<h2><SPAN name="MEAL-TIME_IN_THE_CORNFIELDS" id="MEAL-TIME_IN_THE_CORNFIELDS">MEAL-TIME IN THE CORNFIELDS.</SPAN></h2>
<p class="small">"And Boaz said unto her, At meal-time come thou hither, and eat of the
bread, and dip thy morsel in the vinegar. And she sat beside the reapers:
and he reached her parched corn, and she did eat, and was sufficed, and left."—<span class="smcap">Ruth</span>
2:14.</p>
<p class="p2"><span class="smcap">We</span> are going to the cornfields, not so much to
glean, as to rest with the reapers and gleaners, when
under some wide-spreading oak they sit down to take
refreshment. We hope some timid gleaner will accept
our invitation to come and eat with us, and will have
confidence enough to dip <i>her</i> morsel in the vinegar.
May all of us have courage to feast to the full on our
own account, and kindness enough to carry home a
portion to our needy friends at home.</p>
<p class="p2">I. Our first point of remark is this—<span class="smcap">that God's
reapers have their meal-times</span>.</p>
<p>Those who work for God will find him a good
master. He cares for oxen, and he has commanded
Israel, "Thou shalt not muzzle the ox when he treadeth
out the corn." Much more doth he care for his servants
who serve him. "He hath given meat unto them
that fear him: he will ever be mindful of his covenant."
The reapers in Jesus' fields shall not only receive
a blessed reward at the last, but they shall have
plenteous comforts by the way. He is pleased to pay
his servants twice; first in the labor itself, and a second<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</SPAN></span>
time in the labor's sweet results. He gives them such
joy and consolation in the service of their Master that
it is a sweet employ, and they cry, "We delight to do
thy will, O Lord." Heaven is made up of serving God
day and night, and a foretaste of heaven is enjoyed in
serving God on earth with earnest perseverance.</p>
<p>God has ordained certain meal-times for his reapers;
and he has appointed that one of these shall be
<i>when they come together to listen to the Word preached</i>. If
God be with ministers they act as the disciples did of
old, for they received the loaves and the fishes from the
Lord Jesus, and then they handed them to the people.
<i>We</i>, of ourselves, cannot feed one soul, much less thousands;
but when the Lord is with us we can keep as
good a table as Solomon himself, with all his fine flour,
and fat oxen, and roebucks, and fallow-deer. When the
Lord blesses the provisions of his House, no matter
how many thousands there may be, all his poor shall be
filled with bread. I hope, beloved, you know what it is
to sit under the shadow of the Word with great delight,
and find the fruit thereof sweet unto your taste. Where
the doctrines of grace are boldly and plainly delivered
to you in connection with the other truths of revelation;
where Jesus Christ upon his cross is always lifted up;
where the work of the Spirit is not forgotten; where the
glorious purpose of the Father is never despised, there
is sure to be rich provision for the children of God.</p>
<p>Often, too, our gracious Lord appoints us meal-times
<i>in our private readings and meditations</i>. Here it is
that his "paths drop fatness." Nothing can be more
fattening to the soul of the believer than feeding upon
the Word, and digesting it by frequent meditation.
No wonder that men grow so slowly when they meditate<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</SPAN></span>
so little. Cattle must chew the cud; it is not that
which they crop with their teeth, but that which is
masticated, and digested by rumination, that nourishes
them. We must take the truth, and turn it over and
over again in the inward parts of our spirit, and so
shall we extract suitable nourishment therefrom. My
brethren, is not meditation the land of Goshen to you?
If men once said, "There is corn in Egypt," may
they not always say that the finest of the wheat is to be
found in secret prayer? Private devotion is a land
which floweth with milk and honey; a paradise yielding
all manner of fruits; a banqueting house of choice
wines. Ahasuerus might make a great feast, but all his
hundred and twenty provinces could not furnish such
dainties as meditation offers to the spiritual mind.
Where can we feed and lie down in green pastures in so
sweet a sense as we do in our musings on the Word?
