannot draw near unto him. Moses was not an

approachable person, he was quiet and meek, and tender, but there was a

sacred majesty about the King in Jeshurun that hedged his path, so that we

cannot imagine the people making themselves familiar with him. Whoever read

of Moses sitting down upon a well, and talking to a harlot like the woman of

Samaria? Whoever heard a story of a Magdalene washing the feet of Moses? Can

ye conceive Moses eating bread with a sinner, or passing under a sycamore

tree, and calling Zaccheus, the thievish publican, and bidding him come

down? There is a kind of stately majesty in Moses, no mere affectation of

standing alone, but a loneliness of superior worth. Men looked up to him as

to some cloud-capped mountain, and despaired of being able to enter into

the lofty circle, within which they might have communed with him.

Moses always had in spirit what he once had in visible token; he had a

glory about his brow, and before he could converse with men he must

wear a veil, for they could not bear to look upon the face of Moses. But

how different is Jesus! He is a man among men; wherever he goes no

one is afraid to speak to him. You scarcely meet with any one who

dares not approach him. There is a poor woman, it is true, who hath the

flux, and she fears to come near him, because she is ceremonially

unclean; but even she can come behind him in the press, and touch the

hem of his garment, and virtue goeth Out of him. Nobody was afraid of

Jesus.

The mothers brought their little babes to him: whoever heard of

their doing that to Moses? Did ever babe get a blessing of Moses? But

Jesus was all meekness--the approachable man, feasting with the

wedding guests, sitting down with sinners, conversing with the unholy

and the unclean, touching the leper, and making himself at home with

all men. Sinners! this is the one we invite you to--this homely man,

Christ. Not to Moses, for you might say, "He hath horns of light, and

how shall I draw near to his majesty ! He is bright perfection--the very

lightnings of Sinai rest upon his brow." But sinners, ye cannot say that

of Christ. He is as holy as Moses--as great, and far greater, but he is still

so homely that ye may come to him. Little children, ye may put your

trust in him. Ye may say your little prayer,

"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,

Look on me, a little Child;

Pity my simplicity,

Suffer me to come to thee."

He will not cast you away, or think you have intruded on him. Ye

harlots, ye drunkards, ye feasters, ye wedding guests, ye may all come;

"This man receiveth sinners, and eateth with them." He is "meek and

lowly in heart." That gives, I think, a still fuller and broader sense to the

term, "meek."

4. But yet, to push the term a little further. Christ on earth was a king;

but there as nothing about him of the exclusive pomp of kings, which

excludes the common people from their society. Look at the Eastern

king Ahasuerus, sitting on his throne. He is considered by his people as

a superior being. None may come in unto the king, unless he is called

for. Should he venture to pass the circle, the guards will slay him,

unless the king stretches out the golden sceptre. Even Esther, his

beloved wife, is afraid to draw near, and must put her life in her hand, if

she comes into the presence of the king uncalled. Christ is a king; but

where his pomp? Where the Janitor that keeps his door, and thrusts

away the poor? Where the soldiers that ride on either side of his chariot

to screen the monarch from the gaze of poverty? See thy King, O Sion!

He comes, he comes in royal pomp! Behold, Judah, behold thy King

cometh! But how cometh he? "Meek and lowly, riding upon an ass, and

upon a colt, the foal of an ass." And who are his attendants? See, the

young children, boys and girls! They cry, "Hosannah! Hosannah!

Hosannah!" And who are they that wait upon him? His poor disciples.

They pull the branches from the trees; they cast their garments in the

street, and there he rideth on-- Judah's royal King. His courtiers are the

poor; his pomp is that tribute which grateful hearts delight to offer. O

sinners, will you not come to Christ? There is nothing in him to keep

you back. You need not say, like Esther did of old," I will go in unto

the king, if I perish I perish. Come, and welcome! Come, and welcome!

Christ is more ready to receive you than you are to come to him. Come

to the King! "What is thy petition, and what is thy request? It shall be

done unto thee." If thou stayest away, it is not because he shuts the

door, it is because thou wilt not come. Come, filthy, naked, ragged,

poor, lost, ruined, come, just as thou art. Here he stands, like a fountain

freely opened for all comers. "Whosoever will, let him come and take

of the waters of life freely."

5. I will give you but one more picture to set forth the meekness of

Christ, and I think I shall not have completed the story without it. The

absence of all selfishness from the character of Christ, makes one

ingredient of this precious quality of his meekness. You remember the

history of Jonah. Jonah is sent to prophecy against Nineveh; but he is

selfish. He will not go for he shall get no honour by it. He does not

want to go so long a journey for so small a price. He will not go. He

will take a ship and go to Tarshish. He is thrown out into the sea,

swallowed by a fish, and vomited by it upon dry land. He goes away to

Nineveh, and not wanting courage, he goes through its streets, crying,

"Yet forty days, and Nineveh shall be overthrown." That one man's

earnest cry moves the city from one end to the other. The king

proclaims a first; the people mourn in sackcloth and confess their sins.

God sends them tidings of mercy, and they are spared. But what will

Jonah do? Oh, tell it not, ye heavens; let none hear it--that ever a

prophet of God could do the like! He sits himself down, and he is angry

with God. And why his anger? Because, says he, "God has not

destroyed that city." If God had destroyed the city he would have

shouted over the ruins, because his reputation would have been safe;

but now that the city is saved, and his own reputation for a prophet

tarnished, he must needs sit down in anger. But Christ is the very

reverse of this. Sinners! Christ does thunder at you sometimes, but it is

always that he may bring you to repentance. He does take Jonah's cry,

and utter it far more mightily than Jonah could; he does warn you that

there is a fire that never can be quenched, and a worm that dieth not;

but if you turn to him, will he sit down and be angry? Oh! no; methinks

I see him. There you come poor prodigals; your father falls upon your

neck and kisses you, and you are accepted, and a feast is made. Here

comes the elder brother, Jesus. What does he say? Is he angry because

you are saved? Ah! no! "My Father," saith he, "my younger brother

have all come home, and I love them; they shall share my honours; they

shall sit upon my throne; they shall share my heaven." "Where I am,

there they shall be also." I will take them into union with myself, and as

they have wasted their inheritance, all that I have shall be their's for

ever. Oh! come home, prodigal, there is no angry brother and no angry

father. Come back, come back, my brother, my wandering brother, I

invite thee; for Jesus is rejoiced to receive thee. Do you not see, then,

that the meekness of Christ is a sweet and blessed reason why we

should come to him?

II. The second virtue which Christ claims for himself, is LOWLINESS OF

HEART.

