Coming Near God’s Seat With Holy Complaints

If I could but come near the mercy seat, I would confess how great my sins are, and I would pray for pardoning grace. I would say, “How vile I am by nature!” I would count my original descent from Adam the great transgressor, and humble myself at the foot of a holy God, because I am the descendant of such a sinner. I would tell Him how much viler I have made myself by practice: “I have been an enemy in my mind by nature, and guilty of many wicked works, whereby I have further estranged myself from Him.” I would tell my God how multiplied my transgressions had been before I knew Him, and how aggravated they have been since I have been acquainted with Him. I would acquaint Him with the frequency of my returning guilt, how I have sinned against mercies, against reproofs, against warnings received often from His Word, and often from His providence.

I may appeal to the souls of many present, whether they have not had the greatest freedom of confession of their sins when they have been nearest to God, even though He be a God of holiness. At other times, they have not only been averse to confess to any friend, but even unwilling to talk over to themselves the aggravation of their iniquities, or to mention them in prayer. But when they are brought thus near the throne of God, they unbosom themselves before Him; they pour out their sins and their tears together, with a sweet and mournful satisfaction. “I behold,” says the saint, “the great atonement, the blood of Jesus, and therefore I may venture to confess my great iniquities, for the satisfaction is equal to them all. When I behold God upon His seat, I behold the Lamb in the midst of the throne as He had been slain, and He is my Peacemaker. I see His all-sufficient sacrifice, His atoning blood, His perfect, His justifying righteousness.”

The soul then answers the call of God with great readiness, when God says in Isaiah 1:18, “Come now, and let us reason together … though your sins be as scarlet … they shall be as wool.” “I am ready,” says the soul, “to enter into such reasonings; I am ready to confess before Thee that my sins are all crimson and scarlet, but there is a cleansing blood with Thy Son — blood that has washed the garments of a thousand sinners, and made them white as snow; and it has the same virtue still to wash mine too. I trust in it, and rejoice when I behold that blood sprinkled upon the mercy seat, and therefore I grow confident in hope, and draw yet nearer to God, a reconciled God, since His throne has the memorials of a bleeding sacrifice upon it.”

If I could get near the seat of God, I would tell Him how many my enemies are, and how strong, how malicious, and how full of rage. And I would beg strength against them, and victory over them. I would say as David: Many there be that hate me, many there be that rise up against me; and many there be that say of my soul, there is no help for him in God; but Thou, O God, art my glory, my shield, and the lifter up of my head (Ps. 3:1-3). Then, says the soul, I would complain to God of all my indwelling corruption, of the body of death that dwells in me, or in which I dwell; and say, “O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me?” I would tell Him then of the secret working of pride in my heart, though I long to be humble; of the rising of ambition in my soul, though I would willingly maintain a middle state amongst men, and not aim and aspire to be great. I would acquaint Him of the vanity of my own mind, though I am perpetually endeavoring to subdue it. I would tell Him with tears, of my sinful passions, of my anger and impatience, and the workings of envy and revenge in me; of the perpetual stirrings of disorderly appetites, whereby I am led away from my God. I would tell Him of the hardness of my heart, and the obstinacy of my temper. I would open before His eye, all the vices of my constitution, all those secret seeds of iniquity that are ever budding and blossoming to bring forth fruit to death. These things are fit to mourn before the Lord, when the soul is come near to His seat.

I would complain of this sore enemy, the world, that is perpetually besetting me, that strikes upon all my senses, that by the ears, and the eyes, and all the outward faculties, draws my heart away from God my best Friend. I would tell Him of the rage of Satan, that watchful and malicious adversary; that I cannot engage in any duty of worship, but he is ready to throw in some foolish or vain suggestion to divert me. And I would look forward and point to my last enemy, death, and beg the presence of my God with me, when I walk through that dark valley: “Lord, when I enter into that conflict, assist me, that I may fear no evil, but be made more than a conqueror through Him that has loved me.”

I would tell Him what darkness I labor under, either in respect of faith or practice. If I am perplexed in my mind, and entangled about any of the doctrines of the gospel, I would then tell my God what my entanglements are, where the difficulty lies; and I would beg, that by His Spirit and His Word, He would solve the controversy, and set His own truth before me in His own divine light. And then in point of practice, what darkness lies upon the spirit at such a time, is revealed before God: My way is hedged up, I know not what path to choose; it is very hard for me to find out duty; show me, O Lord, the way wherein I should walk, and mark out my path plain for me.

