SermonsThankfulness

James Hamilton (1814 – 1867)

from Works of the late Rev. James Hamilton, DD, FLS

Ten thousand thousand precious gifts
My daily thanks employ,
Nor is the least a cheerful heart,
That tastes these gifts with joy.

A thankful Christian is a happy man, and brings peculiar glory to God. Thankfulness is something better than mere cheerfulness. It is a pleasant sight to see a merry, gleesome child, or a placid, contented man; but pleasant as it is to see, it scarcely needs a soul to make a creature cheerful. You may see cheerful sights by cottage fires and on village greens, on the harvest-field and amidst the vintage heaps; but you may see the exact equivalent as often as you look on a bright summer’s day at a flock of sheep, or a dancing minnow-pool, or a cloud of insects, swinging mazily to and fro in a field of balmy air. If you reckon the mere gladness, the sensation of delight, beasts are as capable of it as ourselves; and, for anything I know, the swift, shrieking out his ecstasy as he glances round the steeple, or the bee murmuring all his noontide musings into the ear of an opening flower, may be as full of gladness as you ever were when your pulse was bounding bravely, and the joy of felt existence was swelling every vein. I believe that God can fill the tiniest and most transient thing as full of its proper happiness as He can fill the heart of man; for he can fill it brimful, and human bosom can hold no more. What advantage, then, has man in his enjoyments over the beasts that perish? Why this; his best joys should be spiritual and intellectual,—a domain peculiar to himself; they should be more lasting, also; a tinge of immortality should run through them; and as they are sublimer and more enduring, so they should awaken gratitude. Our gladness should take the form of thankfulness. Gratitude is the grace which hallows gladness, and by giving it an upward, God-ward direction, makes it both noble and safe. A joy in which gratitude does not mingle is a dangerous thing; for it is atheistic and God-provoking (Isaiah 5.12). And it is a degraded thing; for nature’s high-priest, that spokesman and interpreter who should embody in articulate praise the homage of a voiceless universe, and whose adoring capacity is only lower than the angels, ingratitude makes him lower than the oxen; for the ox knoweth his owner, and feels his own kind of thankfulness;—and duller than the stones; for rocks and mountains have their silent anthems, and rather than that none should utter “glory in the highest,” the stones would cry aloud (Psalm 148.9; Luke 19.37-40).

That man leads the most angelic life whose life is fullest of adoration and thankfulness and praise; but none except the Lord’s redeemed can lead that life. None will cry, “O give thanks unto the Lord, for he is good,” who have not first tasted that “mercy which endureth for ever (Psalm 136.1).” And just as there is no real gratitude which does not come down from above, so there is no acceptable thank offering which does not go up through a mediator. “Giving thanks always for all things unto God and the Father, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ (Ephesians 5.20).” “Ye also, as lively stones, are built up a spiritual house, an holy priesthood, to offer up spiritual sacrifices, acceptable to God by Jesus Christ (1 Peter 2.5.” Christ is the altar which sacrifices the sinner’s gift; and in order that a thank offering be accepted, it must be laid on this altar. Cain thought that he was thankful. He presented to the Lord the produce of his fields; and perhaps it was, more than a complimentary acknowledgment. Perhaps he felt a gush of emotion as he eyed God’s goodness in his ripening acres. But he thought his own hands pure enough to convey the tribute, and on a bloodless altar he laid his elegant oblation. Abel was thankful also; but besides the fruit of the ground, he brought the firstling of his flock, and with hands washed in its innocency, presented his more excellent, his more abundant and acceptable offering. And whilst the sacrifice of faith received the fiery sign, and vanished, fragrant in flames of heaven’s own kindling, the mellow heap of corn and glossy fruit, the Deist’s offering, remained unnoticed and untouched. “The Lord had respect unto Abel and to his offering; but unto Cain and to his offering he had not respect.” That offering alone arrests the eye of God which is laid on Abel’s altar.

