Revelation 2:1-7

Letter to Ephesus

Rev 2:1-7

I.

The Head of the Church has a minute knowledge of all the services of his people. First. There is distinguished labour. "I know thy works, and thy labour." The church at Ephesus had been a working church. It had been operating on the surrounding regions of depravity, darkness, and death. In its early life it was eminently an aggressive church. For my own part, I would have Christ's Church as ambitious as Alexander. As he waved his battle-flag over a conquered world, so would I that the Church might unfurl the banner of a nobler conquest over every nation, and kindred, and people, and tongue.

Second. There is distinguished patience. The "patience" is twice referred to. This patience may be understood as indicating longsuffering in relation to those by whom the saints in Ephesus were surrounded long-suffering, both in waiting for the germination of the seed which they had sown in many tears, and in the meek endurance of fiery trials. God specially marked this excellence. This meekness of love was known to the Head of the Church; and this suffering in silence was as acceptable as a chorus of praise. The point to be noted here is, that Christ is mindful, not only of the outward manifestations of the spiritual life such as many labours and many offerings but also of the hidden graces which cluster round the heart. He sees not only the moral warrior brandishing his sword in the thickest of the battle, but also the wounded and suffering soldier; and sweetly says to such, "I know thy patience." We are too prone to attach high value exclusively to the conspicuous, the declarative, the many-tongued: we must, indeed, prize these as necessary in the assertion and maintenance of great principles; but let us never forget that, what garlands and diadems soever may adorn the heads of the great leaders in moral actions, there is a brilliant crown on the brow of holy, much-enduring, silent patience. It is often easier to fight than to be patient. This backwardness in having patience may be seen not only in the higher ranges of Christian life, but in the lower levels of philanthropic service. If it fall to your lot, for example, to sit through the cheerless day and the dreary night with a loved one who is in the grasp of a fell disease, many friends will offer to join you, if, as they say, they can be of any use: but what do they mean by being of "use"? Often they mean merely so long as they can be actively engaged: keep them in an excited state of action, and all will be well. But how few can quietly and reverently sit still, and watch in loving and hopeful patience the placid countenance of silent suffering! How few can tone themselves to the high strength of doing everything by doing nothing! Patience is undervalued by an excited world; but Jesus notes it in its long vigils, marks it trimming its dim lamp in the solemn midnight, and sweetly whispers his word of commendation, which is always invigorating as the breath of immortality.

Third. There is distinguished jealousy for the right. "Thou canst not bear them which are evil: and thou hast tried them which say they are apostles, and are not, and hast found them liars." It must ever be remembered that there is a spurious charity. It is morally impossible that Christians and anti-Christians can have any sympathetic fellowship. Can trumpet blast be clearer than this? "What fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? and what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel? Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you." The Head of the Church applauds the saints in Ephesus, because they could "not bear them which are evil." There is, indeed, large scope for the exercise of Christian charity, and it is sometimes difficult to determine where her loving streams shall pause; but there is a "hitherto" even to the tides of charity. Woe unto the Church when moral distinctions are lightly regarded! To confound light with darkness, sweetness with bitterness, is to mock the first principles of holy government, and to destroy for ever the possibility of holy brotherhood. While, therefore, we would not presumptuously ascend the judgment-seat, we believe it is impossible to burn in too deeply the line which separates the sympathy of compassion from the sympathy of complacency.

