Psalm 119:25 My soul cleaves to the dust; quicken me according to Your word.
Sin is no trifle to a child of God. It is his heaviest sorrow. Thus
David-thus the Great Apostle found it. And where is the
believer who has not full sympathy with their complaints? To
have a soul cleaving to the dust, and not to feel the trouble, is
the black mark of a sinner, dead in sins-dead to God. To
"know the plague of our own heart," to feel our misery, to
believe and to apply the remedy, is the satisfactory evidence
of a child of God. Dust is the portion of the world, and they
wish for no better. But that the soul of the man of God should
continually cleave to the dust, is most strange and humbling.
And yet such is the influence of his evil nature-such the power
of self-will and self-indulgence-such the regard to human
praise, and cherishing of self-admiration, that were it not that
he "abhors himself" for the very dust that cleaves to him, he
would question the existence of a renewing change. He
knows what he ought to be. He has tasted the blessedness of
"mounting upward on eagles' wings." But every attempt to rise
is hindered by the clogging weight that keeps him down. It is,
however, the cleaving of his soul that is so painful-not
occasional, but constant-not like the bird of the morning that
descends for a moment, and then soars his upward flight; but
it seems as if, like the "serpent-dust was to be his meat;" as if
the spiritual, heaven-born soul was to sink and grovel below.
And then, as the dust of the summer-road blinds the eye, and
obscures the prospect how does this earthliness of soul
darken the view of the Savior, dim the eye of faith, and hide
the glorious prospects which, when beheld in the clear
horizon, enliven the weary pilgrim on his way!
But this complaint is the language of conflict and humiliationnot of despondency. Observe the believer carrying it to the Lord-'Here I lie in the dust, without life or power. Oh! Savior,
who "came that I might have life, and that I might have it more
abundantly"-Quicken me: Breathe into me Your own life, that I
may rise from the dust, and cleave to You.' This cry for
quickening grace is the exercise of faith. We have a covenant
to plead. Faith is the hand that takes hold of the promise-
"according to Your word." Can this word fail? "Sooner shall
heaven and earth pass away, than one jot or one tittle pass"
from the engagements of a covenant-keeping God. "He is
faithful who promised." The man who takes hold of this plea,
is "a Prince who has power with God, and prevails."
But how different is the character of the mere professor! ready
probably to make the same confession, yet without
humiliation, without prayer, without faith. Nothing is more
common than to hear the complaint-'"My soul cleaves to the
dust." The world has such power over us-we are so cold-so
dead to spiritual things:' while, perhaps, the complaint is never
once brought with wrestling supplication, but rather urged in
indolent self-complacency, as an evidence of the good state
of the heart before God. Yet it is not the complaint of sickness,
but an application to the physician, that advances the
recovery of the patient. We do not usually expect to better our
condition, by mourning over its badness, or merely wishing for
its improvement. Nor is it the confession of sin, but the
application to the Great Physician, that marks genuine
contrition before God. That confession which evaporates in
heartless complaints, belongs not to the tenderness of a
renewed heart. But the utterance of genuine prayer is the
voice of God's own "Spirit making intercession for us;" and
then, indeed, how cheering the encouragement, that He "who
searches the hearts, knows what is the mind of the Spirit,
because He makes intercession for the saints according to the
will of God!" Some are ready to give up or delay their duty,
when they have been unable to bring their heart to it. Thus
does "Satan get advantage of us" by our "ignorance of his devices." Quickening grace is not the ground or warrant for
duty. Indisposition to duty is not our weakness, but our sin-not
therefore to be indulged, but resisted. We must mourn over
the dullness that hinders us, and diligently wait for the 'help
we every moment need.' God keeps the grace in His own
hands, and gives it at His pleasure, to exercise our daily
dependence upon Him. The acting of grace strengthens the
habit. Praying helps to pray. If the door is closed, "Knock, and
it shall be opened." Assuredly it will not long be shut to him,
who has faith and patience to wait until it be opened.
Now let me sift the character of my profession. Is it a habitual,
persevering, overcoming conflict with sin? Do I not sometimes
indulge in fruitless bemoanings of my state, when I had far
better be exercising myself in vigorous actings of grace? If I
find "my soul cleaving to the dust," am I not sometimes "lying
on my face," when I ought to be "taking heaven by violence,"
by importunate petitions for quickening grace? Are my prayers
invigorated by confidence in the word of God? Oh! let me
remember that "those who wait upon the Lord" shall shake off
the dust to which they have cleaved so long, and "shall mount
with wings like eagles," to take possession of their heavenly
home.
O Lord, make me more deeply ashamed, that "my soul should
cleave to the dust." Breathe upon me fresh influence from
Your quickening Spirit. Help me to plead Your word of
promise; and oh! may every fresh view of my sinfulness, while
it prostrates me in self-abasement before You, be overruled to
make the Savior daily and hourly more precious to my soul.
For defiled as I am in myself, in every service of my heart,
what but the unceasing application of His blood, and the
uninterrupted prevalence of His intercession, give me a
moment's confidence before You, or prevent the very sins that
mingle with my prayers from sealing my condemnation?
Blessed Savior! it is nothing but Your everlasting merit, covering my person, and honoring my sacrifice, that satisfies
the justice of an offended God, and restrains it from breaking
forth as a devouring fire, to consume me upon my very knees.