When I looked this passage out in the original, I half wondered how it

was that Christ found such a sweet word for the expression of his

meaning; for the Greeks, do not know much about humility, and they

have not a very good word to set forth this idea of lowliness of heart. I

find that if this passage stood in another connection, the word might

even be interpreted "degraded, debased," for the Greeks thought that if

a man was humble, he degraded himself--that if he stooped, he debased

himself right out. "Well," says Christ, "if you think so, so be it, and he

takes the word. The word means, "near the ground." So is Christ's heart.

We cannot be so low that he will not stoop to reach us. I would just set

out the lowliness of Christ's heart in this way. Christ is "lowly in heart;"

that is, he is willing to receive the poorest sinner in the world. The

pharisee thought that the keeper of the gate of heaven would admit only

the rich, and not the poor. Mark Christ's teaching. There were two came

to the gate once upon a time; one was clothed in purple and fine linen,

and fared sumptuously every day; he knocked, and thought that full

sure he must enter; but "in hell he lift up his eyes being in torments."

There came another, borne on angel's wings. It was a beggar, whose

many sores the dogs had licked and he had not so much as to knock at

the gate, for the angel's carried him straight away into the very centre of

paradise, and laid him in Abraham's bosom. Jesus Christ is willing to

receive beggars into his bosom. Kings, you know, condescend, when

they permit even the rich to be presented to them, and the kissing of a

monarch's hand is something very wonderful indeed, but to have the

kisses of his lips who is the King of kings, is no uncommon thing for

men that are shivering in rags, or that are sick upon miserable beds, in

dingy attics. Christ is "lowly in heart;" he goes with what men call the

vulgar herd; he hath nothing of affected royalty about him--he hath a

nobler royalty than that, the royalty that is too proud to think anything

of a stoop, that can only measure itself by its own intrinsic excellence,

and not by its official standing. He receiveth the lowest, the meanest,

the vilest, for he is "lowly in heart." If I have among my congregation

some of the poorest of the poor, let them come away to Christ, and let

them not imagine that their poverty need keep them back. I am always

delighted when I see a number of women here from the neighbouring

workhouse. I bless God that there are some in the workhouse that are

willing to come; and though they have sometimes been put to a little

inconvenience by so doing, yet I have known them sooner give up their

dinner than give up coming to hear the Word. God bless the workhouse

women, and may they be led to Christ, for be is meek and lowly in heart, and

will not reject them. I must confess also, I like to see a smock frock here

and there in the midst of the congregation. Oh! what a mercy, that in the

palace of the Great King there shall be found these workmen, these blouses,

They shall be made partakers of the kingdom of God. He makes no difference

between prince and pauper; he takes men to heaven just as readily from the

workhouse, as from the palace.

Further, this lowliness of heart in Christ leads him to receive the most

ignorant as well as the learned to himself. I know that sometimes poor

ignorant people get a notion in their heads that they cannot be saved,

because they cannot read and do not know much. I have sometimes,

especially in country villages, received this answer, when I have been

asking anything about personal religion. "Well, you know, sir, I never

had any learning." Oh! but, ye unlearned, is this a reason why ye should

stay away from him who is lowly in heart? It was said of an old Greek

philosopher, that he wrote over his door, "None but the learned may

enter here." But Christ, on the contrary, writes over his door, "He that is

simple let him turn in hither." There are many great men with long

handles to their names who know little of the gospel, while some of the

poor unlettered ones spell out the whole secret, and become perfect

masters in divinity. If they had degrees who deserve them, diplomas

should often be transferred, and given to those who hold the plough

handle or work at the carpenter's bench; for there is often more divinity

in the little finger of a ploughman than there is in the whole body of

some of our modern divines. "Don't they understand divinity?" you say.

Yes, in the letter of it; but as to the spirit and life of it, D.D. often

means DOUBLY DESTITUTE.

The lowliness of Christ may be clearly seen in yet another point of

view. He is not only willing to receive the poor, and to receive the

ignorant, but he is also ever ready to receive men, despite the vileness

of their characters. Some teachers can stoop, and freely too, to both

poor and ignorant; but they cannot stoop to the wicked. I think we have

all felt a difficulty here. "However poor a man may be, or however little

he knows," you say, "I don't mind talking with him, and trying to do

him good; but I cannot talk with a man who is a rogue or a vagabond,

or with a woman who has lost her character." I know you cannot; there

are a great many things Christ did which we cannot do. We, who are the

servants of Christ, have attempted to draw a line where duty has its

bound. Like the domestic servant in some lordly mansion who stoops

not to menial employment. We are above our work. We are so fastidious, that

we cannot go after the chief of sinners, and the vilest of the vile. Not so,

Christ. "He receiveth sinners and eateth with them."

He, in the days of his flesh, became familiar with the outcasts. He

sought them out that he might save them; he entered their homes; he

found his way into the slums. like some diligent officer of the police, he

was willing to lodge where they lodged, eat at their table, and associate

with their class to find them out. His mission was to seek as well as to

save. Oh, see him stand, with arms wide open! Will that thief, who is

justly executed for his crimes, be recognized by him? Yes, he will.

There, with his arms outstretched, he hangs; the thief flies as it were to

his bosom, and Jesus gives him a most blessed embrace. "To-day shalt

thou be with me in Paradise." Christ has received the thief with open

heart and open arms too. And there is Mary. Do you see her? She is

washing the feet of Jesus. Why, she is a bad character, one of the worst

women on the town. What will Christ say? Say? Why, hear how he

speaks to Simon, the pious, reputable Pharisee. Saith he, after putting

the parable concerning the two debtors, "which of them shall love him

most?"--and then he explains that this woman hath had much forgiven,

and therefore she loves him much. "Thy sins, which are many, are all

forgiven," saith he, and she goes her way in peace. There are many men

you and I would not demean ourselves to notice, that Christ will take to

heaven at last; for he is "lowly in heart." He takes the base, the vilest,

the scum, the offscouring, the filth, the garbage of the world, and out of

such stuff and matter as that, he buildeth up a holy temple, and

gathereth to himself trophies for his honour and praise.