Fourth. There was distinguished persistence in the right course. "And hast borne, and hast patience, and for my name's sake hast laboured, and hast not fainted." In a Church correctly described by such language there may have been extraordinary fortitude, and this fortitude been attended with singular joyousness and cordiality. The eulogium might be read thus: "I know thy labour, and yet thou dost not labour, i.e., thou dost not make a labour of thy duties:" in such case duty was not a hard taskmaster. There was such a sunny joyousness and musical cordiality about these saints, that they came to their work work so hard with the freshness of morning, and under their touch duty was transformed into privilege. There is a lesson here for Christian workers through all time. Some men have the most unhappy art of turning every service they render into hard toil. When work is done with the hand only, it is invariably attended with much constraint and difficulty; but when the heart is engaged, the circle of duty is run with a vigour that never wearies and a gladness which never saddens. Not only so, the Ephesian saints eminently succeeded in uniting patience with perseverance. They were not only patient in suffering, but patient in labour. They did not expect the morning to be spring and the evening to be autumn, but, having due regard to the plan of divine procedure, combined in wise proportions the excitement of war with the patience of hope. Among ministers in particular I have noticed two evils in the matter of exercising patience, some exercising it too little, and others exercising it too much. A young minister, fired with a heroic enthusiasm, expects to extinguish the devil and his angels in the first twelve months of his ministry; and because at the end of that period the devil and his angels are just as actively assiduous as ever, he throws up his pastorate and seeks a new battleground. An old minister, to whom the vision has long been closed, and the testimony sealed, who has not a new idea to present, can keep his hold of the pulpit as though he could convince the very pews of sin, and turn the very lamps into saints. Both err. There is something fundamentally wrong in each case; yet not so far wrong in the impetuosity as in the obstinacy. The Ephesians were right: they blended persistence with patience, and were extolled by him who knew the hardest toil, and exemplified the most unmurmuring endurance. The fundamental point is, that Christ knew all this. "I know thy works, and thy labour, and thy patience." "The eyes of the Lord run to and fro throughout the whole earth, to shew himself strong in the behalf of them whose heart is perfect toward him." Though our Head is in heaven, not a service rendered in his name escapes his benignant notice. There is not a toiler in the vineyard on whose bent form the Master looks not with approbation. He sees the sufferer also. All that he observes influences his mediation, so that in every age "He tempereth the wind to the shorn lamb."

Such is the opening of the letter. It opens as with the noise of many waters. Here is a very cataract of eulogium. The bounding waters flash back the light of yonder countenance, and the very spray dances into rainbows. I would fain linger here; but there is a "nevertheless" which I would gladly escape; still duty calls for the unwelcome second point, viz.,

II.

That the Head of the Church marks every declension of piety, "Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee; because thou hast left thy first love." Let me draw your special attention to the manner in which this "nevertheless" is introduced. In the first instance, Jesus acknowledges, with most ample commendation, all the good deeds which had been done by the Church. He gathers all the bright and beautiful flowers of service and suffering, and having wreathed these into a garland, places it upon the chief of the church, and then gently whispers so low, methinks, that no enemy could overhear "Nevertheless I have somewhat against thee." This method of reproof is eminently suggestive. It gives a lesson to parents. Would you be successful in reproving your children? Let commendation precede rebuke; let your "nevertheless" be winged with love and hope, and it will fly to the farthest boundary of your child's intellectual and moral nature, and showers of blessings will be shaken from those heavenly wings. It gives a lesson to pastors also. Our words of remonstrance or rebuke will be more successful as they are preceded by every acknowledgment which justice and generosity can suggest. When the Master is compelled, so to speak, to rebuke his Church, he proceeds as though he would gladly turn. The rebuke comes with a hesitation which did not mark the eulogy. He resorts to a negative form of statement "Thou hast left thy first love." He charges his Church with a lowering of moral temperature; the ardour and brightness of early love have waned. Paul is clear enough in his statement to Timothy that part of a minister's duty is to "reprove" and "rebuke." A difficult part for any man to undertake. A rebuke may be given with so rash and vengeful a tone as to create disgust and resentment in the offender; or it may be uttered with so grieved and trembling a love as will melt obduracy into penitence. Rebuke is to be distinguished from coarse and brutal scolding; it is not to be uttered with the frantic blare of trampled dignity, but with the solemn pathos of wounded affection. Jesus weeps even while he rebukes, and those sad tears carry the reproving word to the innermost fibres of the heart.