The grand ultimatum of the Christian economy is just to evoke abundant thanksgivings. And with this end in view, it has provided at once the mightiest topic and the fittest ministers—the unspeakable gift and the royal priesthood. And a believer is never so truly what his Lord would have him to be, nor so like what he shall hereafter be; he never brings more glory to God, nor does more to commend the Gospel, than when others see in his spirit and demeanour, in what he gives, and what he says, and what he does, a living sacrifice, a holocaust—sacrifice completely consumed by fire or burnt offering— of praise. “In everything give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”

In the hope of promoting this most desirable grace, I would mention—

1. Some hindrances to a thankful spirit.
2. Some topics or materials for thanksgiving.
3. Some appropriate expressions of Christian gratitude

I. Some hindrances to a thankful spirit.

Some Christians are not eminent for thankfulness. They are on the right side; but they have scarcely got the right spirit. Their complainings and murmurings are a deep spot on their Christian character, or rather a thick veil over it. Their heavenly citizenship could never be gathered from their benign and joyful mien, or from their cordial thankful words; for even with the cup of salvation in their hand, you never hear them asking, “What shall I render to the Lord for all his gifts?”

Three things mainly hinder Christians from being thankful,—selfishness, peevishness, and heedlessness.

Some are very selfish. Unless the blessing alight on their actual self, it matters not where it comes down. It can occasion no gladness to them. They cannot joy in beholding the faith of other men. They cannot exalt in beholding the order of other Churches. They do not glorify God for the graces of their believing brethren. The husbandman who sees a cloud melting over the adjacent fields, while not a drop comes down on his own thirsty furrows, is more likely to envy his favoured neighbour than to indulge in patriotic congratulations; and so when a blessing comes down on neighbour Christians or neighbour Churches, there are some who, instead of indulging that wise congratulation which of all things would be the likeliest to bring the blessing to themselves, instead of rejoicing with the patriotism and public spirit of a citizen of Zion, exulting in the general good, they grudge as if they lost what other members of the body get; and by a most unlovely selfishness, defraud themselves of that joy which no man could keep from them—the joy of rejoicing with them that do rejoice,—the joy of admiring the wonderful work of God. There are some so grievously selfish, that they take as matters of right, or as things of course, every good and perfect gift; and being little accustomed to view all things in the Surety, viewing themselves more frequently from the little hill of their own self-love, than from the great mountain of God’s free grace, no gift is so great as to surprise them, no mercy is so amazing as to make them thankful. Like the Caspian Sea, which has some unseen way of disposing of its waters, so that whatever rains come down, and whatever rivers flow in, its great gulf never fills, and never a rill runs out from it again; so there is a greedy, all-devouring selfishness, which, whatever rivers of pleasure flow into it, and whatever mighty bursts of heaven-descended bounty exhaust their fulness over it, always contrives to dispose of the whole in the caverns and subterraneous passages of its capacious egotism—the vast mare internum of self, without one drop overflowing in kindness to man, or gratitude to God. And if the sudden advent of some unhoped-for or overwhelming mercy stagger them into a moment’s tenderness, they recover their presence of mind before they are betrayed into the liberality of imprudent gratitude, or the vehement expressions of an over-ardent thankfulness.