Meditation distils the quintessence of joy from the
Scriptures, and gladdens our mouth with a sweetness
which excels the virgin honey. Your retired periods
and occasions of prayer should be to you refreshing seasons,
in which, like the reapers at noonday, you sit with
the Master and enjoy his generous provisions. The
Shepherd of Salisbury Plain was wont to say that when
he was lonely, and his wallet was empty, his Bible was
to him meat and drink, and company too; he is not the
only man who has found a fulness in the Word when all
else has been empty. During the battle of Waterloo a
godly soldier, mortally wounded, was carried by his
comrade into the rear, and being placed with his back
propped up against a tree, he besought his friend to
open his knapsack and take out the Bible which he had
carried in it. "Read to me," he said, "one verse be<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</SPAN></span>fore
I close my eyes in death." His comrade read him
that verse: "Peace I leave with you, my peace I give
unto you: not as the world giveth, give I unto you;"
and there, fresh from the whistling of the bullets, and
the roll of the drum, and the tempest of human conflict,
that believing spirit enjoyed such holy calm that ere he
fell asleep in the arms of Jesus he said, "Yes, I have a
peace with God which passeth all understanding, which
keeps my heart and mind through Jesus Christ." Saints
most surely enjoy delightful meal-times when they are
alone in meditation.</p>
<p>Let us not forget that there is one specially ordained
meal-time which ought to occur at least once in the
week—I mean <i>the Supper of the Lord</i>. There you have
literally, as well as spiritually, a meal. The table is
richly spread, it has upon it both bread and wine; and
looking at what these symbolize, we have before us a
table richer than that which kings could furnish. There
we have the flesh and the blood of our Lord Jesus
Christ, whereof if a man eat he shall never hunger and
never thirst, for that bread shall be unto him everlasting
life. Oh! the sweet seasons we have known at the
Lord's Supper. If some of you knew the enjoyment of
feeding upon Christ in that ordinance you would chide
yourselves for not having united with the Church in
fellowship. In keeping the Master's commandments
there is "great reward," and consequently in neglecting
them there is great loss of reward. Christ is not
so tied to the sacramental table as to be always found
of those who partake thereat, but still it is "in the way"
that we may expect the Lord to meet with us. "If ye
love me, keep my commandments," is a sentence of
touching power. Sitting at this table, our soul has<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</SPAN></span>
mounted up from the emblem to the reality; we have
eaten bread in the kingdom of God, and have leaned
our head upon Jesus' bosom. "He brought me to the
banqueting-house, and his banner over me was love."</p>
<p>Besides these regular meal-times, there are others
which God gives us, <i>at seasons when, perhaps, we little expect
them</i>. You have been walking the street, and suddenly
you have felt a holy flowing out of your soul toward
God; or in the middle of business your heart has
been melted with love and made to dance for joy, even
as the brooks, which have been bound with winter's ice,
leap to feel the touch of spring. You have been groaning,
dull, and earth-bound; but the sweet love of Jesus
has enwrapped your heart when you scarce thought of
it, and your spirit, all free, and all on fire, has rejoiced
before the Lord with timbrel and dance, like Miriam of
old. I have had times occasionally in preaching when
I would fain have kept on far beyond the appointed
hour, for my overflowing soul has been like a vessel
wanting vent. Seasons, too, we have had on our sick
beds, when we would have been content to be sick always
if we could have had our bed so well made by
tender love, and our head so softly pillowed on condescending
grace.</p>
<p>Our blessed Redeemer comes to us in the morning,
and wakes us up by dropping sweet thoughts upon our
souls; we know not how they came, but it is as if, when
the dew was visiting the flowers, a few drops had taken
pity upon us. In the cool eventide, too, as we have
gone to our bed, our meditation of him has been sweet;
and, in the night watches, when we tossed to and fro,
and could not sleep, he has been pleased to become our
song in the night.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>God's reapers find it hard work to reap; but they
gain a blessed solace when in one way or another they
sit down and eat of their Master's rich provisions; then,
with renewed strength, they rise with sharpened sickle,
to reap again in the noontide heat.</p>
<p>Let me observe that, while these meal-times come we
know not exactly when, there are <i>certain seasons when we
may expect them</i>. The Eastern reapers generally sit
down under the shelter of a tree, or a booth, to take
refreshment during the heat of the day. And certain I
am that when trouble, affliction, persecution, and bereavement
become the most painful to us, it is then
that the Lord hands out to us the sweetest comforts.
