THE outstanding mark of the great saints of God seems to be the depth and reality of their sense of sin.
Those who have most power with God, whose holy lives set them head and shoulders above their fellows, who live upon the mountain-tops, these are the very ones who realize and mourn over the depths of deceit which they find in their own hearts. These are the very ones who plead the virtue of the blood of Christ to give them holy boldness to enter into the sanctuary.
Time would fail to tell of the saints of modern days who have so learned the exceeding sinfulness of sin — of their tears and wrestlings and prayers; but we have a noble army of saints whom God has singled out in the Scriptures to show us this secret of godliness.
When did Peter’s career of chequered greatness begin? Was it not when he clung to the feet of the Master and cried, “Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord”?
Isaiah finds himself of unclean lips, Job abhors himself, Elijah covers his face with his mantle, Paul adds a sob to his cry of triumph and calls himself “the chief of sinners,” John falls down as dead, Moses exceedingly fears and quakes, Daniel finds his comeliness turned to corruption. All, when they catch the vision of God in His Heaven, are overwhelmed by the horror of their sin. And in the greatness of their sense of sin we read the greatness of their glory.
But what of Jesus?
We hear no word of repentance fall from his lips, no fear as He approaches the Father in prayer, and when He enters the presence of God His face and His garments shine with the very Majesty of His Person.
Never a word to regret. Never a step to retrace. Never a sin to confess. He alone can gaze unabashed at the glory of God.
Why should He alone, incomparably the choicest of all choice souls, be exempt from the scourge of greatness?
The centurion gave the answer, the only answer which can solve the mystery, a noble answers which rings over the years and echoes in the heart of every believer, “Truly this was the Son of God.”
A. F. S. Pollock.
Believe Christ’s love more than your own feelings; your Rook does not ebb and flow though your Sea does.
Character is to wear forever. Who can wonder that it cannot be made in a day.