Others, who are not so remarkable for sordid selfishness, are of a peevish, complaining temper. Unless a man be changed in the spirit of his mind, he cannot belong to Christ. It is the work of the transforming Spirit to change the temper in making all things new; and in the majority of instances the change is very perceptible. The churl becomes bountiful, and the murmurer grows thankful But the change is sometimes very slow, and seldom, in all its details, complete. And it is sad enough that when the box is alabaster and the ointment precious, this dead fly should spoil it all; when the man is a Christian, and his qualities those of substantial worth, that this bad temper should diffuse an odour of repulsiveness round him. We have, however, only to do with the fact and its evil influence,—the fact that some good men are of a fretful temper, and its evil effect in making them unthankful Just as there are some instances of ingenious gratitude, making the most of scanty mercies, and extracting materials of thanksgiving from subjects the most unpromising; so there is an ingenious fretfulness, surprising you by its dexterity in detecting flaws, its industry in embittering its own comforts, and wearying you by its pertinacious fault-finding. If the house be commodious and well-furnished, the situation is bad. If your friend be judicious and affable and kind, it availeth you nothing, for he is so busy that you do not see him half so often as you would. If the book be scriptural and original, and ever so impressive, you throw it aside with a shudder, because it contains some expressions at war with your rules of criticism. In 1 Kings 9.10-13, we read, “And it came to pass at the end of twenty years, when Solomon had built the two houses, the house of the Lord and the king’s house, that then King Solomon gave Hiram twenty cities in the land of Galilee. And Hiram came out from Tyre to see the cities which Solomon had given him; and they pleased him not. And he said, What cities are these which thou hast given me, my brother? And he called them the land of Cabul (margin, dirty or displeasing), unto this day.” Now, without waiting to inquire whether the conduct of Solomon on this occasion was right or wrong, handsome or unhandsome, we have no hesitation in saying that Hiram was neither gracious nor wise. Even had the cities not come up to his expectation—and perhaps the misfortune lay in his expectation being too high—there was no need to vilify them, and hand down to posterity a memorial of his own spleen. But some men’s lot is always cast in the land of Cabul. There is something dirty or displeasing in all their mercies. They find a crook in every field, a drawback on every comfort, a bitter in every sweet. They can get nothing to their mind, nothing that comes up to their idea, neither a church, nor a minister, nor a Christian friend. And just as they are sullen and dissatisfied in the midst of ordinances, they are fretful at their own firesides. And just as God never gave them a mercy yet where their perversity did not discover more cause for grumbling than for gratitude, so, were they entering heaven itself with this hankering, discontented spirit, they would write Cabul on the very gates of Paradise.

Many are unthankful from sheer inadvertency. They are surrounded with blessings, but from pure heedlessness they do not perceive the open hand whence all have issued. They shut themselves out of the rich enjoyments included in the very exercise of gratitude, by not observing the countless objects on which that gratitude might be exercised. They are neither proud nor perverse it may be, but of a light inconsiderate turn, enjoying the good things which God has given, happy and cheerful in the use of them, but not connecting them with the bounteous Giver, and so not thankful. Gratitude does not depend on the amount of mercies received, but on the amount of mercies known and prized. And some are incomparably more quick-sighted in discerning and ingenious in detecting mercies than others are. A man may possess an estate and be little alive to its intrinsic worth. From ignorance or incuriosity, he may look on it as good for nothing, till a stranger comes and reveals to him its value. “This barren shaly rock overlies a bed of fuel. That poisonous spring, of which the cattle may not drink, is itself a promise of plenty, for it shows that out of these hills thou mayest dig brass. These coarse, unsightly shells are the casket which contain the pearl And even those heaps of rotting sea-weed may be rendered a source of occupation to your people and of riches to yourself.” And many a man has the sources of boundless happiness and gratitude all at his feet, but owing to mere heedlessness the well is hid. Many a man whose average enjoyment amounts to little more than a duller sort of misery; many a Christian whose thankfulness is a conscientious effort rather than a spontaneous emotion, his peace might flow like a river, and his praises rush in a mighty stream, if he only had a prompt and observant eye, if he were only eager to discover and alert to notice his multitude of mercies. And this brings us to our second head.

II. Some topics or materials for thanksgiving.

Materials for thankfulness.