We must work till the hot sun forces the sweat from
our faces, and then we may look for repose; we must
bear the burden and heat of the day before we can expect
to be invited to those choice meals which the Lord
prepares for true laborers. When thy day of trouble is
hottest, then the love of Jesus shall be sweetest.</p>
<p>Again, these meal-times frequently occur <i>before</i> a
trial. Elijah must be entertained beneath a juniper tree,
for he is to go a forty days' journey in the strength of
that meat. You may suspect some danger nigh when
your delights are overflowing. If you see a ship taking
in great quantities of provision, it is probably bound
for a distant port, and when God gives you extraordinary
seasons of communion with Jesus, you may look
for long leagues of tempestuous sea. Sweet cordials
prepare for stern conflicts.</p>
<p>Times of refreshing also occur <i>after</i> trouble or arduous
service. Christ was tempted of the devil, and <i>afterward</i>
angels came and ministered unto him. Jacob
wrestled with God, and afterward, at Mahanaim, hosts<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</SPAN></span>
of angels met him. Abraham fought with the kings,
and returned from their slaughter, and then it was that
Melchisedec refreshed him with bread and wine. After
conflict, content; after battle, banquet. When thou
hast waited on thy Lord, then thou shalt sit down, and
thy Master will gird himself and wait upon thee.</p>
<p>Let worldlings say what they will about the hardness
of religion, we do not find it so. We own that
reaping for Christ has its difficulties and troubles; but
still the bread which we eat is of heavenly sweetness,
and the wine which we drink is crushed from celestial
clusters:</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="line small">"I would not change my bless'd estate</div>
<div class="line small ip5">For all the world calls good or great;</div>
<div class="line small ip5">And while my faith can keep her hold,</div>
<div class="line small ip5">I envy not the sinner's gold."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p class="p2">II. Follow me while we turn to a second point.
<span class="smcap">To these meals the gleaner is affectionately invited.</span>
That is to say, the poor, trembling stranger who has
not strength enough to reap, who has no right to be in
the field except the right of charity the poor, trembling
sinner, conscious of his own demerit, and feeling
but little hope and little joy, is invited to the feast
of love.</p>
<p>In the text <i>the gleaner is invited to come</i>. "At meal-time
<i>come</i> thou hither." We trust none of you will be
kept away from the place of holy feasting by any shame
on account of your dress, or your personal character, or
your poverty; nay, nor even on account of your physical
infirmities. "At meal-time come thou hither." I
knew a deaf woman who could never hear a sound, and
yet she was always in the House of God, and when
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</SPAN></span>
asked why, her reply was that a friend found her the
text, and then God was pleased to give her many a sweet
thought upon it while she sat with his people; besides,
she felt that as a believer she ought to honor God by
her <i>presence</i> in his courts, and by confessing her union
with his people; and, better still, she always liked to
be in the best of company, and as the presence of God
was there, and the holy angels, and the saints of the
Most High, whether she could hear or no, she would
go. If <i>such</i> persons find pleasure in coming, we who <i>can</i>
hear should never stay away. Though we feel our unworthiness,
we ought to be desirous to be laid in the
House of God, as the sick were at the pool of Bethesda,
hoping that the waters may be stirred, and that we may
step in and be healed. Trembling soul, never let the
temptations of the devil keep thee from the assembly of
worshippers; "at meal-time come thou hither."</p>
<p>Moreover, <i>she was bidden not only to come but to eat</i>.
Whatever there is sweet and comfortable in the Word
of God, ye that are of a broken and contrite spirit are
invited to partake of it. "Jesus Christ came into the
world to save <i>sinners</i>"—sinners such as you are. "In
due time Christ died for the <i>ungodly</i>"—such ungodly
ones as you feel yourselves to be. You desire to be
Christ's. You <i>may</i> be Christ's. You are saying in your
heart, "O that I could eat the children's bread!"
You <i>may</i> eat it. You say, "I have no right." But the
Lord gives you the invitation. Come without any other
right than the right of his invitation.</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="line small">"Let not conscience make you linger,</div>
<div class="line small i2">Nor of fitness fondly dream."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>But since he bids you "come," take him at his word;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</SPAN></span>
and if there be a promise, believe it; if there be an encouraging
word, accept it, and let the sweetness of it
be yours.</p>
<p>Note further, that she was not only invited to eat
the bread, but to <i>dip her morsel in the vinegar</i>. We must
not look upon this as being some sour stuff. No doubt
there are crabbed souls in the church, who always dip
their morsel in the sourest imaginable vinegar, and with
a grim liberality invite others to share their misery with
them; but the vinegar in my text is altogether another
thing. This was either a compound of various juices
expressed from fruits, or else it was that weak kind of
wine mingled with water which is still commonly used
in the harvest-fields of Italy and the warmer parts of the
world—a drink not exceedingly strong, but good
enough to impart a relish to the food. It was, to use
the only word which will give the meaning, <i>a sauce</i>,
which the Orientals used with their bread. As we use
butter, or as they on other occasions used oil, so in the
harvest-field, believing it to have cooling properties,
they used what is here called "vinegar." Beloved, the
Lord's reapers have sauce with their bread; they have
not merely doctrines, but the holy unction which is the
essence of doctrines; they have not merely truths, but
a hallowed delight accompanies the truths. Take, for
instance, the doctrine of election, which is like the
bread; there is a sauce to dip it in. When I can say,
"He loved <i>me</i> before the foundations of the world,"
the personal enjoyment of my interest in the truth becomes
a sauce into which I dip my morsel. And you,
poor gleaner, are invited to dip your morsel in it too.
