ChosenRebel's Blog

This week I contemplated how to speak the gospel to my own baby boomer generation–all of them. A FaceBook world encourages grandiose thoughts like that. My thoughts ran along the lines of reminding all my fellow boomers that we aren’t getting any younger. Not one of us can add sand to the top of the hour glass. We would like to forget that or avoid that, but time is relentless.  “The sand in the top of the hour glass is getting pretty thin.” If I live 10 more years it will be three years longer than my father. Are we ready to meet our maker? Are we ready to stand before a holy God? And then I ran across Tim Challies blog and thought, that says it much better than I could. 

The following is from Tim Challies Blog. He is indebted to the online site for Horatius Bonar’s writings. And I am indebted to Tim, and so thankful for what he found in Bonar’s writing. I think you will be too. The original article by Bonar includes the following heading.

“This world in its present form is passing away!” 1 Corinthians 7:31

“The world is passing away, and also its lusts; but the one who does the will of God lives forever!” 1 John 2:17

The things that are seen are temporal. Ours is a dying world, and here we have no continuing city. But a few years — it may be less — and all things here are changed. But a few years — it may be less — and the Lord shall have come, and the last trumpet shall have sounded, and the great sentence shall have been pronounced upon each of the sons of men.

There is a world that which does not pass away. It is fair and glorious. It is called “the inheritance in light.” It is bright with the love of God, and with the joy of Heaven. “The Lamb is the light thereof.” Its gates are of pearl — they are always open. And as we tell men of this wondrous city, we invite them to enter in.

The Book of Revelation tells us the story of earth’s vanity: “Then a mighty angel picked up a boulder the size of a large millstone and threw it into the sea, and said: “With such violence the great city of Babylon will be thrown down, never to be found again. The music of harpists and musicians, flute players and trumpeters, will never be heard in you again. No workman of any trade will ever be found in you again. The sound of a millstone will never be heard in you again.” (18:21-22).

Such is the day that is coming on the world, and such is the doom overhanging earth — a doom dimly foreshadowed by the sad commercial disasters that have often sent sorrow into so many hearts, and desolation into so many homes.

An old minister — now two hundred years ago — lay dying. His fourscore years were well-near completed. He had been tossed on many a wave, from England to America, from America to England, again from England to America. At Boston he lay dying, full of faith and love. The evening before his death, as he lay all but speechless, his daughter asked him how it was with him. He lifted up his dying hands, and with his dying lips simply said, “Vanishing things, vanishing things!” We repeat his solemn words, and, pointing to the world, with all the vanities on which vain man sets his heart, say, “Vanishing things!”

Tim picked up there and quoted about half of what Bonar wrote in his meditation on the vanishing things of this life.

The world is passing away — like a dream of the night. We lie down to rest; we fall asleep; we dream; we awake at morn — and lo, all is fled, which in our dream seemed so stable and so pleasant! So hastens the world away. O child of mortality, have you no brighter world beyond?

The world is passing away — like the mist of the morning. The night brings down the mists upon the hills — the vapor covers the valleys; the sun rises, all has passed away — hill and valley are clear. So the world passes away, and is seen no more. O man, will you embrace a world like this? Will you lie down upon a mist, and say: This is my home?

The world is passing away — like a shadow. There is nothing more unreal than a shadow. It has no substance, no being. It is dark, it is a figure, it has motion, that is all! Such is the world. O man will you chase a shadow? What will a shadow do for you?

The world is passing away — like a wave of the sea. It rises, falls, and is seen no more. Such is the history of a wave. Such is the story of the world. O man will you make a wave your portion? Have you no better pillow on which to lay your wearied head than this? A poor world this for human heart to love, for an immortal soul to be filled with!

The world is passing away — like a rainbow. The sun throws its colors on a cloud, and for a few minutes all is brilliant. But the cloud shifts, and the brilliance is all gone. Such is the world.

With all its beauty and brightness;
with all its honors and pleasures;
with all its mirth and madness;
with all its pomp and luxury;
with all its revelry and riot;
with all its hopes and flatteries;
with all its love and laughter;
with all its songs and splendor;
with all its gems and gold — it vanishes away!

And the cloud that knew the rainbow knows it no more. O man, is a passing world like this, all that you have for an inheritance?

The world is passing away — like a flower. Beautiful, very beautiful; fragrant, very fragrant, are the summer flowers. But they wither away. So fades the world from before our eyes. While we are looking at it, and admiring it — behold, it is gone! No trace is left of all its loveliness but a little dust! O man, can you feed on flowers? Can you dote on that which is but for an hour? You were made for eternity — and only that which is eternal can be your portion or your resting place. The things that perish with the using only mock your longings. They cannot fill you — and even if they filled, they cannot abide. Mortality is written on all things here — immortality belongs only to the world to come — to that new heavens and new earth wherein dwells righteousness.

The world is passing away — like a ship at sea. With all its sails set, and a fresh breeze blowing, the vessel comes into sight, passes before our eye in the distance, and then disappears. So comes, so goes, so vanishes away this present world, with all that it contains. A few hours within sight, then gone! The wide sea o’er which it sailed, is as calm or as stormy as before; no trace anywhere of all the life or motion or beauty which was passing over it! O man, is that vanishing world your only dwelling-place? Are all your treasures, your hopes, your joys laid up there? Where will all these be when you go down to the tomb? Or where will you be when these things leave you, and you are stripped of all the inheritance which you are ever to have for eternity? It is a poor heritage at the best, and its short duration makes it poorer still. Oh, choose the better part, which shall not be taken from you!

The world is passing away — like a tent in the desert. Those who have traveled over the Arabian sands know what this means. At sunset a little speck of white seems to rise out of the barren waste. It is a traveler’s tent. At sunrise it disappears. Both it and its inhabitant are gone. The wilderness is as lonely as before. Such is the world. Today it shows itself — tomorrow it disappears. O man, is that your stay and your home? Will you say of it, “This is my rest!”

There is an everlasting rest, remaining for the people of God.

I think I may try to record a reading of the entire meditation and post it here in next week.