THE

CHAPTER VIII.

NEARNESS OF THE KINGDOM.

HE Lord's return is clearly the chief theme of New Tes tament prophecy. Earth rejected Him, but heaven welcomed Him. Scorned by men, he is adored by Seraphs. And He who here was thrust down to the lowest place by human unkindness has by divine power been raised to the highest seat above, "angels and principalities and powers, being made subject unto Him."

At the head of these powers and surrounded by them He is about to come back. Earth that witnessed His humiliation must be the scene of His coronation. Where his foes once seemed to triumph, He must visibly and actually triumph. Where the thorn-crown pierced, the glory-crown must shine. And instead of a mock sceptre, his hand shall wield the rod of iron by which the nations of his enemies shall be ruled, or dashed in pieces like a potter's vessel.

And this stupendous event is declared by all the New Testament writers to be near. "The Lord is at hand," says Paul. "The coming of the Lord draweth nigh," responds James. And the writer to the Hebrews exclaims, "Yet a little while and He that shall come will come, and will not tarry."

The primitive disciples lived ever in the shadow of this expected near event, and drew from it the courage that braved persecution, the hope that conquered death, and that elevation of soul that made them superior to outward trial. To them it was not dim, but clear, not mystical, but intensely real, not afar off, but nigh at hand. And such a view is the only true and Scriptural view. The Lord's return ought ever to be thought of and felt as nigh at hand.

It is nigh; nigh first of all, MORALLY, as the object that ought to be especially near to our practical consciousness, a most promi nent object in our thinking, and an ever present motive in our acting. Its own transcendent importance gives it this place. It is the hour of hours and the day of days in the history of this world, and in the career of each one of us. As we look forward into the future all intervening events fall into comparative obscurity because this towers so far above them, both in the awfulness and grandeur of its outward circumstances, and in its immediate decisive effects upon our eternal destinies.

A level plain may stretch away evenly before the eye. But if successive mountains rise in ever higher ranges, then are the valleys lost out of view, and the loftiest peak, piercing the very skies, seems to look down directly upon us. And so the revealed future is rugged with mountainous epochs; and rising high above all others in the prophetic vision is that Great Day, when "the Lord Himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God," the appointed judge of quick and dead.

Compared with this event, the event of death and the state of death are of minor interest. The apostles thought little about

dying, but they thought much about meeting Christ. They dwelt little on the state of the dead, but they mused much on being caught up to be forever with the Lord. It was to them the one event which surpassed every other in real greatness and practical import.

Did they think of themselves? It was the very hour of their final salvation; the hour of a change in their persons and their state so momentous as to be a great and glorious mystery; the hour of their complete deliverance from all sin and sorrow, and introduction to all purity and joy. It was with no cold theorizing spirit, but with emotions of inexpressible triumph that Paul wrote: "The dead in Christ shall rise first; then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them to meet the Lord in the air."

Did they think of the nominal church? It was the hour when judgment must begin at the house of God; when the tares should be separated from the wheat; when the secrets of all hearts should be revealed, and many should be heard vainly clamoring at the shut door, "Lord, Lord, open to us."

Did they think of the unchurched masses around them? It was the hour when their probation must end forever; when the throne of mercy shall be exchanged for the bar of justice; when the mediator shall become the judge, and when the air shall be tremulous with the startled cry of myriads, "The harvest is past and the summer is ended, and we are not saved."

Did they think of the impenitent as a class? It was the hour when the treasured wrath due to lifetimes of sin shall break forth from the throne; when vengeance shall fall on the neglecters of God; when those who obey not the gospel shall be "punished

with everlasting destruction from the presence of the Lord, and from the glory of his power."

How brief to the practical consciousness must any supposed interval have seemed in the shadow of such an event as this! How little of the slumbers of the night, thinks she who on the morrow is to be led to the bridal chamber of the king! How vividly does the convicted criminal anticipate and have before him the hour of his approaching execution! And how to all this world, elect and reprobate alike, fade out all spaces up to the supreme moment when the mediator shall leave his seat, when flaming seraphs shall rend the veil that hides the invisible, when probation shall end, when the trump of God shall summon all to His bar, when the dead shall awake, the saints glorified wing upward their flight, and the flaming earth, enveloped in a flaming sky, engulf the ungodly in consuming fire! Such an event certainly, without reference to absolute time, is near as a matter of real interest, and ought ever to be as a matter of feeling and consciousness.

says:

Past doubt the words of Rev. John Ker are true when he "The return of our Lord is, in the New Testament, the great event that towers above every other. The heaven that gives back Christ gives back all that we have loved and lost, solves all doubts, and ends all sorrows. His coming looks in upon the whole life of his church, as a lofty mountain peak looks in upon every little valley and sequestered home around its base, and belongs to them all alike. Every generation lies under the shadow of it, for whatever is transcendently great is constantly near, and in moments of high conviction absorbs petty interests and annihilates intervals."

But again this great event is near, PRACTICALLY, in that the time

assured to us in which to prepare for it is cut short. Death ends it at the farthest. It cannot, in any case, extend beyond the limits of the grave; for "it is appointed unto men once for all to die, and after this the judgment." Hence, even if the Return does not find us living, still our preparation for that event is appointed us to be made in the brief space of our fleeting life. No delay of the Return will lengthen this probationary period beyond that span; for each shall "receive the things done in his body according to that he hath done, whether it be good or bad."

Hence, practically, so far as our revealed relations to the coming are concerned, it is as near at least as death. The two events have a practical coincidence. The intervening space drops out of view as not belonging to the revealed period of preparation. Each, when it comes, ends this probationary state and seals us as saved or unsaved.

When two boats are rowed for a prize, the matter is settled the moment they reach the station. Then practically they have obtained or missed the prize. Some time may elapse before the prize is actually delivered, but this is not thought of. All interest and excitement on the part of crew or spectators is over; it were out of place now; all is done that ever can be done, and the reception of the prize is thought of, and has been all along, as blended with the closing stretch of the race. And so the language of Scripture indicates that the time that may intervene between death and the coming cannot alter our essential state, It is no time for striving for that is past. The Christian rests from his toils; the victory is won. The sinner also ceases from his present probationary activity, for the battle is lost. And thus the coming is practically brought up to the very portals of the