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Supping with the Lord

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Review and Herald Publishing Association · Takoma Park Station, Washington, D. C. · Dec 14, 1916

FromReview and Herald, Vol. 93, No. 62.

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Supping with the Lord

TEXT: "Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me." Rev. 3:20.
It matters not how many years we have been members of the church, nor how much striving we have had, I think we shall all admit, as did Paul, that we have not already attained, neither are we already perfect; and today, perhaps as never before, God is seeking to get us to listen to the words of our text as if it were addressed to us each personally, and to sense it so keenly that all barriers will be broken down—his Spirit have free course to run and be glorified in our lives, so that at his coming we shall be found "in his likeness."
We are not only in "the time of the end," but it seems that we are at the critical period of that time. Surely there is a crisis before the world. The nations are facing it. It is felt in politics, in society, and perhaps as emphatically in the religious world as anywhere; and the great question with us is not alone, How does the Seventh-day Adventist denomination stand as related to this situation? but, How do I stand?
In the study of our text it is my desire to bring each one of us, myself included, to consider this matter individually and with a clearer view than heretofore. I purpose to make a word-for-word study of the text.
The first word is "Behold." This means "see, look, give attention." It is an emphatic call. Jesus Christ in it is saying, "Sisters, stop," in the midst of your cooking, your dish washing, your ironing, your house cleaning, "see, give attention." It says, "Brothers, stop," in your plowing, in your sowing, your reaping. It says to blacksmith, carpenter, grocer, banker, yea, to every man and woman in every walk of life, "Stop long enough to see and appreciate that the eternal God is calling."
Whom are we to behold?—"Behold, I—" Not a tramp begging a meal or old clothes; not a peddler anxious to get our money; no, not a friend even, who has come to make an evening call; no, not even an earthly dignitary, coming to do us honor. Has any governor or senator called at your door lately?—No, they do not come; but there is One, before whose dignity and worth, whose might and power, the potentates of earth pale into nothingness,—he comes.
My brethren and sisters, Jesus Christ once went from door to door, from village to village. Poor, and often despised, and with a consciousness that he would finally be rejected and crucified, he continued knocking at the doors of high and low, rich and poor, churchman and sinner. And now "this same Jesus" from high heaven comes to the same classes, and keeps coming. Behold—be astonished!
"Behold, I stand." Our Saviour and Redeemer is very busy. Every day with him is a "busy day." "All heaven is astir." But Jesus takes the time to come to my door, to your door, and stand there. Will you try to consider the eternal patience of our Lord? How long has he been standing, waiting for us? Is he waiting yet? How long will he stand and wait? For some he has waited thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy years. His locks are wet with the dews of midnight in his vigils for poor lost souls. If you are hesitating, can you not hear him cry to you, "Behold, I stand waiting"?
"At the door." What is this door? You may say, It is the door to the heart, to the church, etc. But let us consider what we mean by the word "door." I come to your home, and I find there a door. It is closed. I will describe it as something which stands or hangs between you and me. If I come in, it must be taken out of the way. Then the "door" of our text must be that which hangs or stands between Christ and us, between his life and our lives; something which must be drawn, turned, or put aside before we can commune with him. I believe we must all agree that there is and can be but one such impediment, and that is sin. The man or woman who is cleansed from sin and rejoicing in the salvation of God, has passed the sorrows and misery of the "shut door" condition.
"I stand . . . and knock." Disappointment, sickness, bereavement, loss of property, sudden calamity to ourselves or others, loyalty of others under severe trial, even a little kindness shown,—these and a thousand more are means, not brought by God, but used by him to call our attention to his waiting presence.
"If any man." The term "man" embraces all members of the human family, both male and female. God does not make selections. He does not say, "I will knock at this door, but not at that." He does not go to the good-looking, the well-dressed, the rich, the educated, the cultured, to the neglect of those in the humbler walks of life. God is no respecter of persons. "God so loved the world." Jesus comes to the world, and in pity faces the sins of every one of us,—sins that are barring the way to our heart of hearts. He is waiting and knocking, knocking and waiting.