And further, while I speak of the lowliness of Christ's heart, I must

remark another thing. Perhaps one is saying here, "Oh! sir, it is not

what I have been, as to my conduct, that keeps me back from Christ; but I

feel that what I am as to my nature restrains me; I am such a dolt, I shall

never learn in his school I am such a hard-hearted one, he will never melt

me, and if he does save me, I shall never be worth his having. Yes, but

Christ is "lowly in heart." There are some great goldsmiths that of course

can only think of preparing and polishing the choicest diamonds; but Jesus

Christ polishes a common pebble, and makes a jewel of it. Goldmsiths make

their precious treasures out of precious materials; Christ makes his

precious things out of dross. He begins always with bad material. The palace

of our king is not made of cedar wood, as Solomon's, or if it be made of

wood, certainly he has chosen the knottiest trees and the knottiest planks

wherewith to build his habitation. He has taken those to he his scholars who

were the greatest dunces; so amazing is the lowliness of Christ's heart. He

sits down on the form with us to teach us the A,B,C, of repentance, and if

we are slow to learn it he begins again, and takes us through our

alphabet, and if we forget it he will often teach us our letters over again;

for though he is able to teach the angels, yet he condescends to instruct

babes, and as we go step by step in heavenly literature, Christ is not

above teaching the elements. He teaches not only in the University, and

the Grammar-school, where high attainments are valued, but he teaches

in the day-school, where the elements and first principles are to be

instilled. It is he who teaches the sinner, what sinner means in deep

conviction, and what faith means in holy assurance. It is not only he

who takes us to Pisgah, and bids us view the promised land, but it is he

also who takes us to Calvary, and makes us learn that simplest of all

things, the sacred writing of the cross. He, if I may use such a phrase,

will not only teach us how to write them highly ornamental writing of

the Eden Paradise, the richly gilded, illuminated letters of communion

and fellowship, but he teaches us how to make the pot-hooks amid

hangers of repentance and faith. he begins at the beginning; for he is

"meek and lowly in heart." Come, then, ye dolts, ye fools; come ye

sinners, ye vile ones; come, ye dullest of all scholars, ye poor, ye

illiterate, ye who are rejected and despised of men; come to him who

was rejected and despised as well as you. Come and welcome! Christ

bids you come!

"Let not conscience make you linger;

Nor of fitness fondly dream;

All the fitness he requireth,

Is to feel your need of him:

This he gives you;

'Tis his Spirit's rising beam.

Come, poor sinners! come to a gentle Saviour! and you shall never regret

that you came to him.

III. Having thus spoken on the two marks of our Lord's character, I

propose to conclude, if God shall help me, by knocking home the nail,

by driving in the wedge, and pressing upon you a conclusion from

these arguments. The conclusion of the whole matter is this, since

Christ is "meek and lowly in heart," sinners come to him.

Come to him, then, first, whoever you may be, for he is "meek and

lowly in heart." When a man has done anything wrong, and wants a

help through his difficulty, if about to employ some counsel to plead

for him in a court of law, he might say, "Oh! don't engage Mr. So-and-

so for me; I hear he is a very hard-hearted man; I should not like to tell

him what I have done, and entrust my case in his hands. Send for Mr.

So-and-so; I have heard that he is very kind and gentle; let him come

and hear my case, and let him conduct the pleadings for me:" Sinner!

you are sinful, but Christ is very tender-hearted. Speed thy way to

Christ's private chamber,--your own closet of prayer. Tell him all you

have done; he will not upbraid you: confess all your sins; he will not

chide you. Tell him all your follies; he will not be angry with you.

Commit your case to him, and with a sweet smile he will say, "I have

cast thy sins behind my back; thou hast come to reason with me; I will

discover to thee a matter of faith which excels all reason,--" Though thy

sins be as scarlet, they shall be as wool; though they be red like

crimson, they shall be whiter than snow Come to Christ, then, sinful

ones, because he is "meek and lowly in heart," and he can bear with the

narrative of your offences. "But, sir, I am very timid, and I dare not go."

Ah, but however timid you may be, you need not be afraid of him. He

knows your timidity, and he will meet you with a smile, and say, "Fear

not. Be of good cheer. Tell me thy sin, put thy trust in me, and thou

shalt even yet rejoice to know my power to save. Come now," saith he,

"come to me at once. Linger no longer. I do not strive nor cry, nor

cause my voice to be hearth in the streets. A bruised reed I will not

break, the smoking flax I will not quench; but I will bring forth

judgment unto victory." Come then, ye timid ones to Christ for he is

meek and lowly in heart. "Oh," says one, "but I am despairing; I have

been so long under a sense of sin, I cannot go to Christ." Poor soul! he

is so meek and lowly, that, despairing though thou mayest be, take

courage now; though it be like a forlorn hope to thee, yet go to him.

Say, in the words of the hymn--

" I' ll to the gracious King approach,

Whose sceptre pardon gives;

Perhaps he may command my touch,

And then the suppliant lives.

I can but perish if I go;

I am resolved to try;

For if I stay away, I know

I must for ever die."

And you may add this comfortable reflection--

"But if I die with mercy sought,

When I the King have tried,

This were to die (delightful thought!)

As sinner never died."

Come to him, then, timid and despairing; for he is "meek and lowly in

heart." First, he bids thee confess. What a sweet confessor! Put thy lip

to his ear, and tell him all. He is "meek and lowly in heart." Fear not.

None of thy sins can move him to anger. If thou dost but confess them.

If thou keepest them in thy heart, they shall be like a slumbering

volcano; and a furnace of destruction thou shalt find even to the

uttermost by-and-bye. But confess thy sins; tell them all; he is meek

and lowly in heart." Happy confession! when we have such a confessor.

Again, he bids thee trust him; and canst thou not trust him? He is "meek

and lowly in heart." Sinner! put confidence in Christ. There never was

such a tender heart as his, never such a compassionate face. Look him

in the face, poor soul, as thou seest him dying on the tree, and say, is

not that a face that any man might trust! Look at him! Canst thou doubt

him? Wilt thou withhold thy cause from such a Redeemer as this? No,

Jesus! thou art so generous, so good, so kind Take thou my cause in

hand. Just as I am, I come to thee. Save me, I beseech thee, for I put my

trust in thee.

And then Jesus not only bids you confess and believe, but he bids you

afterwards serve him. And sure, sinners, this should be a reason why

you should do it. that he is so "meek and lowly in heart." It is said,

"Good masters make good servants." What good servants you and I

ought to be, for what a good Master we have! Never an ill word doth he

say to us. If sometimes he pointeth out anything we have done amiss, it

is only for our good. Not for his profit doth he chasten, but for ours.

Sinner! I ask thee not to serve the god of this world--that foul fiend who

shall destroy thee after all thy service. The devil is thy master now, and

ye have heard the wages he bestows. But come and serve Christ, the

meek and lowly one, who will give thee good cheer while thou art

serving him, and give thee a blessed reward when thy work is done.

And now, best of all, sinners! come to Christ. Come to him in all his

offices, for he is "meek and lowly in heart." Sinner! thou art sick--

Christ is a physician. If men have broken a bone, and they are about to

have a surgeon fetched, they say, "Oh! is he a feeling tender hearted

man?" For there is many an army surgeon that takes off a leg, and never

thinks of the pain he is giving. "Is he a kind man?" says the poor

sufferer, when he is about to be strapped down upon the table." Ah!

poor sufferer, Christ will heal thy broken bones, and he will do it with

downy fingers. Never was there so light a touch as this heavenly

surgeon has. "Tis pleasure even to he wounded by him, much more to

be healed, Oh! what balm is that he gives to the poor bleeding heart!

