John 6:26-27 Jesus answered them and said, Truly, truly, I say to you, You seek me, not because you saw the miracles… Here are two objects set before us — the bread that perisheth and the bread that endureth unto everlasting life — material things and spiritual things — things temporal and things eternal. It is characteristic of material things that they perish, or, what is much the same thing, that our connection with them shall very soon cease. To me there is something sad in this. When I stood the other morning on Primrose Hill before breakfast, looking at the great sun, young as ever, looking down with a smile of unutterable kindness — when I looked at the green fields beyond — when I cast a look, a most affectionate look, upon the whole scene, my bosom heaved with a sigh. "Well, I shall not see many more springs. I must look on this for the last time. It must perish from my sight." You say that was weakness. Well, I cannot help it. This is a beautiful world — a world of life and joy and affection, and there is something sad in the thought that one must leave it. And we have not only the certain knowledge of it, but we have the feeling that it will be so. That at once suggests to me a contrast between myself and nature. Nature is young and old at the same time. She appears wrinkled with age every autumn, but blooming with youth every spring. She is dead every winter — alive every summer. But man becomes old, and not young again. Man dies indeed, and the gloomy winter passes over him, and there is no reviving him again in this state. The things that perish! Don't labour too much for this world. Why, it will make no difference to you forty years to-day what amount of this world you have. But spiritual things endure for ever. The human spirit is immortal — the blessings of religion are eternal. In the New Testament you will find that the word "eternal," or something equal to it, is connected with the blessings of religion. I think, then, that the lesson taught by the text is THE SUPREME IMPORTANCE OF RELIGION. Now, where shall I go for my illustration? What shall I bring in proof of this? In the first place, I could prove and illustrate this subject from a man's own nature. Secondly, I could do so from the design of God's providence. Thirdly, I could prove it from God's Holy Word. Fourthly, from the testimony of the best and wisest and holiest men that ever lived; and in the last place, and above all, I could prove the unutterable importance of your becoming holy and good — or, in other words, the supreme importance of religion — from yonder cross — the life and death of the Son of God. Religion, goodness, purity, holiness, is the great want of man. Every echoing rock sends back the sound — the great want is religion. 1. Let us begin then with man as an individual. Stand in the right place to look at man. Don't look at him from the exchange, or market, but place man in the right light. Let the light of eternity fall upon him. Place the picture in the right light. What is man? A moral responsible being, all whose movements are watched. This is man, in himself, a sinful, fallen being, as he knows and feels. Then there is another feature in the picture. An immortal being is man, a person bound for an endless voyage, a pilgrim on an endless journey. Well, now, I ask you what is the great want of such a being? Riches? No. Earthly enjoyments? No. Human fame and greatness and glory? No. What is his great want? Goodness, religion. What ought he to care for fame? What ought he to care for the glory and grandeur of the world? What ought he to care for the enjoyments of sense — for the heaping up of gold, so much thought of? It is religion he wants. As an intelligent, a moral, a sinful and an immortal being, it is religion he wants, and it is religion he must have, or he will be wretched in the most splendid palace, and have an aching head on the easiest pillow. But has he religion — real religion? he shall be content in the midst of poverty — he shall have peace in the midst of the storm. Gas-light is very useful in its way, but it is a poor apology for the sun. It gives light in the midst of the street, but turn the corner and you are in deep shadows directly. It goeth not down to the deep cellar. But let the sun be up and you will find light in your house. It passes through the windows, and by its rays fills the whole house with light and cheerfulness. The things that perish we are thankful for. We bless God for our health and the comforts we possess, and we use them, I hope, thankfully and prayerfully, but they are only as the star-light. Religion is to our spirits what the sun is in a temporal sense. It filleth the whole nature of man. It brings the highest subjects for the contemplation of his intellect. It opens the sublimest regions for his imagination. It meets the son of sin with a free pardon in its right hand, and as the sense of death which I have described comes over him, it points him to an eternal home and says, My child, labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life. Religion alone can meet the wants of his nature. 2. And now to pass from the individual to the family, what is the great want there? What will make a family happy? A large estate? No, no. Fine apparel? Not exactly. Splendid paintings? Not altogether. Musical instruments? These things have an elevating influence, and I would not despise them. I remember what an artist friend told me some time ago. I was looking at his engravings — taken from some of the masterpieces of Italy — and I said, "Well, these are very good"; for though I was not examining them with an artist's eye, I liked them, and I knew what had influence over me. "Ah," he said, "they are companions." And so they are — refining, elevating companions; but do you know there is something more important than them — more important to a family than the fine arts, than music, paintings, costly furniture, vast estates, noble mansions? What is it? It is that the hearts of the family be good; that religion be enthroned there: Why, let religion be in your family, and you have a fountain of happiness. This would unite us all. This would create a paradise in families where there is now discord. Oh, fathers — oh, mothers — oh, children — possess religion, that you may meet again in the land of life and light, to be eternally with the Lord and with each other. 