Teaching Resources International

“Now no chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.” — Hebrews 12:11

Last Sabbath morning we tried to show you how the uncleanness of sin is removed. By the application of the blood of Christ the guilt of sin is cleansed; by the water which flowed with the blood from the side of Jesus defilement is taken away forever. Our work this morning is to consider the destruction of the power of sin. This is a work which rests in the hand of God the Holy Ghost, and is not comprehended under the head of justification, but of sanctification. Beware, my brethren, lest ye mix these two different things. It is in the sense of sanctification that the trials and afflictions of this life have the blessed influence of purging us from sin. It were a very great error to imagine that affliction ever cleanseth us from the guilt of sin; for if we could be afflicted with all the pangs of the lost spirits in hell, and that forever, not a single spot of sin would be washed away by all our miseries and tears. Nor are we saved from the pollution of sin by our trials; our conscience must be purged from dead works by the blood of Jesus alone. If the wedge of gold which Achan stole were accursed, you might have thrust it into the fire as many times as you would, but it would have been accursed still. There were fiery serpents which bit the children of Israel; their way was long, and their journey tedious, but yet I find that they needed the ashes of the red heifer, because that purification did for them what affliction could not do. No amount of affliction can avail, either to take away the guilt or the defilement of sin. It is in this sense that Kent sings,

“With afflictions he may scourge us,

Send a cross for every day,

Blast our gourds; but not to purge us

From our sins as some would say:

They were numbered

On the scapegoat’s head of old.”

Yet, as we have said, if you separate between sanctification and justification, and make a clear distinction between the indwelling power of sin and the guilt of it, then you may clearly perceive the place which affliction holds. When the Holy Spirit acts as Christ’s representative, and sits as a refiner, his furnace is affliction; the trials and troubles through which we have to pass are the glowing coals which separate the precious from the vile. They are, through divine grace, the means of restraining and destroying in us the tremendous power of indwelling sin, until the day shall come when the blessed Spirit shall take away from us all corruption, and, consequently, we shall need no more affliction.

Coming at once to the text, we shall notice, first, the outward appearance of our trials, or SORE CHASTISEMENTS; secondly, the result of our chastening, or BLESSED FRUITFULNESS; and, thirdly, the characters benefited by these exercises, or FAVORED SONS.

I. First, we have very clearly in the text, SORE CHASTISEMENTS.

1. Keeping literally to the words of the text, we observe that all which carnal reason can see of our present chastisement is but seeming. “No chastisement for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous.” All that flesh and blood can discover of the quality of affliction, is but its outward superficial appearance. We are not able by the eye of reason to discover what is the real virtue of sanctified tribulation; this discernment is the privilege of faith. Brethren, how very apt we are to be deceived by seemings! Why, to our senses, even natural things are too high for us. The world seems to stand still, and yet we know, without any faith, that it is always moving. The sun seems to climb the heights of heaven, and then to descend and hide himself in the west, and yet we are sure that the sun is fixed in his sphere. When the sun is setting, he seems larger than when he shone in his zenith, but we are well aware, in this case, that the seeming is not the truth, and that the sun is no broader at his setting than when he was shining in the highest heaven. Now, if even in natural things the seeming is not the truth, and the appearance is very often false, we may rest quite sure that though affliction seemeth to be one thing, it really is not what it seemeth to be. Understand, that all that you can know about trial, by mere carnal reason, is no more reliable than what you can discover by your feelings concerning the motion of the earth.

Nor, dear friends, are our seemings at all likely to be worth much, when you recollect that our fear, when we are under trouble, always darkens what little reason we have. Besides, we are very unbelieving, and you know how unbelief is apt always to exaggerate the black, and to diminish the bright. When Giant Despair had put his victims into the castle, he was wont to beat them with a crab-tree cudgel. Some of us have felt the weight of that crab-tree cudgel; sore are its blows. Lying in that dungeon, Christian began to think whether it were not better to destroy himself, though, poor silly man, all the while the key of promise was in his bosom, and he needed not to have lain rotting in that dungeon for a single hour. We cannot, therefore, expect with such a mischiefmaking propensity within us as our inclination to unbelief, that we can fairly judge what affliction means.

2. The text shows us that carnal reason judgeth afflictions only “for the present.” “No chastisement for the present seemeth to be joyous.” It judges in the present light, which happens to be the very worst light in which to form a correct estimate. Suppose that I am under a great tribulation to-day — let it be a bodily affliction — the head is aching, the heart is palpitating, the mind is agitated and distracted, am I in a fit state then to judge the quality of affliction, with a distracted and addled brain? With the scales of the judgment lifted from their proper place, how can I sit and form a just idea of the wisdom of God in his dispensations?