Fear not; there was never such a physician as this. If he give thee now

and then a bitter pill and a sour draught, yet he will give thee such

honied words and such sweet promises therewith, that thou shalt

swallow it all up without murmuring. Nay, if he be with thee, thou

canst even swallow up death in victory; and never know that thou hast

died because victory hath taken the bitter taste away.

Sinner! thou art not only sick, and therefore bidden to come to him, but

thou art moreover in debt, and he offers now to pay thy debts, and to

discharge them in full. Come, come to him, for he is not harsh. Some

men, when they do mean to let a debtor off, first have him in their

office, and give him as much as they can of the most severe rebukes;--"

You rogue, you! how dare you get in my debt, when you knew you

could not pay? You have brought a deal of trouble on yourself, you

have ruined your family," and so forth; and the good man gives him

some very sound admonition, and very right too; till at length he says,

"I'll let you off this time; come, now, I forgive you, and I hope you will

never do so again." But Christ is even better than this. "There is all your

debt," he says, "I have nailed it to the cross; sinner, I forgive thee all,"

and not one accusing word comes from his lips. Come, then, to him.

I fear I have spoilt my master in the painting; something like the artist

who had to depict some fair damsel, and he so misrepresented her

features, that she lost her reputation for beauty. I have sometimes feared

lest I should do the same, and so distort the face of Christ, and so fail of

giving the true likeness of his character that you would not love him.

Oh! could you see him! If he could stand here for one moment, and tell

you that he was meek and lowly in heart. Oh, methinks you would run

to him and say, "Jesus, we come Thou meek and lowly Messiah, be

thou our all!" Nay, you would not come; I am mistaken. If sovereign

grace draw you not under the sound of the gospel, neither would you be

converted though Christ should appear before you. But hear now the

message of that gospel--"Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and you

shall be saved; for he that believeth on him, and is baptized shall be

saved; he that b

Rest, Rest

January 8th, 1871

by

C. H. SPURGEON

(1834-1892)

"Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give

you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and

lowly in heart; and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is

easy, and my burden is light.-- Matthew 11:28-30 .

We have oft repeated those memorable words, and they have brought

us much comfort; but it is possible that we may never have looked

deeply into them, so as to have seen the fulness of their meaning. The

works of man will seldom bear close inspection. You shall take a

needle which is highly polished, which appears to be without the

slightest inequality upon its surface, and you shall put it under a

microscope, and it will look like a rough bar of iron; but you shall

select what you will from nature, the bark or the leaf of a tree, or the

wing or the foot of an insect, and you shall discover no flaw, magnify it

as much as you will, and gaze upon it as long as you please. So take the

words of man. The first time you hear them they will strike you; you

may hear them again and still admire their sentiment, but you shall

soon weary of their repetition, and call them hackneyed and over-

estimated. The words of Jesus are not so, they never lose their dew,

they never become threadbare. You may ring the changes upon his

words, and never exhaust their music: you may consider them by day

and by night, but familiarity shall not breed contempt. You shall beat

them in the mortar of contemplation, with the pestle of criticism, and

their perfume shall but become the more apparent. Dissect, investigate,

and weigh the Master's teaching word by word, and each syllable will

repay you. When loitering upon the Island of Liddo, off Venice, and

listening to the sound of the city's bells, I thought the music charming

as it floated across the lagune; but when I returned to the city, and sat

down in the centre of the music, in the very midst of all the bells, the

sweetness changed to a horrible clash, the charming sounds were

transformed into a maddening din; not the slightest melody could I

detect in any one bell, while harmony in the whole company of

noisemakers was out of the question. Distance had lent enchantment to

the sound. The words of poets and eloquent writers may, as a whole,

and heard from afar, sound charmingly enough; but how few of them

bear a near and minute investigation! Their belfry rings passably, but

one would soon weary of each separate bell. It is never so with the

divine words of Jesus. You hear them ringing from afar and they are

sweetness itself. When as a sinner, you roamed at midnight like a

traveller lost on the wilds, how sweetly did they call you home! But

now you have reached the house of mercy, you sit and listen to each

distinct note of love's perfect peal, and wonderingly feel that even

angelic harps cannot excel it.

We will, this morning, if we can, conduct you into the inner chambers

of out text, place its words under the microscope, and peer into the

recesses of each sentence. We only wish our microscope were of a

greater magnifying power, and our ability to expound the text more

complete; for there are mines of instruction here. Superficially read,

this royal promise has cheered and encouraged tens of thousands, but

there is a wealth in it which the diligent digger and miner shall alone

discover. Its shallows are cool and refreshing for the lambs, but in its

depths are pearls for which we hope to dive.

Our first head, this morning, is rest: "Come unto me, all ye that labor

and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." The second head is rest:

"Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly in

heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls."

I. Let us begin at the beginning with the first REST, and here we will

make divisions only for the sake of bringing out the sense more clearly.

1. Observe the person invited to receive this first rest: "Come unto me,

all ye that labor and are heavy laden." The word "all" first demands

attention: "All ye that labor." There was need for the insertion of that

wide word. Had not the Saviour said a little before, "I thank thee, O

Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast hid these things

from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them to babes?" Some

one who had been listening to the Saviour, might have said, "The

Father, then, has determined to whom he will reveal the Christ; there is

a number chosen, according to the Father's good pleasure, to whom the

gospel is revealed; while from another company it is hidden!" The too

hasty inference, which it seems natural for man to draw from the

doctrine is, "Then there is no invitation for me; there is no hope for me;

I need not listen to the gospel's warnings and invitations." So the

Saviour, as if to answer that discouraging notion, words his invitation

thus, "Come unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden." Let it not

be supposed that election excludes any of you from the invitation of

mercy; all of you who labor, are bidden to come. Whatever the great

doctrine of predestination may involve, rest assured that it by no means

narrows or diminishes the extent of gospel invitations. The good news

is to be preached to "every creature" under heaven, and in this

particular passage it is addressed to all the laboring and heavy laden.

