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There is a certain hope which Christian people have: a hope set before us: which is like an anchor: an anchor which has caught firm hold, and which is holding on, somewhere within this veil. The meaning seems to be that the cable from that anchor reaches to us; and we hold on to it. The soul "lays hold upon the hope set before us": and then this hope does for the soul what an anchor does for the ship that keeps an unbroken hold of its anchor. This is what the imagery, the comparison in the text means. Well, is it true? I do not ask now, True to our own experience? Put that away just at present. But is it true as a general principle? That is, If a man had "laid hold of the hope set before us," would it be like an anchor of the soul? Yes, plainly it would be. The hope of eternal life, of happiness with Christ and all we love in heaven, is well fitted to keep the soul steadfast amid the waves and storms of this world — that is, to do to the soul the anchor's part. It will keep the soul from drifting away, or being driven away, by gales or currents, or upon rocks and quicksands near. Think of sorrow: sorrow in its widest sense, including all that makes us sad and unhappy — losses, privations, disappointments, bereavements, pain, sickness, death — the instinctive feeling of our race has discerned in all these the storms and tempests of the world within. "Not a wave of trouble"; pleasant the prospect, apt the similitude! You remember good Juxon's words, as the ill-fated king knelt to the block: "One last stage, somewhat turbulent and troublesome, but still a very short one": life's last brief storm must be gone through. We take the good hope with all that comes with it, and from which it cannot be separated. We take it with the conviction, amid all sorrows, that this is the right way; that it was Christ that led us into them and will lead us through them; that for all this there is a need-he; that it is all for our best good — our sanctification, our weaning from sense and time; that it is educating us for higher and better things than we ever could be fit for without it. Think now of temptation: temptation in the largest sense: everything from within and without that would lead us into sin — that would seek to make us make shipwreck of our souls. It, returns the hope of heaven, and all that is bound up along with the hope of heaven, will hold up against all these. And here there is something especially fit in the similitude of an anchor. For the special business of the anchor is to keep the ship from drifting away. Now there are temptations which come like a sudden blast or squall upon the anchored ship; and there are other temptations which are like an insensible current, drifting away and away. But whether temptation addresses us as the strong single impulse, or as the gently and perpetually gliding current, it is plain that in either case we must have something to hold us up against it: something which shall be to the soul as the anchor that keeps the ship from driving or drifting, and makes it hold its ground. There is but one thing that can be that: only grace from above; the good hope through grace — and all that is implied in having that good hope; the faith, resting simply on a crucified Saviour; the sight of sin, as it is seen in the light from Gethsemane and Calvary: the realising anticipation of all the rest and joy and purity above, which permitted sin would fling away. In discourses founded upon my text, it is a common thing to point out that the good hope which comes of a firm faith is as an anchor of the soul in that it is what will hold up the soul against doctrinal error. St. Paul likens the man, ready to catch up every new idea or crotchet, if attractively put, to one "tossed to and fro, and carried about with every wind of doctrine": and the comparison is apt. Now, in these shifting days, no doubt a real personal interest in vital Christian truth — a personal hope through that — is the great anchor that shall keep us in the good old ways, and save us from making shipwreck of our faith. Just a word now of the assurance the text gives us that the anchored hope which is to preserve us steadfast amid the storms of life must have its hold "within the veil." That is, to really do us any good, our great daily hope must be of something beyond this life and this world. The hope must take hold "within the veil"; realise, in some measure, the substantiality of the possessions there which seem so vague and far away to mere sense. Only thus can it serve as an anchor, amid the failing of earthly stays and hopes. And a further thought is suggested by the text. The anchor is not holding on where you might sometimes have uneasy doubts of its holding securely; not amid the waves and storms of this uncertain world; but in the calm within the veil, where our Redeemer, our Forerunner, He who walked first the way which it is appoint-d that we should walk, has entered in; for us entered in; entered in our never-ailing Intercessor, and abides the Remembrancer of His one great atoning sacrifice, our High Priest upon the throne. If He be not with us here, visible King of His Church, ready to resolve many weary questions about it with which we would wish to go to Him, it is because it is better for us He should be there; and meanwhile He has sent the Blessed Spirit to more than fill His place; and His Church is left to pray that it may more and more "know Him, and the power of His Resurrection"!

(A. K. H. Boyd, D. D.)

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KJV: Wherein God, willing more abundantly to shew unto the heirs of promise the immutability of his counsel, confirmed it by an oath:

WEB: In this way God, being determined to show more abundantly to the heirs of the promise the immutability of his counsel, interposed with an oath;