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D I S C I P L E S H I P

The Boundless Sufficiency

by A. B. Simpson

"But my God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus" (Phil. 4: 19).

There are some souls that always seem to be kept on scant measure. Their spiritual garments are threadbare, their faces pinched, and their whole bearing that of people who are poverty stricken, and kept on short allowance. They are always "hard up," and on "the ragged edge" of want and bankruptcy. To use the vivid figure of Job they come through by "the skin of their teeth," or as Paul expresses it in a stronger figure, they are "saved as by fire." They are represented in Bunyan's glorious dream, not by sturdy Christian, buoyant Hopeful, and heroic Faithful, but by poor old "Ready to Halt," with his crutches, Mr. "Much Afraid," with his downcast look, and Miss Despondency, with her long and miserable face. They sing sometimes, but it is generally this:

"'Tis a point I long to know,
Oft it causes anxious thought,
Do I love the Lord or no,
Am I His or am I not?"

And when they go to the prayer meeting their usual cry is, "Pray for me." They are always begging, always hungry, always waiting for somebody to help them, and seldom looking for a chance to help. Like Pharaoh's lean kine they eat everything in sight, but still they are always half starved. Loved? Yes, they are loved and cared for by the dear Lord, loved as the crippled child, as the invalid member of the family. Saved? Yes, they are saved through the exceeding grace of Jesus Christ, "who can have compassion on the ignorant, and on them that are out of the way." But they never can be samples of the King's household, representatives of His grace, or attractions to draw men to His fold. They are poor, half-starved sheep, that cast reflection on the goodness and care of the Shepherd, and not happy, well fed lambs that "lie down in green pastures," for very satiety, and make others feel like saying, "The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want." On the contrary many who look at them will say, "If that is Christianity, save me from it."

In contrast with such as these, there is another type of Christian character that we might call the "life more abundantly." It is a life which overflows in thankful joy and unselfish blessing to others. Its faith is full assurance. Its love "heareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things," and "never faileth." Its patience has "all longsuffering with joyfulness." Its peace "passeth all understanding." Its joy is "joy unspeakable and full of glory." Its service is so free and glad that duty is delight and work a luxury of love. Its giving is not only cheerful but "hilarious." Its sacrifice is so willing that even pain is joy, if borne for others and for God. It has enough and to spare, and its love and joy find their outlet in giving the overflow to others and finding that "it is more blessed to give than to receive."

In a word it has got out into the infinite as well as the eternal, and sails on the shoreless and fathomless sea of God and His infinite grace.

What a difference! It is the difference between the barren desert and the luxuriant oasis with waving palms and glorious verdure. It is the difference between the gaunt and hungry flock and the herds that lie down in green pastures and beside the still waters. It is the difference between the poor burdened horse that is trying to drag you up the hill, and the flying locomotive that carries you without an effort. It is the difference between the old pump by the roadside, out of which you could force a few pailfuls of water after you had poured one in, and the deep artesian well that pours its gushing torrent forth in floods. It is the difference between the viewless plain and the mountain landscape looking far out to the regions beyond, and the "land of far distances." It is the difference between the shallow stream, where your boat every moment touches sand or strikes some hidden rock, and the deep unfathomable sea where your keel never strikes bottom and you ride in safety amid ocean's wildest swells. Oh, the difference of these two lives.

Once 'twas painful trying,
Now 'tis perfect trust;
Once a half salvation,
Now the uttermost.
Once I hoped in Jesus,
Now I know He's mine;
Once my lamps were dying,
Now they brightly shine.
Let us look at Paul's testimony of this overflowing life. "I am full," he cries, "and abound." Was there ever such a paradox? A prisoner chained between two soldiers in a cheerless Roman barracks! A man who says, "I have suffered the loss of all things!" A hated, persecuted outcast, even now awaiting a trial in which his very life hung by a thread on the capricious will of the Roman tyrant! A man who bore in his body the scars of beating, scourgings, shipwrecks, and privations of every kind, and who, only a few days before had received some scanty offerings of clothing, food, and perhaps a little money, from his congregation in Philippi. It is this man who cries, "I have all and abound."

Was it a dream of a diseased imagination? Or was it true in some higher sense than the world could understand? Yes, he had a life whose sources were not in circumstances or things. And that life was full and satisfying. He had a salvation proportioned to the depth of his sin and need and he could say of it, "The grace of our Lord was exceeding abundant with faith and love which is in Christ Jesus." He had a hope of which he could boast, "I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord." He had a love that could say, "I will very gladly spend and be spent for you; although the more abundantly I love you, the less I be loved." He had a victory of which he could boast, "Nay, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him that loved us." His sacrifices were so gladly made that he could say, "Yea, and if I be offered upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I joy, and rejoice with you all." His sufferings so little disturbed him that he could say, "The Holy Ghost witnesseth in every city, saying that bonds and afflictions abide me. But none of these things move me, neither count I my life dear unto myself, so that I might finish my course with joy, and the ministry, which I have received of the Lord Jesus, to testify the gospel of the grace of God."

There was not one little thing about him. His whole character was built on the most colossal mold. He was a great, magnanimous soul, with a spiritual life as large as the heart of God. He could say to the Corinthians, "Ye are not straitened in us . . . be ye also enlarged." Into this little, sorrow-beaten frame God compressed the grandest character that ever followed Jesus, and standing on the battlements of his sublime exaltation he tells us we may have all he had, and cries, "My God shall supply all your need according to his riches in glory by Christ Jesus."†

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Albert Benjamin Simpson (1843 - 1919) was a Canadian preacher, author, and founder of The Christian and Missionary Alliance.