The description of the person invited is very full. It describes him both

actively and passively. "All ye that labor"--there is the activity of men

bearing the yoke, and ready to labor after salvation; "heavy laden"--

there is the passive form of their religious condition, they sustain a

burden, and are pressed down, and sorely wearied by the load they

bear. There are to be found many who are actively engaged in seeking

salvation; they believe that if they obey the precepts of the law they

will be saved, and they are endeavoring to the utmost to do them; they

have been told that the performance of certain rites and ceremonies will

also save them, they are performing those with great care; the yoke is

on their shoulders, and they are laboring diligently. Some are laboring

in prayer, some are laboring in sacraments, others in self-denials and

mortifications, but as a class they are awakened to feel the need of

salvation, and they are intensely laboring to save themselves. It is to

these the Saviour addresses his loving admonition: in effect he tells

them, "This is not the way to rest, your self-imposed labors will end in

disappointment; cease your wearisome exertions, and believe in me, for

I will at once give you rest--the rest which my labors have earned for

believers." Very speedily those who are active in self-righteously

working for salvation fall into the passive state, and become burdened;

their labor of itself becomes a burden to them. Besides the burden of

their self-righteous labor, there comes upon them the awful,

tremendous, crushing burden of past sin, and a sense of the wrath of

God which is due to that sin. A soul which has to bear the load of its

own sin, and the load of divine wrath, is indeed heavily laden. Atlas

with the world upon his back had a light load compared with a sinner

upon whom mountains of sin and wrath are piled. Such persons

frequently are burdened, in addition, by fears and apprehensions; some

of them correct, others of them baseless, but anyhow the burden daily

grows. Their active labors do not diminish their passive sufferings. The

acute anguish of their souls will often be increased in proportion as

their endeavors are increased; and while they hope at first that if they

labor industriously they will gradually diminish the mass of their sin, it

happens that their labor adds to their weariness beneath its pressure;

they feel a weight of disappointment, because their labor has not

brought them rest; and a burden of despair, because they fear that

deliverance will never come. Now these are the persons whom the

Saviour calls to himself--those who are actively seeking salvation,

those who are passively bearing the weight of sin and of divine wrath.

It is implied, too, that these are undeserving of rest, for it is said,

"Come unto me, and I will give you rest." A gift is not of merit but of

grace; wages and reward are for those who earn, but a gift is a matter of

charity. O you who feel your unworthiness this morning, who have

been seeking salvation earnestly, and suffering the weight of sin, Jesus

will freely give to you what you cannot earn or purchase, he will give it

as an act of his own free, rich, sovereign mercy; and he is prepared, if

you come to him, to give it to you now, for so has he promised, "Come

unto me, all ye that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest."

2. Notice next, the precept here laid down: "Come." It is not "Learn," it

is not "Take my yoke"--that is in the next verse, and is intended for the

next stage of experience-but in the beginning the word of the Lord is,

"Come unto me," "Come." A simple word, but very full of meaning. To

come is to leave one thing and to advance to another. Come, then, ye

laboring and heavy laden, leave your legal labors, leave your self-

reliant efforts, leave your sins, leave your presumptions, leave all in

which you hitherto have trusted, and come to Jesus, that is, think of,

advance towards, rely upon the Saviour. Let your contemplations think

of him who bore the load of human sin upon the cross of Calvary,

where he was made sin for us. Let your minds consider him who from

his cross hurled the enormous mass of his people's transgressions into a

bottomless sepulchre, where it was buried forever. Think of Jesus, the

divinely-appointed substitute and sacrifice for guilty man. Then, seeing

that he is God's own Son, let faith follow your contemplation; rely

upon him, trust in him as having suffered in your stead, look to him for

the payment of the debt which is due from you to the wrath of God.

This is to come to Jesus. Repentance and faith make up this "Come"--

the repentance which leaves that place where you now stand, the faith

which comes into reliance upon Jesus.

Observe, that the command to "Come" is put in the present tense, and

in the Greek it is intensely present. It might be rendered something like

this: "Hither to me all ye that labor and are heavy laden!" It is a

"Come" which means not "Come to-morrow or next year," but "Now,

at once." Advance, ye slaves, flee from your task-master now! Weary

ones recline on the promise now, and take your rest! Come now! By an

act of instantaneous faith which will bring instantaneous peace, come

and rely upon Jesus, and he will now give you rest. Rest shall at once

follow the exercise of faith. Perform the act of faith now. O may the

eternal Spirit lead some laboring heavy laden soul to come to Jesus,

and to come at this precise moment!

It is "Come unto me." Notice that. The Christ in his personality is to be

trusted in. Not "Come to John, and hear him say, "Repent, for the

kingdom of heaven is at hand,'" for no rest is there. John commands a

preparation for the rest, but he has no rest to give to the soul. Come not

to the Pharisees, who will instruct you in tradition, and in the jots and

tittles of the law; but go past these to Jesus, the man, the God, the

mediator, the Redeemer, the propitiation for human guilt. If you want

rest come to Christ in Gethsemane, to Christ on Calvary, to Christ

risen, to Christ ascended. If you want rest, O weary souls, ye can find it

nowhere until ye come and lay your burdens down at his dear pierced

feet, and find life in looking alone to him. There is the precept then.

Observe it is nothing but that one word, "Come." It is not "Do;" it is not

even "Learn." It is not, "Take up my yoke," that will follow after, but

must never be forced out of its proper place. To obtain the first rest, the

rest which is a matter of gift--all that is asked of you is that you come

to have it. Now, the least thing that charity itself can ask when it gives

away its alms, is that men come for it. Come ye needy, come and

welcome; come and take the rest ye need. Jesus saith to you, "Come

and take what I freely give." Without money come, without merit

come, without preparation come. It is just, come, come now; come as

you are, come with your burden, come with your yoke, though the

yoke be the yoke of the devil, and the burden be the burden of sin, yet

come as you are, and the promise shall be fulfilled to you, "I will give

you rest."

3. Notice next the promise spoken, "I will give you rest." "I will give."

It is a rest that is a gift; not a rest found in our experience by degrees,

but given at once. As I shall have to show you, the next verse speaks of

the rest that is found, wrought out, and discovered; but this is a rest

given. We come to Jesus; we put out the empty hand of faith, and rest

is given us at once most freely. We possess it at once, and it is ours

forever. It is a present rest, rest now; not rest after death; not rest

after a time of probation and growth and advancement; but it is rest given

when we come to Jesus, given there and then. And it is perfect rest too;

for it is not said, nor is it implied, that the rest is incomplete. We do not

read, "I will give you partial rest," but "rest," as much as if there were

no other form of it. It is perfect and complete in itself. In the blood and

righteousness of Jesus our peace is perfect.

