312. Nests in the Cedar

Nests in the Cedar

Eze_17:23 : ’93All fowl of every wing.’94

The cedar of Lebanon is a royal tree. It stands six thousand feet above the level of the sea. A missionary counted the concentric circles and found one tree thirty-five hundred years old’97long-rooted, broad branched, all the year in luxuriant foliage. The branches that bent in the hurricane that David saw sweeping over Lebanon may be the same that rock today over the head of the American traveler. This monarch of the forest, with its leafy fingers, plucks the honors of a thousand years, and sprinkles them upon its own uplifted brow, as though some great hallelujah of heaven had been planted upon Lebanon, and it were rising up with all its long-armed strength to take hold of the hills whence it came. Oh! what a royal place for birds to nest in! In hot days they come thither’97the eagle, the dove, the swallow, the sparrow, and the raven.

My text intimates that Christ is the cedar, and the people from all quarters are the birds that lodge among the branches. ’93It shall be a goodly cedar, and under it shall dwell all fowl of every wing.’94 As in Ezekiel’92s time, so now’97Christ, is a goodly cedar, and to him are flying all kinds of people’97young and old, rich and poor; men high-soaring as the eagle, those fierce as the raven, and those gentle as the dove. ’93All fowl of every wing.’94

First, the young may come. Of the eighteen hundred and seventy-one years that have passed, about sixteen hundred have been wasted by the good in misdirected efforts. Until Robert Raikes came, there was no organized effort for saving the young. We spend all our strength trying to bend old trees, when a little pressure would have been sufficient for the sapling. We let men go down to the very bottom of sin before we try to lift them up. It is a great deal easier to keep a train on the track than to get it on when it is off. The experienced reinsman checks the fiery steed at the first jump, for when he gets in full swing, the swift hoofs clicking fire from the pavement, and the bit between his teeth, his momentum is irresistible. It is said that the young must be allowed to sow their ’93wild oats.’94 I have noticed that those who sow their wild oats seldom try to raise any other kind of crop. Heaven is in one direction, hell is in another. If you are going to heaven, you had better take the straight road, and not try to go to Boston by the way of New Orleans. What is to be the history of this multitude of young people who fill our churches and Sunday-schools? I will take you by the hand and show you a glorious sunrise. I will not whine about this thing, nor groan about it; but come, young men and maidens, Jesus wants you. His hand is love; his voice is music; his smile is heaven. Religion will put no handcuffs on your wrist, no hopples on your feet, no brand on your forehead.

I went through one of the heaviest snowstorms I have ever known to see a dying girl. Her cheek on the pillow was white as the snow on the casement. Her large, round eye had not lost any of its luster. Loved ones stood all around the bed trying to hold her back. Her mother could not give her up; her father could not give her up; and one nearer to her than either father or mother was frantic with grief. I said, ’93Fanny, how do you feel?’94 ’93Oh!’94 she says, ’93Happy! happy! Mr. Talmage, tell all the young folks that religion will make them happy.’94 As I came out of the room, louder than all the sobs and wailings of grief I heard the clear, sweet, glad voice of the dying girl: ’93Good-night; we shall meet again on the other side of the river.’94 The next Sabbath we buried her. We brought white flowers and laid them on the casket. There was in all that crowded church but one really happy and delighted face, and that was the face of Fanny. Oh! I wish that tonight my Lord Jesus would go through this audience, and take all these flowers of youth and garland them on his brow. The cedar is a fit refuge for birds of brightest plumage and swiftest wing. See, they fly! they fly! ’93All fowl of every wing.’94

Again, I remark that the old may come. You say, ’93Suppose a man has to go on crutches; suppose he is blind; suppose he is deaf; suppose that nine-tenths of his life has been wasted.’94 Then I answer, come with crutches; come, old men, blind and deaf. If you would sweep your hand around before your blind eyes, the first thing you would touch would be the cross. It is hard for an aged man or woman to have grown old without religion. Their taste has gone. The peach and the grape have lost their flavor. They say that somehow fruit does not taste as it used to. Their hearing gets defective, and they miss a great deal that is said in their presence. Their friends have all gone, and everybody seems so strange. The world seems to go away from them, and they are left all alone. They begin to feel in the way when you come into the room where they are; and they move their chair nervously, and say: ’93I hope I am not in the way.’94 Alas! that father and mother should ever be in the way. When you were sick, and they sat up all night rocking you, singing to you, ministering to you, did they think that you were in the way? Are you tired of the old people? Do you snap them up quick and sharp? God will curse you to the bone for your ingratitude and unkindness.