3. This brings me to observe, that since carnal reason only sees the seeming of the thing, and sees even that in the pale light of the present, therefore, brethren, affliction never seemeth to be joyous. If affliction seemed to be joyous, would it be a chastisement at all? I ask you, would it not be a most ridiculous thing if a father should so chasten a child, that the child came down stairs laughing, and smiling, and rejoicing at the flogging.  joyous? Instead of being at all serviceable, would it not be utterly useless? What good could a chastisement have done if it was not felt? No smart? Then surely no benefit!

Let us here note, that no affliction for the present seemeth to be joyous, in two or three respects. It never seems to be joyous in the object of it. You know the Lord always takes care when he does strike his people, to hit them in a tender place.

Nor is it, my brethren, joyous in the force of it. “Oh,” we are apt to think, “if the trial had not been quite so severe, the temptation so strong; if the difficulty had not been so great, I could have sustained it; but the north wind hath come down against me; the Lord hath broken me in pieces with a terrible hurricane.” My dear friends, you must never expect to have the trial joyous in the force of it. God will put just so much bitters into the draught that they shall not tickle your appetite as some bitters do, but shall really fill you with loathing and real misery. He will do it efficiently and effectively in the force of it.

Again, no chastisement ever seems to be joyous as to the time of it. We always think it comes at the wrong season. “I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet; yet trouble came,” saith Job. And David has a complaint somewhat of the same kind. “In my prosperity I said I shall never be moved. Lord, by thy favor thou hast made my mountain to stand strong: thou didst hide thy face, and I was troubled.” The time of our afflictions, if it were left to our choosing — well, I suppose we should never have any at all — but if we must have them, and had to choose the time, then they would be joyous, and so would lose their very meaning.

Certainly, brethren, they are very seldom joyous as to the instrument. Hear David. “It was not an enemy; then I could have borne it.” O yes, that is what we always think. “If it was not just that, I could have borne it. If I had been poor I could have borne that, but to be slandered I cannot endure. To have even lost my wife — ah! it would have been a dreadful blow! but I might have borne it — but to have lost that dear child — how can I ever rejoice again?” Have not you sometimes heard brethren speak so, when they did not know what they said, for God had sent them the very best affliction they could have. He turned over all the arrows in the quiver, and there was not one which would suit to wound thee with but just the one he used, and therefore that one he fitted to the string and sent it with just as much force as was required, and certainly no more. It all goes to prove this, that in no respect — neither in the object, nor the instrument, nor the time, nor the force of it, can an affliction ever seem to carnal reason to be joyous.

4. Nay more, dear brethren, the text assures us in the next place that every affliction seemeth to be grievous. Perhaps to the true Christian, who is much grown in grace, the most grievous part of the affliction is this. “Now,” saith he, “I cannot see the benefit of it, if I could I would rejoice. I do not see why this trouble was sent to me. Instead of doing good, it really seems to do harm.” “Such a brother has been taken away just in the midst of his usefulness;” cries the bereaved friend. A wife says, “My dear husband was called away just when the children needed most his care.” And ourselves say, “Here am I, laid aside upon a bed of sickness just when the Church wants me, just when I proceeded most triumphantly in a career of usefulness.” This is always grievous to the Christian because he cannot see, though indeed it ought not to be grievous on that account, since he should never expect to see, but should walk by faith and not by sight.

5. But now let me add, and then I have done with the first head, that all this is only seeming. Do let me keep you to this, all this is only seeming. Faith triumphs in trial. When reason is sent into the background and has her feet made fast in the stocks, then faith comes in and cries, “I will sing of mercy and of judgment. Unto thee, O Lord, will I sing.”

II. We have spoken of sore afflictions; well, now, next we have BLESSED FRUIT-BEARING.

I want you to notice the word which goes before the fruit-bearing part of the text. “No chastisement for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous; nevertheless.” Now what does that mean? It gives me my first point under the second head, that this fruit-bearing is not natural — it is not the natural effect of affliction. “Why, what are you doing? You are spoiling that precious metal!”

And, then, observe, dear friends, that this fruit is not instantaneous. “Nevertheless,” what is the next word? “Afterwards.” Many believers are deeply grieved, because they do not at once feel that they have been profited by their afflictions. Well, you do not expect to see apples or plums on a tree which you have planted but a week. Only little children put their seeds into their flower-garden, and then expect to see them grow into plants in an hour. I would have you look for very speedy fruit, but not too speedy fruit, for sometimes the good of our troubles may not come to us for years afterwards, when, perhaps, getting into a somewhat similar experience, we are helped to bear it by the remembrance of having endured the like ten or twenty years ago. It is “nevertheless afterwards.” The good of trouble is not generally while we are in trouble, but when we get out of trouble. Yet, on the other hand, it sometimes happeneth that God can give us the jewels even before we leave Egypt, so that we can march out of the house of bondage with golden earrings hanging at our ears, and covered with all manner of ornaments. For the most part however, “it is nevertheless afterwards.”