"If any man hear my voice." Nothing short of imbecility or utter incapacity should keep any soul from hearing his voice. In the days of Elijah, the prophet found that God was not in the wind, nor in the earthquake, nor in the fire, but in the "still small voice." Elijah could hear the voice. Many today are made conscious of it by the twinges of conscience, and by the many evidences of divine providence. But many are unable to hear the quiet pleadings of the Spirit, and to them God is speaking by the cyclone, the flood, the hurricane, the tidal wave. He is speaking in the awful earthquake. He is speaking through the clash of great armies in Europe; through the millions of men killed in cold blood, or crippled for life; through the millions who have become widows or fatherless as the result of this, the worst war of all history. He is speaking through the unrest of the financial and labor world. He is saying to all who have ears to hear, "These are the signs that the end is near, and there is little time in which to get ready. My child, can you, will you, hear my voice?"
"And open the door." Some claim this to be an act entirely our own: I must, you must, open the door, then Christ will come in. I wish to tell you, my brother or sister, that you and I cannot of ourselves open the door, for we cannot remove sin. With many there is much rubbish in the way. They are in some back room, tied down upon a bed of habit. The only way they can open the door is to cry to him who stands waiting, "Lord, come in."
A few weeks ago I was in bed because of a surgical operation. I could not get off the bed. Our sitting-room was between the front door and my bedroom. People came to that front door and knocked. It was the only entrance to our rooms. If I did not want callers, I kept still; but if I really wanted them to come in, I called out, "I cannot come to the door, I cannot open the door, but come in." At once the door opened, and they came to my bed in the back room, and I was comforted.
I come to your home and knock, and you say, "Come in, Brother Place." How many times I have heard these words! and how many times I have been thrilled by the warm welcome in the tone of voice! Instantly I feel perfectly free to take hold of that impediment which we call the door, and come in.
Oh, how many dear souls are tugging away at the rubbish at the door! How many are trying so hard to clean house! How many are trying to break the chain of habit, and get in shape to enter the church, to have Jesus come in! Many might be named Martha. Trying to get a good dinner for their Lord—oh, what an endless, impossible job it is! Our best is but "filthy rags." Christ's voice comes to us down the ages, "Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her." How often we forget the words of the Lord, "Without me ye can do nothing"! "It is God which worketh in you both to will and to do of his good pleasure."
What, then, shall I do? is the question of many. I answer, just say, "Lord, I want you to come in. I would gladly open the door, but I am way back in thisdark room, torn and lacerated by the enemy and chained to my bed of sin. But, Lord, I will to do thy will. O blessed Lord, come in and heal me. Save me from the evil one. Save me from myself." And just keep crying this till you are free. It may take crying. It may take some fasting. But Jesus will reach you, cut your bands, heal your wounds, put the blessed peace that comes with divine victory, into your soul. Then he will be your peace as long as you will let him.
"And sup with him, and he with me." This must mean that he comes to sit at our table and eat with us. Most wonderful words! But again, like Martha, we cry, "There is nothing in the house fit for the Lord. Oh, what a table is ours!" Do not worry, troubled soul. Jesus can eat with publicans and sinners; and though not customary among men, he furnishes the best part of the meal. He sits at my table, and, blessed be his name! he sets before me his forgiveness, his peace, his perfect righteousness. Before the meal is over, I cry, "Lord, abide with me forever."
"The dearest idol I have known, Whate'er that idol be, Help me to tear it from thy throne, And worship only thee."
"Satan has long reigned on the altar of my heart. Take thou his place and reign supreme forever, and by thy grace I will ever be thy loyal subject."
He will take the throne, and will lead us on to victory after victory. By constant faith and submission to him who sits there as our blessed King, we are finally prepared to sit with him on his own throne in glory, where no door will ever be shut.