Ezekiel 47:12

It shall bring forth new fruit according to his months.

Old truths and new forms

It is one proof of the divinity of the Gospel that, while maintaining its own character, unaffected by the changing currents of human speculation, it still adapts itself to the new conditions with which it has to deal. It brings forth new fruit according to the seasons. I propose to consider what the new fruit is, which we find in our own age, to inquire which of it is good, and which so evil that wisdom at once rejects it; and as introductory to it, to consider the influences which are at work among us tending to change, and the kind of change which has already been accomplished. Great changes, which have the most enduring effect are not, in general, those which most impress the imagination by their rapidity and suddenness, but those which are the result of slow processes, that go on silently, which are hardly noticed until they are revealed in the extraordinary effects which they have produced. There are two figures by which our Lord describes the action of His truth. The one is that of the seed, the other is that of leaven, and they alike illustrate the general principle that the “kingdom of God cometh not with observation.” Both teach us to expect a subtle and inward spiritual influence gradually affecting society, not in miraculous force producing an immediate revolution. The figures, in truth, are descriptive of the history of all thought. Whether true or false, for good or evil, its power is, for the most part, of this diffusive nature, percolating class after class, spreading by seeds borne we know not how, finding lodgment in spots the most unexpected, and so springing up and bearing a harvest where we had not known there had been a scattering at all. The intellectual and moral history of individuals and of communities presents, in this respect, precisely similar features. In both sudden and startling revolutions are rare; in both a process of change is continually going on, of which there is a strange ignorance. Most men who are accustomed to look into themselves, must at times be surprised to find to how large an extent their views have been modified in the course of years, even on doctrines to which they would still give their hearty assent. They have not renounced the same creed and accepted another, but the old creed has become a new thing to them, because of the different light in which they have been brought to regard it. How could it be otherwise, in the case of minds which are not stagnant? All men who are alive to what is passing around them, who are willing to learn from all who have anything to teach, who are in the current of modern life, and yielding themselves up to it with more or less reluctance, who are ever taking at new ideas--find it impossible to retain their old position unaltered. A youth has grown up under the strong bias of education and association, He has looked at the world and men through the dimly-lighted windows of his own little cell, the glass of which may probably have been so coloured as to give him impressions very far removed from the fact. His opinions and sympathies alike have been confined within a very narrow circle, and it is difficult for him at first to understand that right and goodness may be found outside its lines. But as he comes into association with other men, and especially if he mingles with those of contrary opinions, he soon finds reason to suspect some of the conclusions he has too hastily adopted. If he is fortunate, he early learns that nothing is more to be distrusted than the arbitrary standard by which he has been too prone to judge character, and that there are those whose pure and noble qualities he is constrained to respect; whose doctrines he holds in abhorrence. He soon begins to see that truth has many sides, and that on some of them he has not looked at all, and, consequently, that some of his judgments need careful revision. The central verities may have become (if he has been living near to God, have become) more clear and distinct to him, but even his views of them have been modified by the diminished importance which he attaches to others, now seen to be subordinate, but which he once regarded as of supreme moment. The personal living Christ, his Saviour, Friend, and Lord, has come, to fill more of his vision, and he is drawn to men, or repelled from them, according to their relation to Him. The process by which he has been brought to regard as more trifles, dogmas and theories, about which his thought was once deeply interested, and in whose defence much of his energy was employed, has brought him to prize more highly those truths which he feels to be the core of all creeds. The change has thus been very great. Nevertheless, he is not less loyal to his Lord--in truth, more loyal and devoted to Him, not less simple in his trust in the great sacrifice, though less confident in his own ability to explain all its significance, or to vindicate all the ways of God to man in connection with it, not less wisely and earnestly attached to the particular Christian community of which he is a member, because he has learned to take a much wider view of the extent of the true Catholic Church. (J. G. Rogers.)

