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Morning and Evening

September 27, Evening

C. H. Spurgeon · Modern retelling

"My Beloved put in His hand by the hole of the door, and my bowels were moved for Him." — Song of Songs 5:4 · KJV

Knocking was not enough, for my heart was too full of sleep, too cold and ungrateful to rise and open the door; but the touch of His effectual grace has made my soul bestir itself. Oh, the longsuffering of my Beloved, to wait when He found Himself shut out, and me asleep on the bed of sloth! Oh, the greatness of His patience, to knock and knock again, and to add His voice to His knocking, begging me to open to Him! How could I have refused Him? Base heart, blush and be confounded! But the greatest kindness of all is this — that He becomes His own doorkeeper and unbars the door Himself. Thrice blessed is the hand that stoops to lift the latch and turn the key. Now I see that nothing but my Lord's own power can save such a naughty mass of wickedness as I am; ordinances fail, even the gospel has no effect on me, until His hand is stretched out. Now I also perceive that His hand is good where all else has failed — He can open when nothing else will. Blessed be His name, I feel His gracious presence even now. Well may my heart be moved for Him, when I think of all He has suffered for me, and of my ungenerous return. I have let my affections wander; I have set up rivals; I have grieved Him. Sweetest and dearest of all beloveds, I have treated You as an unfaithful wife treats her husband. Oh, my cruel sins, my cruel self! What can I do? Tears are a poor show of my repentance; my whole heart boils with indignation at myself. Wretch that I am, to treat my Lord — my All in All, my exceeding great joy — as though He were a stranger! Jesus, You forgive freely, but this is not enough: guard me from unfaithfulness in the future. Kiss away these tears, then purge my heart and bind it with sevenfold cords to Yourself, never to wander more.