There is no better plan for suggesting these than to fix our regards on some one who was eminent for the grace of thankfulness, and then to ascertain what those mercies were which made his thanks abound. And having ascertained them, it will be for each to consider how far the counterpart mercies have been bestowed on himself. In looking over the Bible, the most eminent example of a thankful spirit which occurs to us is the sweet singer of Israel. His was a heart so full, that the least mercy made it overflow; and when it overflowed it was gratitude of a peculiarly intense and generous kind, such as fills the golden vials of the four and twenty elders (Revelation 5.8,9). There was a holy skill, a Divine exuberance in King David’s gratitude. Nothing came amiss to it, but, like the fire which transmutes rotten wood and dingy coal to light and flame, the fire of David’s devotion turned his hardships into blessings, and his sorrows into songs of thanksgiving. For instance, when he had taken refuge with the King of Gath, hungry and weary, and hunted for his life, he had not been long in his house till he found that the king intended to kill him. Saul lay waiting for him, and Achish drove him out to Saul. So David arose, and marched along, singing blithely, “I will bless the Lord at all times; His praise shall continually be in my mouth. O magnify the Lord with me, and let us exalt His name together (Psalm 34).” And long afterwards, when death laid his hand upon him, and the once ruddy countenance was deep-lined and mortal pale, he cast a wistful glance round his dwelling, and though it reminded him of many an awful sin and many stunning events in his family’s history, amidst its dreariness, a sense of obligation still survived, and he gathered up his languid strength to say: “Although my house be not so with God; yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and sure; for this is all my salvation, and all my desire, although he make it not to grow.” It was the faint Amen which closed the hallelujah of his thankful life, and told that he was of the same mind still as when in sprightlier days he sang, “The Lord is my Shepherd. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life.” So far there is foundation for Izak Walton’s quaint conclusion, “that though the Prophet David was guilty of many of the most deadly sins, yet he was said to be a man after God’s own heart, because he abounded more with thankfulness than any other that is mentioned in Holy Scripture, as may appear in his Book of Psalms; where there is such a commixture of his confessing of his sins and unworthiness, and such thankfulness for God’s pardon and mercies, as did make him to be accounted, even by God himself, to be a man after his own heart. ¹”

What, then, were the things which chiefly awakened David’s gratitude? To enumerate all would be to recapitulate the psalms of praise. We shall only specify three or four.

1. Personal salvation.—There is a joy which many here have felt—the joy of returning health. The Lord had brought you very low, so low that nobody expected you would rise again, and you did not greatly care. You were so sick at heart that life had no attractions for you. Your soul abhorred the very things it loved before. They had to stop the music in the streets, the din so distressed you. Your little sister brought you a few flowers from the garden, but you asked her to put them away, for their fragrance sickened you. Some one offered to read you a chapter, and you gave them a listless consent, but you could not attend to a single verse, and soon said, “That will do.” But the Lord raised you up again. Do you remember the first time you breathed the open air, when you were strong enough to cross the threshold again? It was quite an ordinary day to other people. The shopman stood behind his counter, the student was poring on his book, the smith was hammering at his forge, and noticed nothing remarkable about the day. And when neighbours met, they said to one another, as words of course, “A pleasant day.” They saw nothing extraordinary about it; but it was a wonderful day to you. You just felt as if it were a day that God had newly made—as if He had on purpose breathed a new freshness into the air, and scattered on the earth a handful of heavens own sunshine. The commonest things had an uncommon look. They had a friendly look—a happy, thankful look. They all seemed to be singing Psalm 148—“Fruitful trees and all cedars; beasts and all cattle; creeping things and flying fowl,” were all praising God, for you yourself were praising. And as you hearkened to the merry tune of the evening bird, and the piping tones of the bee hurrying home with his last burden, and the chorus gush of winds and waters, your swelling heart kept time to their Hosannah, and your tumult of ecstasy almost threw your feeble frame into a fever again.