I used to hear people sing that hymn of Toplady's,
which begins<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</SPAN></span>—</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="line small">"A debtor to mercy alone,</div>
<div class="line small ip5">Of covenant mercy I sing;</div>
<div class="line small ip5">Nor fear, with thy righteousness on,</div>
<div class="line small ip5">My person and offering to bring."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>The hymn rises to its climax in the lines—</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="line small">"Yes, I to the end shall endure,</div>
<div class="line small ip5">As sure as the earnest is given;</div>
<div class="line small ip5">More happy, but not more secure,</div>
<div class="line small ip5">The glorified spirits in heaven."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p>I used to think I should never be able to sing that hymn.
It was the sauce, you know. I might manage to eat
some of the plain bread, but I could not dip it in that
sauce. It was too high doctrine, too sweet, too consoling.
But I thank God I have since ventured to dip my
morsel in it, and now I hardly like my bread without it.</p>
<p>I would have every trembling sinner partake of the
<i>comfortable</i> parts of God's Word, even those which cavillers
call "<span class="smcap">High Doctrine</span>." Let him believe the
simpler truth first, and then dip it in the sweet doctrine
and be happy in the Lord.</p>
<p>I think I see the gleaner half prepared to come, for
she is very hungry, and she has nothing with her; but
she begins to say, "I have no right to come, for I am
not a reaper; I do nothing for Christ; I am only a <i>selfish
gleaner</i>; I am not a reaper." Ah! but thou art
invited to come. Make no questions about it. Boaz
bids thee; take thou his invitation, and approach at
once. "But," you say, "I am such a <i>poor</i> gleaner;
though my labor is all for myself, yet it is little I win
by it; I get a few thoughts while the sermon is being
preached, but I lose them before I reach home." I know
you do, poor weak-handed woman. But still, Jesus
invites thee. Come! Take thou the sweet promise as he<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</SPAN></span>
presents it to thee, and let no bashfulness of thine send
thee home hungry. "But," you say, "I am <i>a stranger</i>;
you do not know my sins, my sinfulness, and the waywardness
of my heart." But Jesus does, and yet he
invites you. He knows you are but a Moabitess, a
stranger from the commonwealth of Israel; but he bids
you come. Is not that enough? "But," you say, "I
owe so much to him already; it is so good of him to
spare my forfeited life, and so tender of him to let me
hear the gospel preached at all; I cannot have the presumption
to be an intruder, and sit with the reapers."
Oh! but he <i>bids</i> you. There is more presumption in
your doubting than there could be in your believing.
<span class="smcap">He</span> bids you. Will you refuse Boaz? Shall Jesus' lips
give the invitation, and will you say him nay? Come,
now, come. Remember that the little which Ruth could
eat did not make Boaz any the poorer; and all that
thou wantest will make Christ none the less glorious or
full of grace. Are thy necessities large? His supplies
are larger. Dost thou require great mercy? He is a
great Saviour. I tell thee that his mercy is no more to
be exhausted than the sea is to be drained. Come at
once. There is enough for thee, and Boaz will not be
impoverished by thy feasting to the full. Moreover, let
me tell thee a secret—Jesus <i>loves</i> thee; therefore is it
that he would have thee feed at his table. If thou art
now a longing, trembling sinner, willing to be saved,
but conscious that thou deservest it not, Jesus loves
thee, and he will take more delight in seeing thee eat
than thou wilt take in the eating. Let the sweet love
he feels in his soul toward thee draw thee to him. And
what is more—but this is a great secret, and must only
be whispered in your ear—<i>he intends to be married to you</i>;<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</SPAN></span>
and when you are married to him, why, the fields will
be yours; for, of course, if you are his spouse, you are
joint proprietor with him. Is it not so? Doth not the
wife share with the husband? All those promises which
are "yea and amen in Christ" shall be yours; nay,
they all <i>are</i> yours now, for "the man is next of kin unto
you," and ere long he will take you unto himself forever,
espousing you in faithfulness, and truth, and righteousness.