The imperishable beauty of the spiritual spring

The text is the promise and the picture of a never-fading spring. On which side of death is that imperishable beauty and fruitfulness--this or that? I think that, although the river comes down from the throne of God and the Lamb, and is, therefore, heavenly in its origin, the whole picture is an earthly scene, the springtide of human goodness, created and perpetually nourished by influences from above; the river being the love and grace of God flowing freely among us; the trees being the men who are planted by its side; the leaf and fruit being the moral and spiritual beauty and graces which they bear through their continual reception of the power and love of God into their nature. There is in this utterance a firm belief in the eternal power of goodness, a belief which also runs through the whole of Scripture, glorifying it to the last page. Is all this poetry, or is it fact? If goodness in the human spirit is to endure forever, if its beauty is not to fade, if its fruitfulness is not to fail, then there must be some sign, even on earth, of this strength and vitality. And as a matter of fact, it is my observation of the character of goodness upon earth, as a living thing, that can be taken account of, that can be watched and measured in its progress or decline, that I have seen outlasting and outliving all manner of hostile influences, that I have beheld, as fair, as tender, as generously fruitful in old age and in youth, aye, even more so; it is this surprising, moral phenomenon which has led me to this theme. No one, I think, not even the most misanthropical, would deny that in youth, or in the early days of the soul’s espousals to the Saviour, there is the charm of a perfect sincerity, of a guileless simplicity, of a warm affectionateness, of a noble enthusiasm, of a devoted self-forgetfulness. “Yes,” rejoins the cynic, “and it all vanishes when he comes into contact with the realities Of life: his ingeniousness becomes cautious prudence, his zeal measured calculation, his brotherliness a mere show of warmth, his devoutness a proper formalism; he is corrupted from his simplicity, if he ever had any.” Now, that is what I deny. Observe, I do not deny that it happens to some men--alas! to too many--to all whose spiritual life is nourished by inadequate influences, and is therefore a name not a reality; but the marvel is thereby only increased, that others should be able, by some means at their command, to withstand all blighting and perverting spiritual influences, and in their old age should he more like little children than ever they were before. You know good men and women, who, for a lifetime, have gone in and out of the cottages of the poor, unnoticed and unpraised; who have spoken words of truth to ears that seemed deaf, and to hearts that were like stone; who have sympathised with, and counselled and aided, the most hopeless of all classes; and who, now that their hair is grey and their strength failing, are abundant in labours. And they would do it all over again, if they were called of God. No regrets have they for undertaking such a task, but only that they have not done it better. No sorrow have they for having been too zealous, too prayerful, too laborious, but only that they were not more so. And through what various scenes they have passed, and what various fruits of the Spirit they have borne! In days of strength they were active, “ready to every good work.” In days of prosperity they were humble, not boasting as if they could do anything as of themselves, but gladly confessing that from Christ was “their fruit found.” In days of adversity they were hopeful, believing that “all things were possible with God.” In days of sickness they were submissive, quieting their souls with the assurances of the Father’s love. In days of disappointment they were silent, knowing that “though Israel be not gathered,” yet God would be glorified. In all days they were brotherly, kindly affectioned, gentle, upright, true, striving to behave as became the children of the perfect Father. “The trees shall bring forth ‘new’ fruit, according to their months. Hereto is My Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit, so shall ye be My disciples.” But do not let us even yet pass away from the fact that while the “outward man,” the body, waxes feebler, and the brightness of the intellect is dimmed, the Divine beauty of the Spirit can shine forth with purer radiance, for “the inward man is renewed day by day.” There is the case of Moses: was he, at the end of a forty years’ struggle with the stubbornness, ingratitude, fickleness, and unbelief of the Israelites, a less ardent lover of his people, a feebler believer in God, a colder-hearted man, with less courage and less self-abandonment than when he went out frown Pharaoh’s palace a lonely wanderer, “esteeming the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures in Egypt, because he had respect unto the recompense of the reward”? There is the case of Daniel: his youth in the court of a heathen conqueror was most attractive for its sweet simplicity, its angelic regard for spiritual rather than carnal things; well, was he at all corrupted or degraded by that court, when, next to the king, he became its most conspicuous figure? Was he less temperate, less prayerful, less God-fearing, less spiritual in tone and temper? There is the case of St. Paul: you know with what heroic courage he threw himself into the battle for Christ against both Judaism and heathenism; you know, too, how much he had to endure for the Gospel’s sake, but remark, chiefly, how much of this came from false brethren, and cold brethren, and unloving brethren, and brethren who slighted his love, and caricatured his appearance, and you will be better able to estimate the greatness of the triumph which Christ won over him, and through him. For he never slackened his labours the least, nor avoided one of his dangers, but fresh, with more than first enthusiasm, he spent every pulse of his life in his work. What is the explanation of this phenomenon? It is what the prophet gives, “Because their waters they issued out of the sanctuary.” Yes, there is a sacred place, a pure, holy fountain where the spirit of a man may cleanse itself from the dust and stains of the world, where also it may refresh itself with living water, so that it shall live forever. There is “a river of God” on whose banks we may grow as trees of life, bearing fruit for meat and leaves for medicine. We may have an eternal springtime out of this perennial stream. All depends upon the relation of the tree to the river whose waters issue out of the sanctuary, Only let the tree’s roots be within reach of the river, and then the greater the summer heat, and the fewer the showers that fall, and the more freely will it draw its supplies from thence. So the soul of man when it finds no encouragement in human approval, or fashions, or hope of present reward, or even of present success, but is rather tried by all the influences around it, clings the more earnestly and more simply to God, receiving directly from Him its impulses, and finding in Him its satisfaction. (J. P. Gledstone.).