But there is a joy more Elysian still, and it, too, is the joy of returning health—the joy of a forgiven sinner when the Holy Spirit first seals the pardon on his soul. To some, this joy comes so gradually, and with such wise abatements, that they cannot date its dawn, nor say when that joy was full But others can. You were a sin-sick, wretched man. The Spirit of God, unperceived by you, was working in your heart, and had convinced you of your guilt. You had no desire for anything; you had no courage to pray; you took the Bible in your hand, but had scarcely heart to open it; you expected nothing there; and you wondered why other people were so happy, for, in your desolate bosom, all was dark despair. You were almost afraid to shut your eyes and take your needful rest, for you did not know but you might awake in hell; and though you put up an earnest cry for mercy, you felt as if God had not heard that cry. These were dismal days. But they are over now. The true light shone. You saw a sin-bearing Saviour. You saw God’s reconciled countenance in the face of the Incarnate Son. You had peace with God, You were no longer averse to pray, for God was your Father. You were no longer reluctant to open the Bible, for that Bible was good news to you. You were no longer terrified to sleep, for you could sleep in Jesus. Your heart was so full of joy, because you felt that God was at peace with you, that you felt at peace with everything, and called on the dumb creatures to help you to praise the Lord. Your gladness found outlet, and scarcely found it, in crying, “Bless the Lord, O my soul; and all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all his benefits; who forgiveth all thine iniquities; who healeth all thy diseases; who redeemeth thy life from destruction; who crowneth thee with lovingkindness and tender mercies: … As far as the east is from the west, so far hath he removed our transgressions from us. … Bless the Lord, all his works, in all places of his dominions: bless the Lord, O my soul.” These were David’s feelings when he felt himself a forgiven sinner—feelings which burst in on him again in all their freshness and force each time that he realized the same affecting mercy anew (Psalm 32; Psalm 51.15; etc.).—Ah, brother! are you a forgiven sinner? Are you accepted in the Beloved? And has your heart not danced as David’s did? Has not your glory waked, and your soul and all that is within you been stirred up to bless His holy name?

2. The Bible.— In the days of King David the Bible was a scanty book; yet he loved it well, and found daily wonders in it. Genesis, with its sublime narration of how God made the worlds, with its glimpses of patriarchal piety, and dark disclosures of gigantic sin; Exodus, with its glorious marchings through that great wilderness, its thrilling memorials of Jehovah’s outstretched arm, and the volumes of the written law; Leviticus, through whose flickering vistas David’s eye discerned the shadows of better things to come; Numbers, with its natural history of the heart of man; and Deuteronomy, with its vindication of the ways of God; Joshua and Judges, with their chapters of providence, their stirring incidents and peaceful episodes; the memoirs of Job, so fraught with spiritual experience; and the domestic annals of Ruth, which told to her grandson such a tale of Divine foreknowledge, and love, and care, all converging on himself, or rather on David’s Son, and David’s Lord;—these were David’s Bible. And, brethren, whatever wealth you have, remember that David desired his Bible beyond all his riches. So thankful was he for such a priceless possession, that he praised God for its righteous judgments seven times a day. But you have got an ampler Bible—a Bible with Psalms and Prophets in it—a Bible with Gospels and Epistles. How do you love that law? How often have you found yourself clasping it to your bosom as the man of your counsel? How often have your eyes glistened over a brightening page, as one who had found great spoil? How often have you dwelt on its precious promises till they evolved a sweetness which made you marvel? How many times have you praised the Lord for the clearness of its light, the sanctity of its truth, and the sureness of its immortality?

