Hebrews 6:17-20 Wherein God, willing more abundantly to show to the heirs of promise the immutability of his counsel, confirmed it by an oath:… In many respects the world, and human life on it, are like the sea. Itself restless, it cannot permit to rest any of the pilgrims that tread its heaving, shilling surface. At some times, and in some places, great tempests rise; but even in its ordinary condition it is always and everywhere uncertain, deceptive, dangerous. Currents of air and currents of ocean intermingle with and cross each other in endless and unknown complications, bringing even the most skilful mariner to his will end — making him afraid either to stand still or to advance. On this heaving sea we must all lie. The soul is tossed by many temptations; but the anchor of the soul is sure and steadfast within the veil. Without are fightings, within are fears, all these are against us; but one thing will overbalance and overcome them, "Our life is hid with Christ in God." Hope sometimes signifies the act of a human spirit laying hold of an unseen object, and sometimes the ,object unseen whereon the human spirit in its need lays hold. These two significations may be combined together: they are so combined here. "The hope set us" is Christ entered for us now within the veil; and the hope that "we have" is the exercise of a believing soul when it trusts in the risen Redeemer. These two cannot be separated. The one is the grasp which a believing soul takes of Christ, and the other is the Christ whom a believing soul is grassing. The anchor must not be cast on anything that floats on the water, however large and solid it may seem. The largest thing that floats is an iceberg. But although an iceberg does not shake like a ship, but seems to receive the waves and permit them to break on its sides as they break on the shore, it would be ruin to anchor the ship to it. The larger and the less would drift the same way and perish together. Ah, this stately Church, this high-seeming ecclesiastical organisation, woe to the human spirit that is tempted in the tossing to make fast to that great imposing mass! It is not sure and steadfast. It is floating: it moves with the current of the world: it moves to an awful shore. Not there, not there I Your hope, when you stretch it out and tip for eternal life, must enter "into that within the veil, whither the Forerunner is for us entered." Nor will it avail a drifting ship to fix its anchor on itself. Hope must go out for a hold, even as the ship's anchor must be flung away from the ship. 'l he eye is made for looking with, not for looking at. Away from all in ourselves, and out through all that floats like ourselves on this shifting sea, we must throw the anchor of the soul through the shifting waters into Him who holds them in the hollow of His hand. Mark, further, that hope in Christ is specifically the anchor of the soul. There is no anchor that will make our temporal possessions fast. Wealth and friends, and even life, may drift away any day on the flood, and no power on earth can arrest the movement. These bodily things may or may not abide with a Christian, but his anchor does not hold them. It is only an anchor of the soul, not an anchor of the body. We must not expect from the Lord what He never promised. There are contrivances not a few in our day for fixing material property, so that it shall not drift away in the currents of time. The system of assurances both on life and property has reached an enormous magnitude. Taking up the obvious analogy employed in this scripture, one of the insurance societies has adopted the anchor as its name. But the action of these anchors is limited to things seen and temporal. They cannot be constructed so as to catch and keep any spiritual thing. They may hold fast a wife's fortune, when the life of the bread-winner falls in, but they cannot maintain joy in her heart, or kindle light in her eye. Far less can they insure against the shipwreck of the soul. Only one anchor can grasp and hold the better part of man — and that is the hope which enters into the heavens and fastens there in Jesus. The anchor — in so far as it indicates the object which hope grasps — the anchor is "sure and steadfast." The expressions are exact and full; the words are tried words; they are given in order that we might have strong consolation who have fled for refuge to the hope set before us. There are two cases in which one's hope may be disappointed: the support you lean on may be unwilling or unable to sustain you; in the one case it is deception, in the other weakness. A Christian's hope is not exposed to either flaw; it is both "sure and steadfast," that is, the Redeemer who holds them is willing and able. He will not falsely let you go, nor feebly faint beneath your weight. He is true and strong; for these are the words; He both will and can keep that which we commit to Him against that day. Take now a series of practical lessons: 1. The ship that is kept by an anchor, although safe, is not at ease. It does not on the one hand dread destruction, but neither on the other hand does it enjoy rest. "Beloved, think it not strange concerning the fiery trial which is to try you"; "in the world ye shall hare tribulation, but be of good cheer: I have overcome the world." 2. But further, the ship that is held by an anchor is not only tossed in the tempest like other ships, it is tossed more than other ships. The ship that rides at anchor experiences rackings and heavings that ships which drift with the tide do not know. So, souls who have no hold of Christ seem to lie softer on the surface of a heaving world than souls that are anchored on His power and love. The drifting ship, before she strikes, is more smooth and more comfortable than the anchored one; but when she strikes, the smoothness is all over. The pleasures of sin are sweet to those who taste them; but the sweetness is only for a season. 3. When the anchor has been cast into a good ground, the heavier the strain that comes on it, the de, per and firmer grows its hold. It is thus with a trusting soul: temptations, instead of driving him away from his Saviour, only fix his affections firmer on the Rock of Ages. 4. The ship that is anchored is sensitive to every change of wind or tide, and ever turns sharply round to meet and resist the stream, from what direction soever it may flow. A ship is safest with her head to the sea and the tempest. Watch from a height any group of ships that may be lying in an open roadstead. At night when you retire they all point westward; in the morning they are all looking to the east. Each ship has infalliably felt the first veering of the wind or water, and instantly veered in the requisite direction, so that neither wind nor wave has ever been able to strike her on the broadside. Thereby hangs the safety of the ship. Ships not at anchor do not turn and face the foe. The ship that is left loose will be caught by a gust on her side and easily thrown over. As with ships, so with souls: those that are anchored feel sensitively the direction and strength of the temptation, and instantly turn to meet and to overcome it: whereas those that are not anchored are suddenly overcome, and their iniquities, like the wind, carry them away. "We are saved by hope" — saved not only from being outcast in the end, but from yielding to temptation now. 5. When the ship is anchored, and the sea is running high, there is great commotion at her bows. The waves in rapid succession come on and strike. When they strike they are broken, and leap, white and angry, high up on the vessel's sides. This tumult is by no means agreeable in itself, blot the mariner on board would not like to want it, for it is the sign of safety. If, while wind and waves continue to rage, he should observe that this commotion had suddenly ceased, he would not rejoice. He would look eagerly over the bulwarks, and seeing the water blue on her bows, instead of the hissing, roaring spray, he would utter a scream of terror. The smoothness at her bows indicates to him that her anchor is dragging. The ship is drifting with wind and water to the shore. Such, too, is the experience of a soul. If you are fixed, a great flood is rushing by, and it must needs cause a commotion round you. An impetuous tide of worldliness will dash disagreeably against you from time to time. Do not be too anxious to make all smooth; peace may be bought too dear. When the mighty stream of vanity on which you float produces no ruffling at the point of contact — when it is not disagreeable to you, and you not disagreeable to it — suspect that your anchor is dragging, that it has lost its hold, and that you are drifting into danger. Cast in the anchor while the sea is calm; you will need it to lean on when the last strain comes on. (W. Arnot.) Parallel Verses KJV: Wherein God, willing more abundantly to shew unto the heirs of promise the immutability of his counsel, confirmed it by an oath: |
    |