Acts 27:44 And the rest, some on boards, and some on broken pieces of the ship. And so it came to pass, that they escaped all safe to land. I. THOSE ARE SAFE WHOM GOD HAS PLEDGED HIMSELF TO SAVE. We are constantly asking questions as to the numbers of the saved and the lost, and often rather try to make out a case for the smallest number. Some are fond of calling the Church "a Zoar" — "a little one" — we contract salvation to the dimensions of our own heart — "and my soul shall live!" let the rest be lost so that I am saved. On the contrary, how much there is in Scripture which, amidst the promises of the illimitable grace of God, points to the vast multitude of the redeemed! The law in all ages is that the heavens attract to themselves their own. When the world gets too wild in its will, God shuts up His own and bears them over. We often have our minds sorely perplexed by the residue of the vast populations. We are convinced that some are safe; but for the rest, where will they be found? I believe we need never despair, except for the hardened rend the hopelessly impenitent. We often behold the poor creature, ignorant and dark, and we say, "shall that be lost?" Or that heathen, "is there no hope?" or, amidst those superstitions which shock and shame religion, "is there no hope?" I know that there are hard religious creeds which affect to say so; but they are in harmony neither with the tone and structure of the Bible, the mission or the words of our Saviour, or the words of Paul. Why, how few comparatively are they who have what we call "an abundant entrance"! Here and there we behold a vessel in fall sail borne in upon the triumphant wave; but, on the contrary, what multitudes find, when they come to die, that all that was preserved to them was "the plank" of some promise — some "broken piece" of the ark of their hope. What shall I do with innumerable heretics, labouring over the waves, on their "broken pieces of the ship"? What shall I do with the Fearings, and Much-afraids, and Despondencys, which float together over the black sea, muttering their mournful elegies, who can see but little, but fall in despair on the character of God and His promises — who hold even those with a timid grasp? Well, I will believe that, "on boards" and "broken pieces of the ship," they escape "safe to land." II. ALL MEANS ARE GOOD MEANS WHICH SAVE. In the matter of salvation how much we elevate conditions above grace! Yet no man is saved by ideal systems of salvation any more than ideal systems ever governed nations. Harrington's "Oceana," and More's "Utopia," and Plato's "Republic," and Bacon's "Atlantis," and Machiavelli's "Prince," are very healthful and pleasant reading, and they enlarge and strengthen the mind; but they never assist in the government of nations. And it is so with ideal systems of salvation. Men lay down as authoritatively the exact limits to which God can go in the provision for the salvation of a sinner, as they would lay down rules of arithmetic. These persons are like those who deny the possibility of miracle, and tie the Creator to the very creatures He has created. We must not confound our necessities with the necessity of the Divine procedure. It is true God has revealed Himself to us as conditioned by the laws of His own holiness; but how unconditioned He is in His provinces and arrangements of mercy we do well know. Some religious people have a religion full of symmetry. Every proposition grows out of the previous proposition. One would suppose, to hear them talk, that men are saved because they are able to reason correctly. How many make the reception of the gospel a mere matter of nomenclature, affixing the very conditions of salvation to the assent to terms not even understood. A minister once called upon a poor dying lad to console him in his last moments. He asked him if he had taken Christ in all His offices, and had for reply, "No, he'd never been taken by any officers." We smile at the poor lad, yet "the foolishness of preaching" saves. Words that fill scholars with contempt are the great powers of God unto salvation. "Boards" and "broken pieces of the ship" become the means for some small minimum of grace which supports the soul, and they are safe, while many a stately craft goes down by their side. I know a poor sister, whom the Lord dearly loves, although He has chastened her very sore. She was talking with me about her sons, who had very wickedly neglected her, and told me how she had agonised with God for them. She opened her Bible, and the first words she read were these, "I will contend with him that contendeth with thee: and I will save thy children." And if she dies tomorrow, she will trust their salvation on that plank. Oh, over the world there are thousands wrecked utterly, but for the "board" or "the broken piece of the ship." III. ALL MEANS ARE GOOD MEANS WHICH SAVE. My friend, poor Becky Williams, sailed into heaven on a plank. To her, in her loneliness, one text had come, and that text was a glorious raft — it was one of Luther's little Bibles — "All that the Father hath given Me, shall come to Me; and him that cometh to Me I will in no wise cast out." She knew nothing of theological casuistry. Sometimes she was sneered at when she talked of faith, and was asked for a description of it. She could only give "All that the Father hath given Me," etc. Some people who had all creeds at their fingers' ends told her her faith was not clear. "No," she said, "I often feel that; but it is not the clearness or the darkness of my faith, it's in Him — it's in Him — 'All that the Father giveth Me,'" etc. The incumbent of the parish went out of his way to call upon her: told her that grace came through the sacraments — that she could not partake of grace without them. "I don't mind," said she, "how often I remember my dying Lord; but grace does not come only so — 'All that the Father giveth Me,'" etc. When she lay dying, they asked her if she had clear ideas of sin. She did not know well what they meant; but she repeated her text. "Do you feel safe?" "How can I be other than safe, 'All that the Father hath given Me,'" etc. "And if I speak about you in the church next Sabbath, after your funeral," said her minister, "what message shall I give?" "Only, 'All that the Father hath given Me,'" etc. And I say what comfortable words there are in Scripture (Isaiah 50:10). In the storm of darkness and unbelief it seems as if all is shipwrecked in thee, broken in pieces; and yet see what scattered glimpses, what broken, imperfect discoveries of Jesus Christ float up and down, and do at any time appear in thy spirit. Thou wilt see some if thou wilt look and watch for them. Cast thyself upon them; these are the broken planks, the most imperfect, darkest, narrowest glimpses of Christ. Such intimations are better than the most symmetrical body of theology. There are words which transcend definition. Such words are often the planks upon which the spirit floats in much fear and trembling into rest — safe to land: or light shines through some little chink of speech opening up to large and settled manifestations of Christ. Thus God has been saving multitudes never heard of. Thus many a sacred text has been the "board," the "broken piece of ship," on which souls have "escaped safe to land." IV. GOD IS A GOOD CAPTAIN. IF THE SHIP IS LOST, HE SAVES THE CREW. There is land, and all who sail in the ship are safe. I often seem to walk along the shore, and I see the wild waves of life, and time, and death, casting at my feet some spent swimmers. The other evening, after I had been preaching near where I spent all my first days, a young man came and gave me his card. It was the name of one of my oldest friends — the superintendent then of a school where I was first a Sabbath school teacher. And I said, "How's your father?" to the young man. "Oh, he has been dead two years." Dead two years! I knew him so well; and I never knew him out of trouble. And I walked away, and said to myself, "He is safe to land. One more dropped down on the way — one memory more — one presence less — but 'safe to land.'" Pace with me the shores of the great ocean of death. How they are cast up by every tide, flung out from innumerable wrecked vessels. Here is an infant: its pretty lips closed; and all those pretty ways forever lost to us. What a mistake! No, no mistake — "safe to land." Here, at my feet, are the lovely tresses of one before whom there seemed to spread a life so redolent of every charm — the light of the home — those fingers will wake the keys no more — the eye has lost its light, and the lip its witchery. Precious life to be wrecked so soon! No, not wrecked — "safe to land." And here, see here is a veteran — a body broken in how many wrecks and seas; but the last breath and the last good-bye was a triumph he is "safe to land." The other day a sailor died. One who was waiting upon him said, "How is it with you?" "How! I see land ahead!" said he — "I see land ahead!" And he fell back — "safe to land." Gather up all the promises which, like so many planks, have floated over and sustained on death's waves, and you would build a ship to hold the Church. Oh, sinner, how wilt thou do without a plank? No "board" — no "broken piece of the ship." Wave on wave sucking thee in, and sucking thee down, engulfed within the triumphant wave. (E. Paxton Hood.) Parallel Verses KJV: And the rest, some on boards, and some on broken pieces of the ship. And so it came to pass, that they escaped all safe to land. |
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