3. Another blessedness of David’s life was devout and congenial society. Among his friends were the saints in the earth, the excellent, in whom was all his delight. In this respect he felt that the “lines were fallen to him in pleasant places; (Psalm 16.3,6)” and for these gifts from the Lord,—those friends in the Lord—the king was grateful. He had, for instance, Nathan, so faithful and honest, and affectionate withal, taking the Lord’s side, and speaking the Lord’s mind in every matter, for his soul’s sake still lingering near his master, when it seemed as if that soul were lost, and when it had been as natural for Nathan to take his leave; leal to his fallen friend, but no less loyal to his heavenly Lord. He had Zadok and Abiathar, the priests, men whom David loved because they loved the ark of God. He had Barzillai, the Gileadite, a brother born for adversity, or rather a friend whom affliction brought to view, like those brave ocean-birds that walk forth upon the swell when seas are waxing fierce, and timorous wings are wending home. And he once had Jonathan—Jonathan who had a word in season for every sorrow, and a welcome ready for every joy;—Jonathan, who understood the full meaning of David’s words, and could still perceive the meaning of his friend when labouring words could do no more;—Jonathan, whose tastes and affections so coincided with David’s own that like two cloven tallies brought together, their souls, their minds suited one another—fitted and filled up mutually, and coalescing in all the freshness of early life, clave to one another. Have you got such a friend? A Nathan faithful in his kindness, and wise withal? A Barzillai. a friend in need, a benefactor in the day of poverty or persecution, or a comforter in the hour of sorrow? A praying friend, like Abiathar; or one mighty in the Scriptures, like Zadok the scribe? Above all, a friend, like Jonathan, with whom it is sweet to take counsel, one who makes the Sabbath more lightsome, and the road to the sanctuary shorter in his company; who makes the Bible itself more memorable by his quoting it—the throne of grace more dear by his fellowship in prayer—and the Saviour himself better known by what he has told you of Him? If you have got such a friend, a gift from God, your lot is pleasant; be thankful and bless the Lord.

And bless him none the less if the gift has gone back to God. Few mercies call for more thankfulness than a friend safe in heaven; a friend who bore the image of the First-born so plainly, that you doubt not he has joined the Church of the First-born in heaven; a friend who fought so good a fight, and kept the faith so well, that you now can see him wear the crown of glory. It is not every one that overcometh. Some ran well, but have been hindered; and when you think how uphill is the road, and how many are the adversaries; how heavy, too, the encumbering weights; they are well off who have reached the goal. Some worldly men are thankful—and rightly thankful—if their friends have gone down with stainless names to honoured graves. But this is poor cause for gratitude compared with yours, who have friends that went up with white robes to immortal crowns. You yourselves have sometimes been thankful when, after days of eager waiting, and nights when the rioting tempest kept you anxiously wakeful, the telegraph announced the vessel home which conveyed your brother or your son. And afloat on this world’s waters—embarked on that profession of which so many now make shipwreck—often beyond your eye—perhaps beyond your influence—with all the cross-currents of interest and passion to contend with—with the great gulf-stream of worldly-mindedness bearing in on them, and winds of fierce temptation—the power of the air assailing them; the best moment—for it is the moment which should supersede many vexing thoughts, as it answers many prayers—is the moment that brings them home. However pleasant in his life a Jonathan may be, it is so far better for himself that you have much to be thankful for who have a friend dear as your own soul—a Jonathan in heaven.