Look at the declension spoken of. First. This declension is described as having begun in the heart. Christ does not charge the saints at Ephesus with having changed their doctrinal views; but, placing his finger on the heart, says, "There is a change here." You know the enthusiasm of "first love." Love is blind to difficulties. She bounds up the steeps with alacrity and joy. She cannot be deterred from her purposes by any representation. Tell her of the river, and she answers, "I can swim"; remind her of awful precipices, the guardian walls of capacious and terrific sepulchres, and, spreading her golden pinions, she replies, with laughter, "I can fly"; tell her of burning deserts, on which no palm tree throws its shade, through which no river rolls, and her courage bursts into uncontrollable enthusiasm as she recounts the story of her past endurances. She burns up every excuse. She calls every land her home. "The range of the mountains is her pasture." "She rejoiceth in her strength; she goeth to meet the armed men; she mocketh at fear, and is not affrighted, neither turneth she back from the sword." A right royal force is this "first love." If any work is to be done in the Church if any difficulties are to be surmounted if any icebergs are to be dissolved if any cape, where savage seas revel in ungovernable madness, is to be rounded, send out men and women in whose hearts this "first love" burns and sings, and their brows will be girt with garlands of conquest. Our business, then, is to watch our heart-fires. When the temperature of our love lowers, there is cause for terror. It is instructive to mark the many and insidious influences by which the gush and swell of affection are modified. Take the case of an admirer of his minister, and mark how the stream of love subsides. In the first instance, such an admirer thought that his teacher would ever play the harp of comfort or busy himself with abstract doctrines; but he finds that he has miscalculated that his minister is master of many styles that his pulpit is now a green hill, down which silvery streams roll, and in their rolling bid the traveller drink and be glad and that anon his pulpit is an Etna, whose sides shake with surging billows of fire, and whence issue devouring flames; he finds that his minister can not only sing the sweet, soft songs of love and hope, but can command a sarcasm before which vice grows pale, and staggers with amazement, that he carries a sword which has cloven many a vaunting foe. In course of time the admirer cannot bear this. The minister is dealing too faithfully with his conscience. The man knows that he has broken both the tables of the law, and now that he is being smitten with the avenging stones, he decries the minister who was once his idol, and his fickle love is turned into another channel. Long ago a drum-headed lad said to me, "Your sermons make my head ache"; but he has never looked at me with a smile since I asked him whether that was the fault of my sermons or of his own head. Or take the case of one who has been distinguished for much service in the cause of God, and see how the fires pale. He becomes prosperous in business. His oblations on the altar of Mammon are costlier than ever. He toils in the service of self until his energies are nearly exhausted, and then his class in the school is neglected; the grass grows on his tract district; his nature has become so perverted that he almost longs for an occasion of offence, that he may retire from the duties of the religious life. Could you have heard him in the hour of his newborn joy, when he first placed his foot in God's kingdom, you would not have thought that he ever could have been reduced to so low a moral temperature. What holy vows escaped him! How rich he was in promise! He was like a fruit tree in the sunny springtime, perfectly white with countless blossoms, and passers-by prophesied that every branch would be laden with luscious fruit. But look at him now; turn the leaves over, and with eager eyes search for fruit, and say, Is the promise of spring redeemed in autumn? Innumerable influences are continually in operation, which would cool the ardour of our first enthusiasm for Christ. Satan plies us with his treacherous arts; the world allures us with its transitory charms; our inborn depravity reveals itself in ever-varying manifestations; pride and selfishness, ambition and luxury, appeal to us in many voices, and beckon us with a thousand hands. Let men of rich, deep, manifold experience tell me how difficult it is to nourish and maintain our pristine love for Jesus, and how essential it is to fight our battles on our knees if we would keep our treasured love safe from the grasp of the arch-plunderer of the universe.

Second. This declension may be accompanied by an inveterate hatred of theological heresy, "But this thou hast, that thou hatest the deeds of the Nicolaitanes, which I also hate." The Nicolaitanes held corrupt doctrines, and indulged in corrupt practices, hence the Divine Head commends the church at Ephesus for protesting against such depravity; the point, however, on which we remark is, that while the saints were thus earnest in repelling a false theology, their own love for Jesus and his service was waning. The head may be right while the heart is going in a wrong direction. I am indeed anxious that we should maintain a Scriptural theology, that we should "hold fast the form of sound words"; at the same time we must remember that a technical theology will never save a soul; and that a mere verbal creed will never protect and increase our love for the Lord Jesus Christ. It is right to denounce heresy. We are bound by our covenant with Jesus to resist the devil, in what guise soever he may reveal himself. But beware, lest while you are hating the deeds of the Nicolaitanes your love is decreasing. It is not enough that you are able to put a multitude of heretics to flight; you must watch your love-fires, and continually supply them with the fuel of heaven.

