Gooding, David: 9 - Highway to Holiness

At this juncture, the conversation in the upper room began to come to an end. While it lasted, it had been indescribably blessed. For as the meal had progressed, and our Lord had taught his disciples these lessons on holiness, they had sensed the very presence of God Almighty in that room. Now, as the time drew near for the Savior to go, there must have crept into their hearts a strange kind of fear and foreboding. He was talking now more and more about going away, the very thing that they feared. As yet, perhaps they hadn't any clear notion in their heads what this going away would mean. They hadn't really envisaged the arrest and the crucifixion and its terrible torture. And some of them were still nurturing in their hearts the hope that they might prevent any disaster. Peter was thinking in terms of defending the Lord, if need be, by the sword and preventing him dying. And yet the Lord so insistently was talking about going away. And so, as he was about to rise and go, he continued to buttress their hearts, to buttress their faith, to tell them before it happened what should happen, so that when it happened, they could look back and say, well, yes, this is no mistake, this is as the Savior said it would be. And then, in the days and months and years that followed, they should not only discover that the Savior's prophecy was true, but that his going away, his death, his resurrection and ascension were an integral and deliberate part in God's plan for the making of men holy. But now, says our Lord, I will no- not speak with you much more, for the prince of this world comes. And at this juncture again, this sinister person begins to come into focus. Prince of this world. This world is not only gone from God. Men have not only tried to take their world and use it and live in it and enjoy it apart from God. But we here discern that there is a prince, an intelligence, a ruler, more than human, that organizes it. He it is, as Saint Paul says in Ephesians chapter two, who organizes the thought fashions of this world, will engineer an intellectual atmosphere where faith looks a silly thing and a childish thing and an outmoded thing. So a man would be ashamed to confess in front of his colleagues that he's a believer for fear of looking like an infant or a, a blockhead. He it is that organizes the mass fury so that men have so much noise and so much activity that they never have time to sit down and think coolly about life's issues and what lies beyond. The prince of this world, always dangling his baits of one kind and another, as he did before Judas, before men's noses, to attract them yet further and further away from God. This prince was coming to have his final pitched battle with Christ himself. He had challenged Christ at the very beginning of his ministry, offering him the whole world and all its kingdoms, offering him popular acclaim, offering him success for his religion if he wanted it, so long as he would bow down and at least recognize and admit the authority and power that Satan has over men. Had Christ gone down in that battle, we should have been lost forever. And so now he is to break off the conversation because he must finally prepare himself once more to meet the onslaught of the prince of this world. Christ remarks, he has nothing in me, no foothold. No inner selfishness. No deep down love of himself. In us, when we are attacked by the prince of this world, alas, there is frequently some secret stairway into the citadel of our soul, a back door, and sometimes a front door, and sometimes a front door wide open, by which the enemy can gain access. Even in our preaching, some hidden love of applause or, or some enjoyment because I like doing it anyway and would do it whether it pleased God or not, for I like doing it. Some love of self. Some other goal, ultimate goal, other than God. But in the Savior, nothing. The prince of this world cometh, and he hath nothing in me. And then he said some wonderful words. But that the world may know that I love the Father, and as the Father gave me commandment, even so I do. Arise, let us go hence. You will notice in the first place that his principle of life was no negative, grim, abstemious self-discipline. It was that on the negative side, there was nothing in him that corresponded and yielded to the temptations of the devil. But on the positive side, this burning, one hundred percent um undiluted love of the Father. We began our studies early on by trying to define, with the help of scripture, what worldliness is, and conversely, what holiness is. And we came to the conclusion that true holiness is a personal devotion to a person. And here in our Lord, we see it supremely exhibited, that the world may know that I love the Father. This the very basic principle of his living and the very basic principle of his dying. Now notice an interesting thing. That our Lord Jesus loved the Father is self-evident and obvious. And if you were thinking of it merely superficially, you might imagine that he constantly spoke of his loving the Father. If that is your opinion, then let me suggest that you do yourself a mini Bible study one of these days and get out your concordance and find out all those places, uh, in the Gospels where our Lord is on record as saying, I love the Father. You may find two. Speaking from memory, I think you'll find one. And that one is here. How different he was from what we are. We're constantly telling everybody how much we love God. Not Christ. He talked everlastingly of God's love for him and God's love for men. But here, once is on record as saying that he loved the Father. And why now and at this juncture? Well, for this very good and substantial reason, what is the use of talking of loving God unless that love is demonstrated in action? But that the world may know that I love the Father, and as the Father has given me commandments, so I do. Arise, let us go hence. Hence, whither was he going? Down those stone stairs, out into the cold night. To Gethsemane, where the hard, stony ground should hurt his knees. And to the cross. That the world may know that I love the Father. This is holiness. In its ultimate test, you could take everything Christ had and put it on one side and God on the other. You could ask