3. We have passed from the individual to the family, and now let us enter the Church. I would say, then, to you as a Church and congregation, "Labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life." Labour for those mental states, those spiritual emotions, those principles of eternal life which will make the worship of God interesting and delightful to you. Let me add another thought, ere I pass on. Grant that the preacher is uninteresting — that he is cold or dull; grant that his emotions are less earnest than your own; but allow me to ask you what business have you to come to a chapel or a church to be merely passive at the hands of the preacher? Why, you are not mere harps to be played upon by the fingers of the preacher — not mere dead bodies to be galvanized into artificial life — not machines to be set in motion by the word of a man. You are thinking, living, immortal spirits. You must awaken cheerfulness within you by having religion, and then you will have no more dulness in your religious services. You have observed, perhaps, that when there has been long dry weather, clouds may float about in the sky, but will not send down a drop of water upon the parched earth. What is the reason? There is no attractive power in the earth to draw down the clouds towards it. Like draws to like. A wet earth would draw down wet clouds. A true illustration this of power in the pulpit. A congregation spiritually lifeless derives no benefit from the sermon. The feelings of the preacher are sent back to him. The cloud pours forth no rain. But let the earth be moist — let the church be in a healthy spiritual state — and the cloud will burst over it, and the Church mill be baptized with the unction of the Holy One. Therefore do I say, as well to the Church as to the family or to the individual, "Labour not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto everlasting life." 4. And, brethen, let us pass from the individual, and the family, and the Church, to the great world. Let me, however, name two or three classes. (1) There, for instance, is that mighty class called "the people." Religion, and nothing but religion, can make the English working man what he ought to be. Why, look at your burning, parched, thirsty desert. No trees, grass, corn, flowers, grow in that place, and why? What is wanted to make it fertile? The husbandman may go there with his ploughs and harrows; he may sow the seed; but there is one great want, before which the other wants need not be mentioned. What is that want? A noble rolling river to pass through it — that is what it wants. Then would trees flourish in it, and flowers bloom, and the corn wave in the August sun. And what do English people want? Education? Yes. A better material condition? No doubt they do. Better houses to live in than some of them possess? Undoubtedly. But there is one want greater than all others, and I tell you English people will not get the houses they ought to have, or the material comforts they ought to enjoy, without it. They are always looking out for good to come to them from above — from Parliament, from orators, from the franchise; but I say to English people, "Look within." What, you don't mean to tell us that we shall never be much better off till we have better characters? I do. If you look at the history of the world you will find reason for believing that your condition will improve as you become nobler, holier, purer, more heaven-like. "Labour not for the meat that perisheth, but for that meat which endureth to everlasting life."(2) Look at the neglected ones in England. There are thousands in London who have never found their place in life — well-educated and well-disposed, but disappointed men, going up and down in the world trying to find their places, but unable to do so. Yes, I have known servants to ride on horses, and I have seen princes as servants walk. I have seen fools in high places, and scholars, gentlemen, and able men concealed in corners. I have seen weeds — worthless, ugly weeds — spread their large open leaves, and hiding beneath them the blushing rose and the delicate lily; and I have always felt disposed to brush the uncomely thing away. What do they want? They want religion; that which would cause them to trust God, to leave the world that neglects them, and patiently to do the little thing that is at hand, seeing that they cannot reach the great thing that is in the distance. Religion, the great power of religion, to keep them in the quiet path of duty. (3) I intended speaking also a word to my young friends, but I have no time left. The young man who is just commencing life's pilgrimage looks forward to success in business. God bless you, my youthful hearers, and help you to realize this; but there is one thing you want more than all. What is it? Faith in the great Redeemer, religion, goodness — that is what you want. (4) And then there is the ruined class. Character is gone, prospects are gone, health is gone, and there is nothing left but remorse. What can be done for these? Oh the beautiful vision of love — Jesus saying, "Come unto me, all ye that are heavy laden, and I will give you rest!" (T. Jones.) Parallel Verses KJV: Jesus answered them and said, Verily, verily, I say unto you, Ye seek me, not because ye saw the miracles, but because ye did eat of the loaves, and were filled. |
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