THERE are doubtless two ways of coming, but only one of being received. Merit will do, if I have got it; nothing but grace, if I am a sinner. By way of illustration, turn to 1 Samuel 18 and Luke 15.
First, think of David’s case. He was his father’s willing messenger in the interests of his elder brothers on the field of battle. While on that errand of obedience he gained a most brilliant victory, and earned before all Israel a character for himself that put even Israel’s chosen king and leader into the shade. His fame spread so far, so wide, that “from all the cities of Israel” they came forth to meet him with music and dancing, joyfully celebrating his peculiar achievements. The worthy one is welcomed.
For himself he won a bride, and she no less a personage than the king’s own daughter. To his father’s house he was an honor and a joy; while he so gained the admiration of the king’s son that Jonathan’s princely robe was placed upon the worthy hero’s shoulders, his sword and bow at his side. Brightest fame, highest honors, choicest favors were personally his, and his by right. He got what he deserved, and deserved what he got. Here, then, we see merit. Not merit for salvation, but pure, simple merit in itself.
But yonder comes another, a destitute, dissipated, degraded one―the returning prodigal; and, mark it well, highest honor, choicest favors await him also. The father’s “best” is lavished upon this wretched waster; music and dancing celebrate the long-absent wanderer’s return. The unworthy is welcomed.
How was this? Yes, ask why, and wonder. He had won no victory. He had gained no character but a vile one, as his own lips confessed. He had procured the fulfillment of no kingly promise. He had not left his father’s house in happy accord with fatherly affection to seek the welfare of his brethren. He was no honor either to kin or country. He deserved no princely robe, much less the “best.” Yet for brilliancy of reception even David’s welcome back is unquestionably transcended. Then on what ground did all these favors come to him? Ah, it was not because of the prodigal’s personal merits, but because of the father’s grace and love. Not because of what his conduct had been toward the father, but because of what the father’s heart was toward him. “For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” This is grace―the beloved Son’s own picture of His Father’s precious, forgiving, all-abounding grace.
And will not such grace suit your case, my reader? Get low, then, before it, as it shines in a glorified Savior. Fully expose your wretched unworthiness before its heart-melting rays, and let your heart freely breathe itself out in those well-known lines:
“Just as I am, without one plea,
But that Thy blood was shed for me,
And that Thou bid’st me come to Thee;
O Lamb of God, I come.”
You cannot stand before God on both grounds. It must be
ALL GRACE AND SURE SALVATION,
or
ALL MERIT AND CERTAIN DAMNATION.
If you stand before God on the ground of your works, remember it must be all your works, and one sin would certainly exclude you from a merited salvation and shut you up to eternal damnation. Merit or grace, then, which?
Your time is short, make haste with your answer. God waits to be gracious to you. Close in with Him now.