him to make a choice between the two. You could offer him either ease, fame, security as men counted, popularity, without the Father. Or on the other hand, the Father and his will, and nothing but the tortures of Calvary. And Christ would choose the Father. That's what you mean by loving the Father. This is holiness. It isn't just abstaining from a little this or a little that, that th- those ki- that kind of discipline can be very helpful on occasions. Here is the heart of the matter. As the Father has given me commandments, so I do, because I love the Father. We too, if we shall pass our final examination, so to speak, in the school of holiness, will one day be brought by one means and another to face that same choice. All God's saints have to. They cannot be spared the lesson. It will not be ours to suffer for men's sins in an atoning sense. But if we will come home to heaven prepared to enjoy that glorious experience to its full, we must personally and of our free will have faced and made the decision. Abraham, for instance, had to be taken up his Mount Moriah. To make a choice where, on the one hand was Isaac, and in Isaac, humanly speaking, all his future and all he had ever lived for, all that life would mean to him, and on the other hand, nothing but God. And he must be asked to choose. If it came to it, what would you choose? We must be brought to that, for one day anyway, this temporary world is going to, to, to fold up. And long before that, we must leave it. And if we haven't been trained in this life to see where our true good lies, then in the moment when we are called to leave this world and step out into the vast infinity of eternity, what forlorn people we should be. We must be brought in this life to see that the chief good is God. He is the giver of it, and that we can never be at peace until our hearts are lodged in the only place where they can possibly be secure. For all the rest is temporary and passing, and the world passeth away in the fashion of it, but he that does the will of God abides forever. It will be a peaceful experience in the end when God brings us there, and like Abraham, we have made our choice. With these words then, they got up from the table, that the world may know I love the Father. Arise, let us go hence. And down the stone steps from that upper room, out into the Easter cold. It would have been a clear sky, maybe, but bitterly cold. Not only physically cold, but as they stepped out into the night, they would have sensed its hostility. It had been so cozy in the upper room, with the soft oil light and the Savior's presence, and the wonderful comfort of his words, my peace I leave with you. I dare say they felt as if they could have stayed there forever. Wouldn't it be nice if all our lessons on holiness were conducted in a well-lighted study with a cozy fire and a beautiful book and a cup of coffee at hand when we needed it? If that were holiness, why we should all pass one hundred percent. It has a funny knack, the this this school of, uh, holiness is suddenly turning you out from those cozy experiences into the cold, dark realities of this literal world. The disciples would have sensed, as I say, the, um, hostility in the atmosphere. Judas has gone. Where had he gone? What they might they meet round the next corner? What would these next few days bring? And our Lord began to speak. On what topic would you imagine that he would begin to speak on in the hostility of that night scene? He fell to talking to them about growing grapes. What'd you say, in that kind of atmosphere? Yes, in that kind of atmosphere. I am the true vine, said he, and my father is the husbandman. So now we come to the next major lesson in this school of holiness. It is wonderful to know that the Savior and his father come to make their abode with us. But in what practical things will it result? It will result in what is here figured under the parable of a vine and its grapes. So let us consider the vine for a moment. First of all, a literal vine. God did a marvelous thing when he invented the vine, didn't he? It was God's invention, part of this world, and pronounced good by the Creator, with its luscious fruit. So thirst-quenching, so fresh. It was a brilliant idea, wasn't it? A marvelous creation, if one may so talk of the Creator's handiwork. Not only its fruit, but its wine. As Judges chapter nine and verse thirteen puts it in that famous parable of Jotham, wine which cheers God and man. Symbol of joy for all mankind. I say that God did a wonderful thing, and every time you come across a bunch of grapes and you pick a bunch and you munch it, feel what a, hmm, very pleasant, uh. You are, in a sense, getting some idea of God, aren't you? Of course, you couldn't do the same thing with carrots or parsnips. They're good in another way, like medicine's good very often. But, uh, uh, grapes, he must have had what kind of a mind to invent such a lovely aesthetic as well as a culinary experience, you know, that you, you, uh, get thirsty and you come across a grape and you munch it, and it's so satisfying and fresh. What a mind he had who invented that whole thing. But of course, it is obvious, isn't it, that when our Lord says, I am the true vine, he is now not speaking of a literal vine, he is speaking of himself under a figure of a vine. He is wanting to point the spiritual lesson. Why then does he say, I am the true vine? Well, he doesn't mean that I am the true vine as distinct from the false vine. The contrast is not between true and false, but between what is real and what is symbolic, between what is ideal and what is only partial. In the temple up the road where the Jews were wont to worship, there was a marvelous golden vine over one of the main doors. It was a pride and joy for all tourists and visitors to see. The expense of it was tremendous, a vast treasure, one of the many treasures of the temple, a beautiful golden vine. And they had it there because the vine was a symbol of the nation itself. For in the Old Testament, Isaiah had reminded them in the name of God that Israel was a vine planted by God himself. And Ezekiel in his chapter fifteen, had reminded them of the same thing. Israel a vine. And in poetic language, the prophets h- describe how God took the people out of Egypt, and he