I shall not stay except to ask you now, brethren and sisters, whether

you know the meaning of this given rest. Have you come to Jesus and

has he given you perfect and present rest? If so, I know your eye will

catch joyously those two little words, "And I," and I would bid you

lovingly remember the promiser who speaks. Jesus promises and Jesus

performs. Did not all your rest, when first your sin was forgiven, come

from him? The load was gone, but who took it? The yoke was

removed, but who lifted it from off the shoulder? Do you not give to

Jesus, this day, the glory of all your rest from the burden of guilt? Do

you not praise his name with all your souls? Yes, I know you do. And

you know how that rest came to you. It was by his substitution and

your faith in that substitution. Your sin was not pardoned by a violation

of divine justice; justice was satisfied in Jesus; he gave you rest. The

fact that he has made full atonement is the rest of your spirit this

morning. I know that deep down in your consciences, the calm which

blesses you springs from a belief in your Lord's vicarious sacrifice. He

bore the unrest that you might have the rest, and you receive rest this

day as a free gift from him. You have done now with servile toils and

hopeless burdens, you have entered into rest through believing; but all

the rest and deliverance still comes to you as a gift from his dear hands,

who purchased with a price this blessing for your souls. I earnestly

wish that many who have never felt that rest, would come and have it;

it is all they have to do to obtain it--to come for it; just where they now

are, if God enables them to exercise a simple act of faith in Jesus, he

will give them rest from all their past sins, from all their efforts to save

themselves, a rest which shall be to his glory and to their joy.

II. We must now advance to our second head--REST.

It looks rather strange that after having received rest, the next verse

should begin: "Take my yoke upon you." "Ah! I had been set free from

laboring, am I to be a laborer again?" Yes, yes, take my yoke and

begin. "And my burden is light." "Burden? Why, I was heavy laden

just now, am I to carry another burden?" Yes. A yoke--actively and a

burden--passively, I am to bear both of these. "But I found rest by

getting rid of my yoke and my burden!" And you are to find a further

rest by wearing a new yoke, and bearing a new burden. Your yoke

galled, but Christ's yoke is easy; your burden was heavy, but Christ's

burden is light. Before we enter into this matter more fully, let us

illustrate it. How certain it is that a yoke is essential to produce rest,

and without it rest is unknown! Spain found rest by getting rid of that

wretched monarch Isabella; an iron yoke was her dominion upon the

nation's neck, crushing every aspiration after progress by an intolerable

tyranny. Up rose the nation, shook off its yoke, and threw aside its

burden, and it had rest in a certain sense, rest from evil. But Spain has

not fully rested yet, and it seems that she will never find permanent rest

till she has voluntarily taken up another yoke, and found for herself

another burden. In a word, she must have a strong, settled, recognized

government, and then only will her distractions cease. This is just a

picture of the human soul. It is under the dominion of Satan, it wears

his awful yoke, and works for him; it bears his accursed burden, and

groans under it; Jesus sets it free--but has it, therefore, a perfect rest?

Yes, a rest from, but not a rest in. What is wanted now is a new

government; the soul must have a sovereign, a ruling principle, a

master-motive; and when Jesus has taken that position, rest is come.

This further rest is what is spoken of in the second verse. Let me give

you another symbol. A little stream flowed through a manufacturing

town; an unhappy little stream it was, for it was forced to turn huge

wheels and heavy machinery, and it wound its miserable way through

factories where it was dyed black and blue, until it became a foul and

filthy ditch, and loathed itself. It felt the tyranny which polluted its very

existence. Now, there came a deliverer who looked upon the streamlet

and said, "I will set thee free and give thee rest." So he stopped up the

water-course, and said, "abide in thy place, thou shalt no more flow

where thou art enslaved and defiled." In a very few days the brooklet

found that it had but exchanged one evil for another. Its waters were

stagnating, they were gathering into a great pool, and desiring to find a

channel. It was in its very nature to flow on, and it foamed and swelled,

and pressed against the dam which stayed it. Every hour it grew more

inwardly restless, it threatened to break the barrier, and it made all who

saw its angry looks tremble for the mischief it would do ere long. It

never found rest until it was permitted to pursue an active course along

a channel which had been prepared for it among the meadows and the

corn fields. Then, when it watered the plains and made glad the

villages, it was a happy streamlet, perfectly at rest. So our souls are

made for activity, and when we are set free from the activities of our

self-righteousness and the slavery of our sin we must do something,

and we shall never rest until we find that something to do. Hence in the

text you will be pleased to see that there is something said about a

yoke, which is the ensign of working, and something about a burden,

which is the emblem of enduring. It is in man's mortal nature that he

must do or endure, or else his spirit will stagnate and be far from rest.

1. We will consider this second rest, and notice that it is rest after rest.

"I will give you rest" comes before "Ye shall find rest." It is the rest of

a man who is already at rest, the repose of a man who has received a

given rest, and now discovers the found rest. It is the rest of a learner--

"Learn of me, and ye shall find rest." It is not so much the rest of one

who was aforetime laboring and heavy laden, as of one who is to-day

learning at the Saviour's feet. It is the rest of a seeker evidently, for

finding usually implies a search. Having been pardoned and saved, the

saved man in the course of his experience discovers more and more

reason for peace; he is learning, and seeking, and he finds. The rest is

evidently lighted upon, however, as a thing unknown, which becomes

the subject of discovery. The man had a rest from his burden; now he

finds a rest, in Christ, which exceeds what he asked or even thought.

I have looked at this rest after rest as being a treasure concealed in a

precious box. The Lord Jesus gives to his people a priceless casket,

called the gift of rest; it is set with brilliants and inlaid with gems, and

the substance thereof is of wrought gold; whosoever possesses it feels

and knows that his warfare is accomplished and his sin is pardoned.

After awhile the happy owner begins to examine his treasure. It is all

his own, but he has not yet seen it all, for one day he detects a secret

drawer, he touches a hidden spring, and lo! Before him lies a priceless

Koh-i-noor surpassing all the rest. It had been given him it is certain,

but he had not seen it at first, and therefore he finds it. Jesus Christ

gives us in the gift of himself all the rest we can ever enjoy, even

heaven's rest lies in him; but after we have received him we have to

learn his value, and find out by the teaching of his Spirit the fulness of

the rest which he bestows.

Now, I say to you who are saved, you who have looked to Jesus Christ,

whether you looked this morning or twenty years ago, have you found

out all that there is in the gift which Christ has given you? Have you

found out the secret drawer yet? He has given you rest, but have you

found the innermost rest which he works in your hearts? It is yours, for

it is included in the one gift; but it is not yours enjoyed, understood,

and triumphed in as yet unless you have found it, for the rest here

meant is a rest after rest, a spiritual, experienced rest, which comes

only to those who find it by experience.

2. Further observe that the rest in this second part of our text is a rest in

service. It is coupled with a yoke, for activity--"Take my yoke;" it is

connected with a burden, for endurance--"My burden is light." He who

is a Christian will not find rest in being idle. There is no unrest greater

than that of the sluggard. If you would rest take Christ's yoke, be

actively engaged in his service. As the bullock has the yoke put upon

its neck and then begins to draw, so have the yoke of Christ put on

your neck and commence to obey him. The rest of heaven is not the

rest of sleep; they serve him day and night in his temple. They are

always resting, and yet, in another sense, they rest not day nor night.