Well now, you will note in the text a sort of gradation with regard to what affliction does afterwards. It brings forth fruit; that is one step. That fruit is the fruit of righteousness, here is an advance. That righteous fruit is peaceable, this is best of all. First, affliction really does to the Christian, when the time comes, bring forth fruit. This is the object of Christ in sending it. In his sweet prayer for the elect, he prayed that his people might bring forth fruit. He said, “Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bring forth much fruit.” He assured them that every branch of the true vine that brought forth fruit, would be purged, that it might bring forth more fruit. So far as this world is concerned, God getteth his glory out of us, not by our being Christians, but by our being fruitful Christians; and the end and object of divine husbandry is to make our branches hang down with fruit. Blessed is that chastening which being fruitful in us makes us also fruitful. (John 12:24?)

It brings forth the fruit of righteousness; not natural, and therefore impure fruit, but fruit such as God himself may accept — holiness, purity, patience, joy, faith, love, and every Christian grace. It does not make the Christian more righteous in the sense of justification, for he is completely so in Christ; but it makes him more apparently so in the eyes of onlookers, while he, through his experience, exhibits more of the character of his Lord.

Note again, that this righteous fruit is peaceable. There is none so happy as tried Christians, afterwards. No calm more deep than that which precedes a storm.

III. And now for the third point, and that is, FAVORED SONS.

“Nevertheless, afterwards it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness in them which are exercised thereby.” I will venture to say this, that it does not yield peaceable fruit to everybody, nay, that it does not yield peaceable fruit to every “son” either. It is not every Christian who gets a blessing from affliction, at least not from every affliction that he has. I conceive that the last words are inserted by way of distinction, and of real difference — “those that are exercised thereby.” You know, brethren, there are some of the Lord’s children who, when they get a trouble, are not exercised by it, because they run away from it. They imagine and employ rash means of avoiding it; they use subterfuges in order to escape from it; they are not exercised thereby. Their Father holds the rod over them, and they run away from his hand. Perhaps they get a tingling smart as they run, far worse than if they had stopped; they may get a sorry cuff from his hand, but they are not exercised by it.

Now, you know what the word “exercised” means. In the Greek gymnasium, the training master would challenge the youths to meet him in combat. He knew how to strike, to guard, to wrestle. Many severe blows the young combatants received from him, but this was a part of their education, preparing them at some future time to appear publicly in the games. He who shirked the trial and declined the encounter with the trainer, received no good from him, even though he would probably be thoroughly well flogged for his cowardice. The youth whose athletic frame was prepared for future struggles, was he who stepped forth boldly to be exercised by his master. If you see afflictions come, and sit down impatiently, and will not be exercised by your trials, then you do not get the peaceable fruit of righteousness; but if, like a man, you say, “Now is my time of trial, I will play the man; wake up my faith to meet the foe; take hold of God; stand with firm foot and slip not; let all my graces be aroused, for here is something to be exercised upon;” it is then that a man’s bone, and sinew, and muscle, all grow stronger. We know that those who strive for the mastery, keep under their body, in order that they may come prepared in the day of contest, and so must the Christian use his afflictions, exercise himself by them to the keeping down of the flesh to the conquest of his evil desires, that he may be as strong as if his flesh were iron, and his muscles hardened steel.

You ask me, what in the Christian is exercised by affliction? Everything new-born in the Christian is exercised. The new-born seed is exercised by affliction, and that filial spirit which springs from it. There is sonship in every believer in Christ, that is exercised; and the spirit of sonship, and the graces of sonship all are tried; in fact, affliction, when it does us most good, exercises all the man, sets every power to work, strains his patience, tests his faith, proves his love, developes his fears, glorifies his hopes, and whatsoever other power there be in his spiritual manhood, it exerciseth all to the very uttermost point, and it maketh every part grow stronger and nearer to perfection, and so the peaceable fruits of righteousness are yielded to those “that are exercised thereby.” Mark that distinction, because we are not all thus favored. We are all sons and shall all have to bear the trial, yet we may not all be exercised by it. Let us pray God to give us to be exercised by affliction when we do get it, that so we may possess the practical benefit of it.

I have done when I have added three practical reflections. First, see the happy estate of a Christian. His worst things are good things, his smarts are his joys, his losses are his gains. Did you ever hear of a man who got his health by being sick? That is a Christian. He gets rich by his losses, he rises by his falls, he goes on by being pushed back, he lives by dying, he grows by being diminished, and becomes full by being emptied. Well, if the bad things work him so much good, what must his best things do? If his dark nights are as bright as the world’s days, what shall be his days? If even his starlight is more splendid than the sun, what must his sunlight be? If he can sing in dungeon, how sweetly will he sing in heaven! If he can praise the Lord in the fire, how will he praise him before the eternal throne! If even a thorn in the flesh only drives him to his God, brethren, where will the angel-convoy carry him? If evil be good to him, what will the overflowing goodness of God be to him in another world? Who would not be a Christian? Who would not know the transcendent riches of the believer’s heritage?