Will you not eat of your own? "Oh! but,"
says one, "how can it be? I am a stranger." Yes, a
stranger; but Jesus Christ loves the stranger. "A publican,
a sinner;" but he is "the friend of publicans and sinners."
"An outcast;" but he "gathereth together the
outcasts of Israel." "A stray sheep;" but the shepherd
"leaves the ninety and nine" to seek it. "A lost
piece of money;" but he "sweeps the house" to find
thee. "A prodigal son;" but he sets the bells a-ringing
when he knows that thou wilt return. Come,
Ruth! Come, trembling gleaner! Jesus invites thee;
accept the invitation. "At meal-time come thou hither,
and eat of the bread, and dip thy morsel in the
vinegar."</p>
<p class="p2">III. Now, thirdly—and here is a very sweet point
in the narrative—<span class="smcap">Boaz reached her the parched
corn</span>. She did "come and eat." Where did she sit?
Note well that she "sat beside the reapers." She did
not feel that she was one of them. Just like some of
you who do not come to the Lord's Supper, but sit and
look on. You are sitting "beside the reapers." You
fear that you are not the people of God; still you love
them, and therefore sit beside them. If there is a good
thing to be had, and you cannot get it, you will sit as<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</SPAN></span>
near as you can to those who <i>do</i> get it. "She sat beside
the reapers."</p>
<p>And while she was sitting there, what happened?
Did she stretch forth her hand and take the food herself?
No, it is written, "<span class="smcap">He</span> reached her the parched corn."
Ah! that is it. None but the Lord of the harvest can
hand out the choicest refreshments of spiritual minds.
I give the invitation in my Master's name, and I hope
I give it earnestly, affectionately, sincerely; but I know
very well that at my poor bidding none will come till
the Spirit draws. No trembling heart will accept divine
refreshing at my hand; unless the King himself comes
near, and reaches the parched corn to each chosen guest,
none will receive it. How does he do this? By his
gracious Spirit, he first of all <i>inspires your faith</i>. You
are afraid to think that it can be true that such a sinner
as you are can ever be "accepted in the Beloved"; he
breathes upon you, and your faint hope becomes an expectancy,
and that expectation buds and blossoms into
an appropriating faith, which says, "Yes, my beloved
is <i>mine</i>, and his desire is toward <i>me</i>."</p>
<p>Having done this, the Saviour does more; <i>he sheds
abroad the love of God in your heart</i>. The love of Christ
is like sweet perfume in a box. Now, he who put the
perfume in the box is the only person that knows how
to take off the lid. He, with his own skilful hand,
opens the secret blessing, and sheds abroad the love of
God in the soul.</p>
<p>But Jesus does more than this; he reaches the
parched corn with his own hand, when he <i>gives us close
communion with himself</i>. Do not think that this is a
dream; I tell you there is such a thing as speaking with
Christ to-day. As certainly as I can talk with my<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</SPAN></span>
dearest friend, or find solace in the company of my beloved
wife, so surely may I speak with Jesus, and find
intense delight in the company of Immanuel. It is not
a fiction. We do not worship a far-off Saviour; he is a
God nigh at hand. His word is in our mouth and in
our heart, and we do to-day walk with him as the elect
did of old, and commune with him as his apostles did
on earth; not after the flesh, it is true, but after a real
and spiritual fashion.</p>
<p>Yet once more let me add, the Lord Jesus is pleased to
reach the parched corn, in the best sense, when <i>the Spirit
gives us the infallible witness within, that we are "born of
God</i>." A man may know that he is a Christian beyond
all question. Philip de Morny, who lived in the time of
Prince Henry of Navarre, was wont to say that the Holy
Spirit had made his own salvation to him as clear a point
as a problem demonstrated in Euclid. You know with
what mathematical precision the scholar of geometry
solves a problem or proves a proposition, and with
as absolute a precision, as certainly as twice two are
four, we may "know that we have passed from death
unto life." The sun in the heavens is not more clear to
the eye than his present salvation to an assured believer;
such a man could as soon doubt his own existence as
suspect his possession of eternal life.</p>
<p>Now let the prayer be breathed by poor Ruth, who
is trembling yonder. Lord, reach me the parched
corn! "Show me a token for good." "Deal bountifully
with thy servant." "Draw me, we will run after
thee." Lord, send thy love into my heart!</p>
<div class="poetry-container"><div class="poetry">
<div class="stanza">
<div class="line small">"Come, Holy Spirit, heavenly Dove,</div>
<div class="line small i2">With all thy quickening powers,</div>
<div class="line small ip5">Come, shed abroad a Saviour's love,</div>