4. But it was not only for obvious mercies, but for mercies in the disguise of sorrow, that this man of God was grateful (Psalm 34; Psalm 119.65,67,71).—These are the topics which give scope to the holy ingenuity of loyal saints; and as they are the severest trials of faith, so they are the noblest triumphs of gratitude. “In everything give thanks;” for “everything is working for good to them that love God.” You were strong and vigorous, and rejoiced in active exertions, and had just planned an enterprise which you were sure would be useful, and which you were hopeful you might execute, when sickness came. A notable break in your health occurred, and you can never hope to be the same active man again. Well, but this is the will of God, even your sanctification; and withoutness the sickness you would not be sanctified wholly. There are lessons of patience and submission, yea, and of gratitude, which are best learned when the head is low. There is a mellowing of the man which is best effected in the cloudy autumn weather of weakness or decline; a softening of the spirit, an enlargement of experience, a meeker on-waiting on God, a weaning from the world and a ripening of faith; in short, the whole of that maturing process which in believing men constitutes the meetness for glory. If you cannot be thankful for the pain, the sickness, the restraint, be thankful for the peaceful fruits.—You were rich or independent, and were purposing to do some good with your money, when, lo! your wealth took wing, and like a scared eagle, you saw it spread its pinions and fly away till it dwindled in distance out of sight, and you have little hope that it will alight on your field again. Perhaps not; and, like everything we lose, there is a pang in seeing it go. But there are lessons to be learned from its sudden flight. You meant to do good with it. And so David meant to build the temple. But whilst David was projecting a temple on Zion the Spirit of God was rearing a more beautiful temple in David’s soul. And a copestone was wanting—absolute resignation. And so the Lord denied to David the thing nearest David’s heart, and David acquiesced; and in that submission God got more glory than he could have got from David’s projected house. And has the reverse of fortune no alleviations? Are you not surprised to find how independent of mere money peace of conscience is? and how much happiness can be condensed into the humblest home? A cottage will not hold the bulky furniture and sumptuous accommodations of a mansion; but if God be there, a cottage will hold as much happiness as might stock a palace. It is with wealth as with a water reservoir. When the drought has dried it up, you find in the deserted bed things that were lost years ago, and curious, interesting things which but for this circumstance would never have been known. So, where it is a believing, contented mind, it will discover, when the flood of fortune has drained away, in the deserted channel, unsuspected sources of enjoyment and lost things,—feelings which long since vanished, simple pleasures and primitive emotions which abundance had overflowed.—You had a friend, a parent, or other beloved relative, on whose arm you hoped to lean far through the wilderness. That parent died at the moment he was most needed; that arm was broken when the road grew roughest and the wilderness most weary. Well, perhaps it made you think more of an arm which never grows feeble,—of a Friend that never fails. You were of a passive, leaning tendency,—doing nothing except as you were prompted, and deciding nothing except it was decided for you. This made you up and doing; this drove you out upon the world; sent you back on your own resources; nay, shut you up to an all-sufficient God. And you are conscious now, that but for that bitter, yet timely loss, you had passed through life in the idolatry of creature admiration and in the listlessness of creature trust; without energy, without activity, almost without separate personality, and assuredly not been where you this day are. Afflictions, wisely considered and skilfully improved, are blessings in disguise; and though they be not in themselves joyous, but grievous, and though it is not as in themselves, but for their blessed consequences, that the gratitude is due;—be it the removal of the guide you least could want, because he walked closest with God; be it the disappearance from your dwelling of one who shed over it its most sacred light; be it the vanishing from your view of some brief loan, the recall of the smiling babe before he has had time to sin after the similitude of Adam’s transgression; nay, be it sorrow sadder still, a sorrow in which there is little hope or none:—there still is something from which a thankful heart may elicit gratitude, for there is still something from which the Holy Spirit can elicit sanctification.²

My dear friends, I cannot enumerate all the sweet mercies for which you should be thankful; the personal mercies, a sound mind and a healthy body; restorations from sickness; preservations in imminent peril; a good education, abundance of books, and, perhaps, some leisure to read them; a competent share of the good things of this life, a home, food, raiment, occasional rest and recreation, the enlivening of a journey, and the enlightenment of travel;—family mercies, parents that were kind when you were helpless, and wise when you were foolish; the endearing associations of early days; the gentleness of kindred, who, if a little more remote, were scarcely less tender than father or mother were; the amenities and joys of your present home; the household lamp and the household hearth, with all the fond familiar faces on which they shine; the voices which make blithe music in your dwelling; the lives which you have got back from the gates of the grave, and those glorified ones whom you would not wish to bring back; with all those numberless in-door delights, those visits of kindness, and advents of gladness, and solacements of sympathy, which He, whose home was heaven, loved to witness or create in the homes of earth;—spiritual mercies, the Bible, the Sabbath, the house of prayer, the closet, the family altar, the great congregation, prayer-meetings, communion seasons, psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, Christian friends; perhaps a conscience void of offence towards man, and at peace with God through Jesus Christ; perhaps a victory over some temptation; perhaps progress in some grace; perhaps answers to prayer; along with what may either already be your own, or may as assuredly be made your own, as the Bible is already yours,—the Comforter, peace in believing, hope in dying, a sanctified grave and a joyful resurrection, a home in heaven, a blood-bought harp, a golden crown, the inheritance of all things. These are a few of His mercies; but, oh! how great is the sum of them!

III. Some appropriate expressions of Christian gratitude

Appropriate expressions of Christian gratitude.