Third. This declension evoked the most solemn warnings and exhortations, "Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly, and will remove thy candlestick out of his place, except thou repent." Observe the terrible consequences of heart alienation. These solemn words show: (1) that the Church in its collective capacity may incur the divine displeasure. There may be good individuals in the fellowship, yet the com munity as a whole may be under the frown of him who "walketh in the midst of the seven golden candlesticks." (2) That the Church in its collective capacity must betake itself to repentance. This is evident when we remember that there is certain work properly denominated Church work. Take, for example, either home or foreign evangelisation. It is not my work solely as an individual to "go up and possess the land" of heathenism: but it is our work as a Church to carry the light of heaven into "the dark places of the earth." It can only be done by individuals, in so far as they are atoms in a fabric parts of a whole. If, therefore, we have neglected to enter the door of opportunity as a Church, the cry of the angry Saviour is, "Repent, and do the first works; or else I will come unto thee quickly." (3) That Jesus will unchurch every organisation that is unfaithful to his name; he threatens to "remove thy candlestick out of his place." Such language may well make us pause. Organisation is not spiritual brotherhood. Tell me not of gorgeous temples, of skilful arrangements, of complete machinery; I tell you that you may have all these in an unparalleled degree, and yet "Ichabod" may be written on your temple doors! What is your spiritual life? Is your ecclesiastical mechanism the expression of your love? Is every wheel revolving by the breath of your sympathy? Is your heart the great motive power? I would turn you in upon yourselves, and in the name of Jesus adjure you to judge your hearts. Do this now, not a moment is to be lost; you may lose your "candlestick," you may be unchurched, and your temple may become a pit for "the bittern and the owl to dwell in." We must determine our condition in the light of these assurances. The eye of Jesus is marking every declension: and as our love declines, his anger burns. There is a limit to his forbearing meekness. Those that continue to offend him shall assuredly "lie with the uncircumcised, and with them that go down to the pit"; and when he ariseth in his fury the earth shall stagger with amazement, and the sea shall retire from his presence. Oh, Church! hear the warning cry.

Jesus concludes his letter with words which warrant us in affirming,

III.

That the Head of the Church has the richest blessings in reserve for all who overcome their spiritual enemies. "To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God." Almost every word in this promise is an idea: " Overcometh" the word tells of battle and victory. There is intimation here of an enemy. There is a hell in this word, and in it there is a devil. That your spiritual life is a fight you need not be reminded: every day you are in the battlefield; you live by strife. "Eat" the word tells of appetite. Desire is in this word, and desire satisfied. Our desire for more of God shall increase as the ages of our immortality expire, and yet increasing desire is but another way of saying increasing satisfaction. " The tree of life, which is in the midst of the paradise of God." These words are old; they ring in the ear as familiar sounds, and such they are; for hardly can we overpass the first page of the Bible, until we read of "the tree of life also in the midst of the garden," and now that we come to the last pages, again we hear the rustling of its amaranthine leaves. It is but little we can say concerning such a tree: no worm is gnawing at its root, no serpent coils around its stem, no sere leaf trembles upon it as the prophet of a coming winter; its every leaf is jewelled with purer dew than ever sparkled on the eyelids of the morning. A tree! 'Tis but another word for beauty, for beauty walks forth in ever-varying manifestations. A tree! 'Tis but another name for progress, for the circling sap bears through every fibre life and fruitfulness. A tree! Shall we assemble around that central tree? We cannot do so until we have assembled around the Cross. The Cross is at once our tree of death and our tree of life; nay, the Cross is but the earthly name of yonder tree in heaven; the Cross is that tree in dreary winter, shaken by savage storms, reft of every leaf, the throne of all-conquering death; and yonder tree is but the Cross in the genial summer of the better land, bursting into leaf, blushing into blossom, struggling into fruit; and I tell you that you can never stand beneath its branches until you have touched it in its old name the Cross! the Cross! and having done so, you shall by-and-by approach the eternal tree, and you shall eat its precious fruit, and that fruit will be all the better for having been plucked and offered by your Brother's hand.