<div class="line small i2">And that shall kindle ours."</div>
</div></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</SPAN></span></p>
<p>There is no getting at Christ except by Christ revealing
himself to us.</p>
<p class="p2">IV. And now the last point. After Boaz had reached
the parched corn, we are told that "<span class="smcap">she did eat, and
was sufficed, and left</span>." So shall it be with every
Ruth. Sooner or later every penitent shall become a
believer, every mourner a singer. There may be a space
of deep conviction, and a period of much hesitation;
but there shall come a season when the soul decides for
the Lord, and cries, "If I perish, I perish. I will go as
I am to Jesus. I will not play the fool any longer with
my <i>buts</i> and <i>ifs</i>, but since he bids me believe that he
died for me, I <i>will</i> believe it, and will trust his cross for
my salvation." Whenever you shall be privileged to
do this, you shall be "<i>satisfied</i>." "She did eat, and
was sufficed." Your <i>head</i> shall be satisfied with the precious
truth which Christ reveals; your <i>heart</i> shall be
content with Jesus, as the altogether lovely object of
affection; your <i>hope</i> shall be filled, for whom have you
in heaven but Christ? Your <i>desire</i> shall be satiated, for
what can even your desire hunger for more than "to
know Christ, and to be found in him." You shall find
Jesus charm your <i>conscience</i>, till it is at perfect peace; he
shall content your <i>judgment</i>, till you know the certainty
of his teachings; he shall supply your <i>memory</i> with recollections
of what he did, and gratify your <i>imagination</i>
with the prospects of what he is yet to do.</p>
<p>"She was sufficed, and left." Some of us have had
deep draughts of love; we have thought that we could
take in all of Christ, but when we have done our best,
we have had to leave a vast remainder. We have sat
down with a ravenous appetite at the table of the Lord's<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</SPAN></span>
love, and said, "Nothing but the infinite can ever satisfy
me," and that infinite has been granted us. I have felt
that I am such a great sinner that nothing short of an
infinite atonement could wash my sins away, and no
doubt you have felt the same; but we have had our sin
removed, and found merit enough and to spare in Jesus;
we have had our hunger relieved, and found a redundance
remaining for others who are in a similar case. There
are certain sweet things in the Word of God which you
and I have not enjoyed yet, and which we cannot enjoy
yet; and these we are obliged to leave for a while, till
we are better prepared to receive them. Did not our
Lord say, "I have yet many things to say unto you,
but ye cannot bear them now"? There is a special
knowledge to which we have not attained, a place of
intimate fellowship with Christ which we have not yet
occupied. There are heights of communion which as
yet our feet have not climbed—virgin snows of the
mountain of God untrodden by the foot of man. There
is yet a beyond, and there will be for ever.</p>
<p>A verse or two further on we are told what Ruth did
with her leavings. It is very wrong, I believe, at feasts
to carry anything home with you; but <i>she</i> was not under
any such regulation, for that which was left she took
home and gave to Naomi. So it shall be even with you,
poor tremblers, who think you have no right to a morsel
for yourselves; you shall be allowed to eat, and when
you are quite sufficed, you shall have courage to bear
away a portion to others who are hungering at home.
I am always pleased to find the young believer beginning
to pocket something for others. When you hear
a sermon you think, "My poor mother cannot get
out to-day; how I wish she could have been here,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</SPAN></span>
for that sentence would have comforted <i>her</i>. If I
forget everything else, I will tell her that." Cultivate
an unselfish spirit. Seek to love as you have been loved.
Remember that "the law and the prophets" are fulfilled
in this, to love the Lord your God with all your
heart, and your neighbor as yourself. How can you
love your neighbor as yourself if you do not love his
soul? You <i>have</i> loved your own soul; through grace
you have been led to lay hold on Jesus; love your
neighbor's soul, and never be satisfied till you see him
in the enjoyment of those things which are the charm
of your life and the joy of our spirit. Take home your
gleanings for those you love who cannot glean for themselves.</p>
<p>I do not know how to give you an invitation to
Christ more pleasantly, but I would with my whole
heart cry, "Come and welcome to Jesus." I pray my
Lord and Master to reach a handful of parched corn of
comfort to you if you are a trembling sinner, and I also
beg him to make you eat till you are fully sufficed.</p>
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