Oh! it is hard to be old without religion’97to feel this world going away, and nothing better coming. You who have gone far on without Christ, I address you deferentially. I call you my father and mother. You have found this a hard world for old people. Alas! to have aches and pains, and no Christ to soothe them. I want to give you a cane better than that you lean on. It is the cane that the Bible speaks of when it says, ’93Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.’94 I want to give you better spectacles than those you now look through. It is the spiritual eyesight of Divine grace. Christ will not think that you are in the way. Does your head tremble with the palsy of old age? Lay it on Christ’92s bosom. Do you feel lonely now that your companions and children are gone? I think Christ has them. They are safe in his keeping. Very soon he will take you where they are. I take hold of your arm as any son would take hold of the arm of a father, and try to lead you to a place where you can put down all your burden. Go with me. Only a little while longer, and your sight will come again, and your hearing will come again, and with the strength of an immortal athlete you will step on the pavement of heaven. No crutches in heaven; no sleepless nights in heaven; no dim eyes in heaven; no cross looks for old people. Dwelling there for ages, no one will say: ’93Father, you know nothing about this; step back: you are in the way!’94

How many dear old folks Jesus has put to sleep. How sweetly he has closed their eyes! How gently folded their arms! How he has put his hand on their silent hearts, and said: ’93Rest now, tired pilgrim. It is all over. The tears will never start again. Hush! hush! So he gives his beloved sleep.’94 I think the most beautiful object on earth is an old Christian’97the hair white, not with the frosts of winter, but with the blossoms of the tree of life. I never feel sorry for a Christian old man. Why feel sorry for those upon whom the glories of the eternal world are about to burst? They are going to the goodly cedar. Though their wings are heavy with age, God shall renew their strength like the eagle, and they shall make their nest in the cedar. ’93All fowl of every wing.’94

Again, the very bad, the outrageously sinful, may come. Men talk of the grace of God as though it were so many yards long and so many yards deep. People point to the dying thief as an encouragement to the sinner. How much better it would be to point to our own case, and say: ’93If God saved us, he can save anybody.’94 There may be those among us who never had one earnest word said to them about their souls. Consider me as putting my hand on your shoulder and looking in your eye. God has been good to you. You ask: ’93How do you know that? He has been very hard on me.’94 ’93Where did you come from?’94 ’93Home.’94 ’93Then you have a home. Have you ever thanked God for your home? Have you children?’94 ’93Yes.’94 ’93Have you ever thanked God for your children? Who keeps them safe? Were you ever sick?’94 ’93Yes.’94 ’93Who made you well? Have you been fed every day? Who feeds you? Put your hand on your pulse. Who makes it throb? Listen to the respiration of your lungs. Who helps you to breathe? Have you a Bible in the house, spreading before you the future life? Who gave you that Bible?’94 Oh! it has been a story of goodness and mercy all the way through. You have been one of God’92s pet children. Who has fondled you and caressed you and loved you? And when you went astray, and wanted to come back, did he ever refuse? I know of a father who, after his son came back the fourth time, said: ’93No; I forgave you three times, but I will never forgive you again.’94 And the son went off and died. But God takes back His children the thousandth time as cheerfully as the first. As easily as with my handkerchief I strike the dust off this book, God will wipe out all your sins. There are hospitals for ’93incurables.’94 When men are hopelessly sick, they are sent there. Thank God! there is no need of a hospital for spiritual incurables. Though you had the worst leprosy that ever struck a soul, your flesh shall come again like the flesh of a little child.