prepared the land of Palestine for them, and uh, he planted his vine there, and he built a wall round about to protect them from their enemies. In a word, God chose that nation, gave them a privileged position in the land, privileged them further by giving them special divine protection, casting his blessings unlimited almost on their land, giving them his holy law, giving them his divine presence in their temple in Jerusalem, giving them a divinely appointed king, and so nurturing them and feeding them and blessing them that they might grow into a vine, a spiritual vine, that would bring forth grapes for God's enjoyment and for the blessing of men. In a word, that he might develop in those people a character that should bring forth fruits of behavior, pleasant and joyful and glad behavior, that should refresh the very heart of God and bring blessing to men. And not only bring material blessing to men, but as it blessed them with material gifts, should also bring to men a sense of the person of God, so that men might come to Israel and in their dealings with Israel discover that there's something behind Israel. There is a source of goodness and blessedness behind Israel, that is God himself, and come through Israel's behavior and comportment to gather what God himself is like. Israel was a vine. And, uh, what a lovely thing it is now and again to sit down at the vine of Israel and pluck a few grapes. For there were some very successful branches in the vine in Israel's day, weren't there? I love to go along to King David, particularly when he's a playing of his old harp or guitar or whatever it was, and pick a few grapes. Oh, the blessedness of the man whose sin is forgiven, whose iniquity is covered, to whom the Lord will not impute unrighteousness. What a lovely thing to sense as you read David, this beautiful sensation of forgiveness, the freshness of a slate wiped clean and a conscience cleansed and in fellowship with God. All the blessedness of that man. Or to sit at David and pluck another grape, the Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want. And you sense that this isn't just thea- theoretical knowledge, but this is experience worked out in the life of a man who himself was a shepherd of sheep and eventually a shepherd of people as king of Israel, a man who had known God and experienced God through the difficulties and battles of life. And here is an experience of God, so to speak, distilled for us through David. What a lovely thing it is to go on along and come across that bunch of grapes that is known by the name of the prophet Isaiah, and to hear him say, all we like sheep have gone astray, we have turned everyone to his own way, but the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all, pointing our guilt-ridden hearts to the place where they might find forgiveness and joy and gladness. Or again, those verses that say, they that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength, they shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, they shall walk and not faint. A man called to a strenuous ministry of God, a lifetime's ministry that saw its congregations departing ever further and further into apostasy. A man that could, could have got deeply discouraged. And then we discover where the source of the man's strength is. He has himself been waiting on God and discovered God as the God who never forgets and never slumbers. And this has entered into his own experience, and through his experience it comes like a bunch of fresh grapes to us. It was a light- delightful idea, wasn't it, that through Israel, God's very character should be made available to men. But when we have noticed how successful that experiment was in parts, we have to face the fact that as a whole, the experiment was a dismal failure. And it is not us, it is not we as Christians who are talking now, it is God's own voice through his Jewish prophets. Isaiah has to point out to the nation that instead of their vine, by and large, bringing forth fruit to God, it has merely brought forth sour grapes. And Ezekiel complains in the name of God that whereas the vine is a marvelous thing if it brings forth grapes, when it just stays there and doesn't bring forth grapes, it's absolutely useless, it's good for nothing else. And even make a good hat peg to put your hat on, says Ezekiel. The experiment as a whole was a failure. You judge how much a failure it was by the very record in this Gospel of John in chapter two, We are told that when our Lord came to the temple on his first visit to Jerusalem, he found in the temple, yes, what did he find? A set of men who had a vivid experience of God and God's provision and were communicating this to men till weary hearts were refreshed and broken hearts were healed. No, no, no, no. They said, your money please, your money please, your money please, your money please. They had their sheep and oxen. They were making a tremendous amount of money out of the sacrifices of the poor and binding burdens on their back, as Christ said, that they themselves couldn't carry, till God, as they represented him, was some great income tax inspector, some rigorous tyrant who was out for all he could get. And religion, instead of helping people through life, became an insufferable and intolerable burden, till men blasphemed the very name of God because of them. And they said, if that's religion, if that's what God's like, we want nothing to do with it. Israel, therefore, was a vine, but the experiment as a whole ended in failure. I am the true vine, says Christ. He means I am the real thing as distinct from the symbol there in the temple. I am the true, the full, the ideal thing, as distinct from all other partial expressions of this idea and function that God has had in the world before me. I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman. Oh, I'm so glad he put it that way. Do notice, please, that he said, not Israel is a failure. Now come on, Thomas, Philip, Matthew, you try and do better. For that in turn would have been an intolerable burden. If Israel had failed, how should we succeed? No, he didn't say, I a- uh, Israel has failed, you try and be a better vine. But he said, yes, Israel has failed, but I am the true vine. We must explore the significance of that in our next session.