Holy activity in heaven is perfect rest. True rest to the mind of the child

of God is rest on the wing, rest in motion, rest in service, not rest with

the yoke off, but with the yoke on. We are to enter upon this service

voluntarily; we are to take his yoke upon us voluntarily. You observe, it

does not say, "Bear my yoke when it is laid upon you, but take it." Do

not need to be told by the minister, "My dear brother, such-and-such a

work you are bound to do," but take up the yoke of your own accord.

Do not merely submit to be the Lord's servant, but seek his service.

Ask, "What can I do?" Be desirous to do it' voluntarily, cheerfully, do

all that lieth in you for the extension of his kingdom who has given you

rest, and you shall find that the rest of your soul shall lie in your doing

all you can for Jesus. Every active Christian will tell you he is never

happier than when he has much to do; and, on the whole, if he

communes with Jesus, never more at rest than when he has least

leisure. Look not for your rest in the mere enjoyments and excitements

of religion, but find your rest in wearing a yoke which you love, and

which, for that reason, is easy to your neck.

But, my dear brother, you must also be willing to bear Christ's burden.

Now the burden of Christ is his cross, which every Christian must take

up. Expect to be reproached, expect to meet with some degree of the

scandal of the cross, for the offence of it never ceases. Persecution and

reproach are a blessed burden; when your soul loves Jesus it is a light

thing to suffer for him, and therefore never, by any cowardly

retirement or refusal to profess your faith, evade your share of this

honorable load. Woe unto those who say, "I will never be a martyr."

No rest is sweeter than the martyr's rest. Woe unto those who say, "We

will go to heaven by night along a secret road, and so avoid the shame

of the cross." The rest of the Christian is found not in cowardice but in

courage; it lies not in providing for ease but in the brave endurance of

suffering for the truth. The restful spirit counts the reproach of Christ to

be greater riches than all the treasures of Egypt; he falls in love with

the cross, and counts the burden light, and so finds rest in service, and

rest in suffering. Note that well.

3. The rest before us is rest through learning. Does a friend say, "I do

not see how I am ever to get rest in working, and rest in suffering?" My

dear brother, you never will except you go to school, and you must go

to school to Christ. "Learn of me," saith he, "for I am meek and lowly

in heart." Now, in order to learn of Christ it is implied that we lay aside

all prejudices of the past. These things much prevent our finding peace.

Have you any preconceived notions of what religion should be? Have

you fashioned on your own anvil ideas of what the doctrines of the

gospel ought to be? Throw them all away; learn of Jesus, and unlearn

your own thoughts.

Then, when you are willing to learn, please to note what is to be

learned. In order to get perfect rest of mind you have to learn of Jesus

not only the doctrines which he teaches, but a great deal more than that.

To go to school to be orthodox is a good enough thing, but the

orthodoxy which brings rest is an orthodoxy of the spirit. Observe the

text, "Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me." What? For I am wise

and learned, and can teach you? No; you are to learn from his example

to be "meek and lowly in heart," and in learning that you will "find rest

unto your souls." To catch the spirit of Jesus is the road to rest. To

believe what he teaches me is something, to acknowledge him as my

religious leader and as my Lord is much, but to strive to be conformed

to his character, not merely in its external developments but in its

interior spirit, this is the grammar of rest. Learn to be like the meek and

lowly-hearted One, and ye shall find rest.

He tells us the two points in which we are to learn of him. First, he is

meek, then he says he is lowly in heart. Take the work "meek" first. I

think that refers to the yoke-bearing, the active labor. If I actively labor

for Christ I can only find rest in the labor by possessing the meek spirit

of my Lord; for if I go forth to labor for Christ without a meek spirit, I

shall very soon find that there is no rest in it, for the yoke will gall my

shoulder. Somebody will begin objecting that I do not perform my

work according to his liking. If I am not meek I shall find my proud

spirit rising at once, and shall be for defending myself; I shall be

irritated, or I shall be discouraged and inclined to do no more, because

I am not appreciated as I should be. A meek spirit is not apt to be

angry, and does not soon take offence, therefore if others find fault, the

meek spirit goes working on, and is not offended; it will not hear the

sharp word, nor reply to the severe criticism. If the meek spirit be

grieved by some cutting censure and suffers for a moment, it is always

ready to forgive and blot out the past, and go on again. The meek spirit

in working only seeks to do good to others; it denies itself; it never

expected to be well treated; it did not aim at being honored; it never

sought itself, but purposed only to do good to others. The meek spirit

bowed its shoulder to the yoke, and expected to have to continue

bowing in order to keep the yoke in the right place for labor. It did not

look to be exalted by yoke-bearing; it is fully contented if it can exalt

Christ and do good to his chosen ones. Remember how meek and lowly

Jesus was in all his service, and how calmly, therefore, he bore with

those who opposed him? The Samaritans would not receive him, and

therefore John, who felt the yoke a little galling to his unaccustomed

shoulder, cried, "Master, call fire from heaven." Poor John! But Christ

bore the yoke of service so well because of his meek spirit that he

would do nothing of the kind. If one village would not receive him he

passed on to another, and so labored on. Your labor will become very

easy if your spirits are very meek. It is the proud spirit that gets tired of

doing good if it finds its labors not appreciated; but the brave, meek

spirit, finds the yoke to be easy. "Consider him who endured such

contradictions of sinners against himself lest ye be weary and faint in

your minds." If ye learn his meekness his yoke will be pleasant to your

shoulder, and you will never wish to have it removed.

Then, as to the passive part of our rest-lesson, note the text, "I am lowly

in heart." We shall all have to bear something for the truth's sake so

long as we are here. The reproach is a part of the gospel. The rod is a

blessing of the covenant. The lowly heart finds the burden very light

because it acquiesces in the divine will. The lowly heart says, "Not my

will but thine be done; let God be glorified in me, it shall be all I ask.

Rich, poor, sick, or in health, it is all the same to me. If God the great

One has the glory, what matters where such a little one as I am may be

placed?" The lowly spirit does not seek after great things for itself, it

learns in whatsoever state it is therewith to be content. If it be poor,

"Never mind," says the lowly one, "I never aspired to be rich; among

the great ones of this earth I never desired to shine." If it be denied

honor, the humble spirit says, "I never asked for earthly glory, I seek

not mine own honor but his that sent me. Why should I be honored, a

poor worm like me? If nobody speaks a good word of me, if I get

Christ to say, "Well done, good and faithful servant," that is enough.