Prayer

Almighty God, we thank thee for voices that come from other worlds, bringing sweet music and saving gospels. We know thy word when we hear it. There is none like it; that voice is as a rushing mighty wind from heaven. May we always listen for the voices from beyond, and reply to them with obedience and thankfulness. Thou hast set us in a great school: many are the teachers sent from God: thou hast taught us on every scale and according to every method; thou hast addressed thyself to our understanding, and our love, and our conscience, and our immortality. In this great school we have had prophets, mighty men gifted with penetrating vision, charged with the thunders of eloquence, gentle souls that wept with us in our distress, mighty souls that could deliver us in our despair. If we have listened to common teachers when we might have listened to prophets, the good God of the prophets forgive us. Enable us always to listen only to the great, the tender, the wise, the sympathetic; may we shed off from us all weakness, frivolity, pettiness, and cry mightily after that which is sublime, divine. We have a book of thine own writing in our school; may we read none other, may we seize the Book of God and clasp it to our hearts, and read it with our inner eyes, and listen to no other. The Lord open our eyes that we may behold wondrous things out of his law; may Christ himself open our understanding that we may understand the Scriptures. Whilst we are in the school do thou never leave it; when we have clone with the prophets may we be passed on to the angels, and evermore attend the school of God. May we be poor learners in the school of darkness, may we forget every lesson of iniquity; may our memories be quick, vivid, tenacious in all matters in the school of the Father, and utterly forgetful of all things learned in lower schools. Forbid that we should be wise about the earth, and foolish about heaven; able men in handling nothings, and fools in handling infinite quantities. The Lord give us sight clear and penetrating; the Lord give us eyes in our heart. Help us to show to the world that we have been with Jesus and have learned of him: write upon us the signature of thine approval as students of Christ: give us certificates and prizes from heaven; may we be rich with assurances that we have not learned the Gospel of God in vain; may we be as heroic in patience as we are heroic in service, may our resignation equal in brilliance any exhibition of fortitude thou hast enabled us to disclose; may we add to our faith virtue, and crown the pillar with charity. The Lord look upon us according to our need; our life is one long want, our days are supplications; we awake hungry in the morning, at night we wonder what the day to come will bring forth. Thou hast put within us a very little, and that thou mayest take from us any moment; we can only grasp according to the breadth of our span, and our hand is so small there is nothing in it even when it is full: may our heart be a hand infinite in its grasp! We want the upper things, the better things, the summer of heaven, the beauty of eternity. Help us to pity those who have less than we have less money, less strength, less enjoyment of life; who live in a cave when they would gladly swing and curve and sing in the firmament. Oh, the misery of the world! Its life is one long sigh; there is sighing at the wedding feast, there are tears among the flowers. Oh, the earth, the earth, the earth! scene of tumult and sorrow, despair and death. But is it not a redeemed one, though so little? Has it not been bought back with blood? Is it not the choicest of the stars? Is not the earth celebrated with infinite fame amid all the ranges of the worlds because it held the Cross? May we look upon the earth as a redeemed place; may we see at the root of every flower some drop of saving, all-vitalising blood. We thank thee for that red rain; the earth has never been thirsty since; behold, thou hast satisfied the longing of thy creatures, thou hast given thy saints delight. Look upon all those whose faces are turned down that their hearts may be turned up towards the heavens: fathers and mothers, widows, orphans, some lonely because the mother is dead, and some afraid to go out because the father's hand is missing. Look upon those who do not care for the morning because it can bring no brightness, and who are not afraid of the night because they have seen all that darkness can do. Oh the earth! the misery, the tragedy, the heart-break, the almost conquest of hell! Come, thou Son of man, Saviour known on Calvary, and turn the issue backward, and take thy place, for the crown is thine, since thou hast borne the Cross. Amen.