Oh, this mercy of God! I am told it is an ocean. Then I place on it four swift sailing craft, with compass and charts and choice rigging and skilful navigators, and I tell them to launch away and discover for me the extent of this ocean. That craft puts out in one direction, and sails to the north; this to the south; this to the east; this to the west. They crowd on all their canvas, and sail ten thousand years, and one day come up the harbor of heaven, and I shout to them from the beach: ’93Have you found the shore?’94 and they answer: ’93No shore to God’92s mercy!’94 Swift angels, dispatched from the throne, attempt to go across it. For a million years they fly and fly, but then come back and fold their wings at the foot of the throne, and cry: ’93No shore! no shore to God’92s mercy!’94

Mercy! Mercy! I sing it. I preach it. I pray it. Here I find a man bound hand and foot to the devil, but with one stroke of the hammer of God’92s truth the chains fall off and he is free forever. Mercy! Mercy! There is no depth it cannot fathom; there is no height it cannot scale; there is no infinity it cannot compass. I take my stand under this goodly cedar, and see the flocks flying thither. They are torn with the shot of temptation, and wounded and sick and scarred. Some fought with iron beak; some once feasted on carcasses; some were fierce of eye and cruel of talon, but they came, flock after flock’97’94All fowl of every wing.’94

Again, all the dying will find their nest in this goodly cedar. It is cruel to destroy a bird’92s nest; but Death does not hesitate to destroy one. There was a beautiful nest in the next street. Lovingly the parents brooded over it. There were two or three little robins in the nest. The scarlet fever thrust its hot hands into the nest, and the birds are gone. Only those are safe who have their nest in the goodly cedar. They have over them the ’93feathers of the Almighty.’94 Oh to have those soft, warm, eternal wings stretched over us! Let the storms beat and the branches of the cedar toss on the wind’97no danger. When a storm comes you can see the birds flying to the woods. Ere the storm of death comes down, let us fly to the goodly cedar.

Of what great varieties heaven will be made up! There come men who once were hard and cruel, and desperate in wickedness, yet now, soft and changed by grace, they come into glory: ’93All fowl of every wing.’94 And here they come, the children who were reared in loving home-circles, flocking through the gates of life: ’93All fowl of every wing.’94 These were white, and came from Northern homes; these were black, and ascended from Southern plantations; these were copper-colored, and went up from Indian reservations: ’93All fowl of every wing.’94

So God gathers them up. It is astonishing how easy it is for a good soul to enter heaven. There are no ropes thrown out to pull us ashore; there are no ladders let down to pull us up. Christ comes, and takes us by the hand, and says: ’93You have had enough of this; come up higher.’94 Do you hurt a lily when you pluck it? Is there any rudeness when Jesus touches the cheek, and the red rose of health whitens into the lily of immortal purity and gladness?

It is an autumnal Sabbath. In a few weeks sharp, shrill winds will blow up, and we will have the windows closed, and the giant of the woods will smite his anvil, and the leafy sparks will fly on the autumnal gale. Then there will be thousands of birds gathering in the tree at the corner of the field, just before departing to warmer climes, and they will call and sing until the branches drip with the melody. There is a better clime for us, and by-and-by we shall migrate. We gather in the branches of the goodly cedar, in preparation for departure. You heard our voices in the opening song; you will hear them in the closing song’97voices good, voices bad, voices happy, voices distressful’97’94All fowl of every wing.’94 By-and-by we shall be gone. Some in this life have had it hard; some have had it easy. Some were brilliant; some were dull. Some were rocked by pious parentage; others had their infantile cheeks scalded with the tears of woe. Some crawled, as it were, into the kingdom on their hands and knees, and some seemed to enter in chariots of flaming fire. Those fell from a ship’92s mast; these were crushed in the Avondale mine disaster. They are God’92s singing-birds now. No gun of huntsman shall shoot them down. They gather on the trees of life, and fold their wings on the branches; and, far away from frosts and winds and night, they sing until the hills are flooded with joy, and the skies drop music, and the arches of pearl send back the echoes’97’94All fowl of every wing.’94

Behold the saints, beloved of God,

Washed are their robes in Jesus’92 blood;

Brighter than angels, lo! they shine,

Their glories splendid and sublime.

My soul anticipates the day,

Would stretch her wings and soar away,

To aid the song, the palm to bear;

And bow, the chief of sinners, there.

Autor: T. De Witt Talmage