And if the lowly-hearted have little wordly pleasure, he says, "This is

not my place for pleasure, I deserve eternal pain, and if I do not have

pleasures here I shall have them hereafter. I am well content to abide

my time." Our blessed Lord was always of that lowly spirit. He did not

strive, nor cry, nor cause his voice to be heard in the streets. The

baubles of empire had no charm for him. Had fame offered to sound

her trumpet for none but him he would have cared not one whit for the

offer. The kingdoms of this world and the glory thereof were offered

him, and he repelled the tempter. He was gentle, unobtrusive, self-

denying; hence he treated his burden of poverty and shame as a light

thing. "He endured the cross, despising the shame." If we once learn

Christ's spirit we shall find rest unto our souls.

4. But we must pass on to notice, that it is very evident that the rest

which we are to find is a rest which grows entirely out of our spirits

being conformed to the spirit of Christ. "Learn of me, and ye shall find

rest." It is then a spiritual rest altogether independent of circumstances.

It is a vain idea of ours, to suppose that if our circumstances were

altered we should be more at rest. My brother, if you cannot rest in

poverty, neither would you in riches; if you cannot rest in the midst of

persecution, neither would you in the midst of honor. It is the spirit

within that gives the rest, that rest has little to do with any thing

without. Men have sat on thrones and have found them uneasy places,

while others on the rack have declared that they were at rest. The spirit

is the spring of rest, as for the outward surroundings they are of small

account. Let but your mind be like the mind of Christ, and you shall

find rest unto your souls: a deep rest, a growing rest, a rest found out

more and more, an abiding rest, not only which you have found, but

which you shall go on to find. Justification gave you rest from the

burden of sin, sanctification will give you rest from molesting cares;

and in proportion as it becomes perfect, and you are like your Saviour,

your rest shall become more like that of heaven.

I desire one other thing to be called to your mind before I turn to the

practical use of the text, and that is that here, as in the former rest, we

are led to adore and admire the blessed person of our Lord. Observe the

words, "For I." Oh! it all comes from him still, the second rest as much

as the first, the casket and the treasure in the secret drawer. It all hinges

there, "For I am." In describing the second rest there is more said

concerning him than in the first. In the first part of our text it only says,

"I will give you rest;" but in the second part his character is more fully

explained--"For I am meek and lowly in heart;" as if to show that as

believers grow in grace, and enjoy more rest, they see more of Jesus

and know more of him. All they know when sin is pardoned is that he

gives it, perhaps they hardly know how; but afterwards when they

come to rest in him in sweet fellowship, they know more of his

personal attributes, and their rest for that very reason becomes more

deep and perfect.

Come we now to the practical use of all this. Read the chapter before us

and find the clue. First, my dear brethren, if you find rest to your souls

you will not be moved by the judgment of men. The children in the

market-place were the type of our Lord's generation, who railed both at

John the Baptist and at our Lord. The generation which now is follows

the same course, men are sure to cavil at our service. Never mind; take

Christ's yoke on you, live to serve him; take Christ's burden, make it a

point to bear all things for his sake, and you will not be affected either

by praise or censure, for you will find rest to your souls in surrendering

yourself to the Father's will. If you learn of Jesus you will have rest

from the fear of men. I recollect, before I came to London, being at a

prayer-meeting where a very quaint brother prayed for me that I might

be delivered from the "bleating of the sheep." I understood it after

awhile, he meant that I might live above the fear of man, that when

such a person said "How much we have been edified today," I might

not be puffed up; or if another said, "How dull the discourse was to-

day," I might not be depressed. You will be delivered from "the

bleating of the sheep" when you have the spirit of the Good Shepherd.

Next you will be delivered from fretfulness at want of success. "Then

began he to upbraid the cities wherein most of his mighty works were

done, because they repented not." He had wrought his mighty works,

and preached the gospel, and they did not repent. Was Jesus

discouraged? Was he, as we sometimes are, ready to quit the work?

No; his heart rested even then. If we come to Jesus, and take his yoke

and burden, we too shall find rest, though Israel be not gathered.

Then, too, our Lord denounced judgments upon those who repented

not. He told them that those who had heard the gospel and rejected it

would find it more tolerable for Sodom and Gomorrah in the day of

judgment than for them. There are some who quarrel with the

judgments of God, and declare that they cannot bear to think of the

condemnation of the impenitent. Is not this because they do not bear

the burden of the Lord, but are self-willed? The saints are described in

the book of Revelation as singing "Hallelujah" while the smoke of

Babylon goeth up for ever and ever. We shall never receive with

humble faith the judgment of God in its terror until we take Christ's

yoke, and are lowly in heart. When we are like Jesus we shall not feel

that the punishment is too much for the sin, but we shall sympathize

with the justice of God, and say "Amen" to it. When the mind is lowly

it never ventures to sit in judgment upon God, but rests in the

conviction that the Judge of all must do right. It is not even anxious to

make apologies and smooth down the fact, for it feels, it is not mine to

justify him, he can justify himself.

So, again, with regard to the divine sovereignty. Notice the rest of the

Saviour's mind upon that matter: "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of

heaven and earth, that thou hast hid these things from the wise and

prudent." Learning of Jesus we too shall rest in reference to divine

decrees; we shall rejoice in whatever the Lord determines;

predestination will not cast a gloom over us, but we shall thank God for

all he ordains.

What a blessed rest! As we open it up, does not its compass and depth

surprise you? How sweet to lie passive in his hands, reconciled to every

mystery, content with every dispensation, honored by every service

satisfied in God!

Now, I do not know whether I am right, but it struck me, when

considering this text from various points, that probably our Saviour

meant to convey an idea of deeper fellowship than we have yet

considered. Did not he mean this--that he carried a yoke on his

shoulder, which he calls, "my yoke?" When bullocks are yoked, there

are generally two. I have watched them in Northern Italy, and noticed

that when two are yoked together, and they are perfectly agreed, the

yoke is always easy to both of them. If one were determined to lie

down and the other to stand up, the yoke would be very uncomfortable;

but when they are both of one mind you will see them look at each

other with those large, lustrous, brown eyes of theirs so lovingly, and

with a look they read each other's minds, so that when one wants to lie

down, down they go, or when one wishes to go forward, forward they

both go, keeping step. In this way the yoke is easy. Now I think the

Saviour says to us, "I am bearing one end of the yoke on my shoulder;

come, my disciple, place your neck under the other side of it, and then

learn of me. Keep step with me, be as I am, do as I do. I am meek and

lowly in heart; your heart must be like mine, and then we will work

together in blessed fellowship, and you will find that working with me

is a happy thing; for my yoke is easy to me, and will be to you. Come,

then, true yoke-fellow, come and be yoked with me, take my yoke

upon you, and learn of me." If that be the meaning of the text, and

perhaps it is, it invites us to a fellowship most near and honorable. If it

be not the meaning of the text, it is at any rate a position to be sought

after, to be laborers together with Christ, bearing the same yoke. Such

be our lot. Amen.