Meditation for Sunday, June 14.

The LORD shall count, when he writeth up the people. That this man was born there. Selah.  Psalm 87:6


When you made up the census paper last Monday morning, there may have been a thief in the house in the night. I suppose you did not put his name down. There may have been some person who, that night, knocked at the door, and was for some short time under your roof, but who went out from you. I know that you did not put his name there. You recorded there the names of the inhabitants of the house, but of none beside. Now, then, it shall be so at the last great census taking. Whose name shall be there? We reply, there shall be the name of every soul that ever believed in the Lord Jesus Christ, whosoever fled to the cross for refuge, whosoever turned his tearful eye to Calvary as his hope, whosoever stretched out his finger to touch the hem of the sacred garment, shall find his name surely there as well as the mightiest of the prophets or the chief of the apostles. Brethren, we will take those who think themselves most likely to be left out, and we remark that there will be found there the name of the poorest. Oh! let us never imagine that because a man wears fustian, or is clothed in corduroy, he has the slightest less reason to hope that he shall be saved. Not many great men after the flesh, not many mighty are chosen, but God hath chosen the poor of this world, rich in faith, to be heirs of the kingdom, so that if there be an advantage either way, it is where some would dream it should least be given. But, then, as the poorest, so the weakest saint shall be found there. You did not omit the name of your daughter because with some spinal complaint she has been so long afflicted that she can scarcely sit upright. You put her name there as well as that of your stalwart son, who could boldly wield arms if it were needed to defend this country from the invader. And, I take it, when you wrote out the list, the infant child had a place as well as the full-grown man. You felt that the census would not be complete, and your family-list would not be well made out, even if that infant whose voice was but a cry, and whose life was but a pain, should miss his place. All were recorded there. And so, at the last, Mephibosheth as well as David; he that is lame in the feet as well as the giant in strength. Every one of those who believed in Christ, though their faith was but as a grain of mustard-seed, and their spiritual life was but as the smoking flax, shall find their names written there. I would that I could speak out this truth so that the cast down and the all-but destroyed could lay hold upon it. Art thou miserable to-day? Thy misery doth not erase thy name. Hast thou sinned, but dost thou cry, “Father, have mercy upon me?” Thy sin hath not blotted the writing. Engraved as in eternal brass, there stands thy name; the powers of darkness shall never prevail to erase the everlasting characters. Are you to-day so conscious of your unworthiness that you dare not look up? Are you thinking, “If I said ‘Abba, Father’ it would be presumption; if I claimed the privilege of a child, it would be arrogance?” Yet if Christ be thine, if thou canst stretch out thy hand now and say,

“My soul would lay her hand, On that dear head of thine,
While like a penitent I stand, And there confess my sin,”

you need not be afraid but that among the blood-bought you shall share your lot.

CH Spurgeon

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