Gathering of the Elect.
By Uriah Smith
“AND he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other.” Matt. 24 : 31. How rich in all that is precious to the Christian is this promise. Wandering an exile in this evil world, separated from the few of like precious faith, he longs for the companionship of the righteous, the communion of saints. Here he shall obtain it; for all the good shall be gathered, not from one land only, but from all lands; not from one age only, but from all ages: the great harvest of all the good, coming up in long and glorious procession, while angels shout the harvest home, and the timbrels of Heaven sound forth in joyous concert, and a song unheard, unknown, before, in the universe, the song of the redeemed, shall add its marvelous notes of rapture and melody to the universal jubilee. So shall the saints be gathered, to be joyful in each other's presence forever and ever, “While the glory of God, like a molten sea,
Bathes the immortal company.” Angels of God will be the agents in this work of gathering. They minister to the saints all through their earthly history; shall they not, then with alacrity perform the last, crowning act of their ministry and bear them upward to the presence of their Lord? Have they ever been known to hesitate at a command of Christ? But he shall send them to gather his elect: and they shall go forth gladly, speedily, irresistibly, on their errands of mercy. “Gather my saints together unto me,” says God, “those that have made a covenant with me by sacrifice.” “The angel of the Lord encampeth round about them that fear him, and delivereth them.” The Bible is full of declarations concerning the work of the angels that excel in strength for the people of God. Thanks be to God for their invaluable and holy ministry. This gathering has nothing in it but that which is desirable. The saints can but sigh and pray for it. Like Job, they cry out for the presence of God. Like David, they cannot be satisfied till they awake in his likeness. In this mortal condition we groan, being burdened, not for that we would be unclothed, but clothed upon. We can but be upon tiptoe for the adoption, to wit, the redemption of the body. Our eyes are opened for its visions; our ears are waiting to catch the sounds of the heavenly music, and our hearts are beating in anticipation of its infinite joy. Our appetites are growing sharp for the marriage supper. We cry out for the living God, and long to come into his presence. Come, Lord Jesus, come quickly. No news more welcome than to know that the command has gone forth from the Lord to his angels, “Gather together unto me my elect from the four winds of heaven.” The place of the gathering has nothing but attraction. Jesus, the fairest among ten thousands, is there. The throne of God and the Lamb, in the glory of which the sun disappears as the stars vanish in the light of day, are there. The city of jasper and gold, whose builder and maker is God, is there. The river of life, sparkling with the glory of God, and flowing from his throne in infinite purity and peace, is there. The tree of life, with its healing leaves and life-giving fruit is there. Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Noah, Job, and Daniel, prophets, apostles and martyrs, everything lovely and good in society, will be there. Visions of beauty are there; fields of living green, flowers that never fade, streams that never dry, products in variety that never end, fruits that never decay, crowns that never dim, harps that know no discord, and whatever else a taste purified from sin and raised to the plane of immortality could conceive of, or think desirable, will be there. We must be there. We must bask in the forgiving smiles of a God to whom we have become reconciled, and sin no more. We must have access to that exhaustless fount of vitality, the fruit of the tree of life, and never die; we must repose under the shadow of its leaves which are for the service of the nations, and never again grow weary; we must drink from the life-giving fountain, and thirst never more; we must bathe in its silvery spray, and be refreshed; we must walk on its golden sands, and feel that we are no longer exiles; we must exchange the cross for the crown, and feel that the days of our humiliation are ended; we must lay down the staff and take the palm branch, and feel that the journey is done; we must put off the rent garments of our warfare for the white robes of triumph, and feel that the conflict is ended and the victory gained; we must exchange the toil, worn, dusty girdle of our pilgrimage for the glorious vesture of immortality, and feel that sin and the curse can nevermore pollute us. Oh! day of rest and triumph, and every good, delay not thy dawning. Let the angels at once be sent to gather the elect. Let that promise be fulfilled which bears in its train these matchless glories. “But hush, my soul, nor dare repine,
The time my God appoints is best,
While here to do his will be mine,
And his to fix my time of rest.”
U. S.