1. Thanksgiving should occupy a prominent place in devotion, whether secret or social. For this purpose it were well to note God’s mercies, to mark the return of prayers, to treasure up all the pleasant incidents in your outward history, and all God’s gracious dealings with your souls; and he who does this will find fresh materials for gratitude every day.

2. Recount God’s mercies to others. In this way you will confer a double benefit. You will quicken your own soul to increasing fervour; and, by speaking good of His name, you may kindle the love and gratitude of your friends and neighbours. A thankful Christian is a general benefactor; his cheerful countenance diffuses a true report of that religion, a great part of which is peace and joy in the Holy Ghost³. The law of kindness which dwells on his lips goes far to neutralize the acerbity and peevishness of the murmuring professors around him: and the atmosphere of serenity and joy in which he moves reminds you of that world where all the labours are labours of love, where all the movements are a harmony, and each service is eucharistical, where each radiant aspect itself is praise, and every down-weighed countenance, and every uplifted eye, is saying, “Thou art worthy.”

3. Sing praise. “O give thanks unto the Lord; call upon his name; make known his deeds among the people. Sing unto him; sing psalms unto him.” Few things are better fitted to dispel the evil spirit of censoriousness, selfishness, and sullenness, than heart-sung hymns of thanksgiving. Besides, adoration and thanksgiving are the proper end and highest order of psalmody. It may be well to sing our own sorrows and our own desires, but it is better still to sing God’s praise.

4. Embody your gratitude in offerings of thankfulness. These are the only oblations for which room is left in our new economy. Sin offerings and trespass offerings have passed away. There is no place for them now. But freewill offerings and thank offerings remain⁴.—The Gospel has left ample scope for these. Its joyful dispensation is essentially eucharistical; its glad tidings should awake glad feelings, and these glad feelings spontaneously express themselves in sacrifices of thankfulness. It is in this way that the Great Author of the Gospel has stamped it with a self-diffusive tendency—inspiring with a joy unspeakable those who receive it in loyalty and love; and then, through their overflowing hearts and open hands, transmitting it over widening circuits, till a regenerate world has felt the leaven of its heavenly life(Matthew 13.33). The genius of the Gospel is liberality. Itself the most amazing instance of the Divine munificence, its advent into a human soul is marked by an instantaneous expansion of its feelings and affections. When it comes in its fulness and tells in its power, the churl becomes bountiful, the miser turns out a philanthropist, and the sluggard issues forth a sleepless evangelist. And so invariably does this activity indicate the energy within—so sure a dynamometer of spiritual vitality is the amount of what a man can do or give for Jesus’ sake—that in order to ascertain how freely any one has received, or how much any one has been loved, you have only to ascertain how freely he can give, or how long he can labour without fainting. The love which does not lead to labour will soon die out; and the thankfulness which does not embody itself in sacrifices, is already changing to ingratitude. It is distressing to see reluctant or stinted offerings laid on the altar of the God of love; and perhaps it is better not to give at all, than to give grudgingly. The Lord loveth a cheerful giver; and none of His people need ever lack that grateful motive which makes a cheerful gift. Were you sick, and has the Lord restored your health; and like Hezekiah, are you living on a second lease of life? Were you far away in a foreign land, and across the dangerous deep, has the arm of providential mercy brought you home? Have new wells burst on you in the valley of Baca, and new songs cheered you in your house of pilgrimage? Have you found new friends, or new sweetness in the old? Has a brighter blaze burst from the domestic hearth, or a richer zest been infused into the household cup? Have you cause for rejoicing in those that remain, or a hope full of immortality regarding those that are gone? Then commemorate the mercy in a gift of gratitude. Or, should all other topics fail—should you look back on weary months and find no spot of your earthly journey bright enough to deserve an Ebenezer, then think of the Bible, and the Gospel ministry, and the Great Comforter, and heaven; and if everything else should fail, cast your gift into the treasury, with this motto round it, “Thanks be to God for His unspeakable gift.”