Secondly, see where the believer’s hope mainly lies; it does not lie in the seeming. He may seem to be rich, or seem to be poor, seem to be sick, or seem to be in health, he looks upon all that as the seeming. He notices that the thing seen is the thing that seemeth, but the thing that is believed is the thing that is. He knows that what his eye catches is only the surface, what his finger touches is only the exterior; but what his heart believeth, that is the depth, the substance, the reality. So, brethren, he finds all his joy in the “nevertheless afterwards.” Sometimes he is in great trouble, dark trouble, and the devil tempts him, but he spells that word over, and repeats it, “Never-the-less, I am very poor, but I shall never-the-less, obtain heaven forever. I am very weak, but never-the-less, I shall be where the inhabitant is never sick. The devil has beaten me, I am on the ground, and he has his foot on my neck, and says he will make an end of me, but I have, never the-less, eternal security in Christ.” Never-the-less, not a grain — not an atom the less, in fact, he throws the never-the-less into an ever-the-more; he believes he shall have ever-the-more of bliss, and so, looking to the afterwards, he rejoiceth in tribulation, for tribulation worketh patience, and patience experience, and experience hope. Why, the Christian often learns his best lessons about heaven by contrast. If a man should give me a black book printed in the old black letter, and should say, “You want to know about happiness, that book is written about misery, learn from the opposite;” I would thank him just as much for that as if the book were on happiness. So the believer takes his daily trials and reads them the opposite way. Trial comes to him and says, “Your hope is dry.”  “My hope is not dry,” says he. “While I have a trial I have a ground of hope.” “Thy God has forsaken thee,” says tribulation. “My God has not forsaken me,” says he, “for he says, in the world ye shall have tribulation, and I have it. I have a letter from God in a black envelope, but, as long as it came from him I do not mind what kind of envelope it comes in. He has not forgotten me — has not given me up — he is still gracious to me.” And so the Christian begins to think about heaven, “For,” says he, “this is the place of work, that is the place of rest; this is the place of sorrow, that is the place of joy; here is defeat, there is triumph; here is shame, there glory; here it is being despised, there it is being honored; here it is the hiding my Father’s face, there it is the glory of a presence; here it is absence in the body, there it is presence with the Lord; here weeping, and groaning, and sighing, there the song of triumph; here death — death to my friends and death to myself, there the happy union of immortal spirits in immortality.” So he learns to sing not of the seeming but of the “nevertheless afterwards,” with sweet hope, as his harp of many golden strings.

Lastly, brethren, afterwards is just the point where the unconverted feel the pinch. “Nevertheless afterwards.” I walk round your gardens: you are rich. How beautifully they are laid out! What rare flowers! What luxuries! And as I look at them all, if I remember that you will die, I say to myself, “Nevertheless afterwards.” This poor man who has a paradise on earth can have no paradise in the world to come. Do I see you riding gaily along the street? You have abundance of wealth and honor, but you are without God and without Christ; then I see close behind you a grim executioner, bearing this motto, “Nevertheless afterwards.” You wear a smiling face this morning, for though you have neither riches nor honor, still you are young, and have health and beauty, and are looking out on the pleasures of this world, I want you to take a telescope in your hand and look a little further — “Nevertheless afterwards!” You are thinking about this present life, and hoping you will prosper in it, and hitherto you have not wanted any religion — you say you have been happy enough without Christ, and you dare say you will get on without him, but I want you to remember “nevertheless afterwards.” When you come to die, when you stand before an angry God, when you rise amid the terrors of the day of judgment, when you have to meet the open book and the burning eyes of the great Judge, when you hear the sentence. “Come, ye blessed,” or “Depart, ye cursed,” you will think of “Nevertheless afterwards.” I would ye would bring these eternal things before your mind and reckon with your conscience concerning them. Soul, if thy joy be in earth and thy trust in self, thou mayst spread thyself like a green bay tree, thou mayst become as a bullock fattened for the slaughter, but nevertheless afterwards, beware lest he tear thee in pieces and there be none to deliver. Believe thou in Christ. Trust thy soul with him, and then whatever is to come afterwards, whatever “Nevertheless afterwards” may come, thou mayst always be sure of this, that there is for thee an eternal and exceeding weight of glory. May my Master give you an interest in that “Nevertheless afterwards,” and then I shall not fret, nor will you either if you have to have an interest in the rod of the covenant which is for the present, at least in seeming, not joyous but grievous.