I would mourn, and tell Him how little converse I have with Himself; how much He is hidden from me. I would complain to Him how far off I am from Him the most part of my life. How few are the hours of my communion with Him! How short is the visit! How much His face is concealed from me; and how far my heart is divided from Him! A soul then says, “Surely there is too great a distance between me and my God, my heavenly Father,” and cries out with bitterness, “Why is God so far from me, and why is my heart so far from God?” How often do I wait upon Him in His own sanctuary, and among His saints; but I am not favored with the sight of His power and glory there! And how often do I seek Him in my secret retirements, but I find Him not! I would tell Him how often I read His promises in the gospel, and taste no sweetness; I go frequently to those wells of consolation, and they seem to be dry; then I turn my face, and go away ashamed.

I would tell Him too of my temporal troubles, if I got near to God, because they unfit me for His service; they make me incapable of honoring Him in the world, and render me unfit for enjoying Him in His ordinances. I would tell Him how they dampen my zeal, how they bow my spirit down, and make me go mourning all the day long — to the dishonor of Christianity, which is a dispensation of grace and joy. Thus I might complain before God of pains, of weakness, of sickness, of the disorders of my flesh. I might complain there too of the weakness of all my powers, the lack of memory, the scatterings and confusions that are upon my thoughts, the wanderings of my fancy, and the unhappy influence that a feeble and diseased body has upon the mind. “Oh my God, how am I divided from Thee, by dwelling in such a tabernacle! still patching up a tottering cottage, and wasting my best hours in a painful attendance on the infirmities of the flesh!”

I might then take the liberty of spreading before my God all the sorrows and vexations of life that unhinge my soul from its center and throw it off from my guard, and hurry and expose me to daily temptations. I might complain of my reproaches from friends and enemies; because these, many times, wear out the spirit, and unfit it for acts of lively worship. These are my weekly sorrows and groans; these are my daily fears and troubles; and these shall be spread before the eyes of my God in the happy hour when I get near Him.

Lastly, I would not go away without a word of pity and complaint concerning my relations, my friends, and acquaintances, that are afar off from God. I would put in one word of petition for them that are careless and unconcerned for themselves. I would weep a little at the seat of God for them. I would leave a tear or two at the throne of mercy for my dearest relatives in the flesh, for children, brothers or sisters, that they might be brought near to God, in the bonds of the Spirit. Then would I remember my friends in Christ, my brethren and kindred in the gospel; such as labor under heavy burdens, languish under various infirmities of life, or groan under the power of strong temptations. When God indulges me the favor of His ear, I would spread their wants and sorrows before Him, together with my own, and make supplication for all the saints. I would leave a petition at the mercy seat for my native country, that knowledge and holiness may overspread the nation.

PRAYER

“But I give myself unto prayer.”

— Psalm 109:4

Lying tongues were busy against the reputation of David, but he did not defend himself; he moved the case into a higher court, and pleaded before the great King Himself. Prayer is the safest method of replying to words of hatred. The Psalmist prayed in no cold-hearted manner, he gave himself to the exercise — threw his whole soul and heart into it — straining every sinew and muscle, as Jacob did when wrestling with the angel. Thus, and thus only, shall any of us speed at the throne of grace. As a shadow has no power because there is no substance in it, even so that supplication, in which a man’s proper self is not thoroughly present in agonizing earnestness and vehement desire, is utterly ineffectual, for it lacks that which would give it force. “Fervent prayer,” says an old divine, “like a cannon planted at the gates of heaven, makes them fly open.” The common fault with most of us is our readiness to yield to distractions. Our thoughts go roving hither and thither and we make little progress towards our desired end. Like quicksilver our mind will not hold together, but rolls off this way and that. How great an evil this is! It injures us, and what is worse, it insults our God. What should we think of a petitioner, if, while having an audience with a prince, he should be playing with a feather or catching a fly?

Continuance and perseverance are intended in the expression of our text. David did not cry once, and then relapse into silence; his holy clamour was continued till it brought down the blessing. Prayer must not be our chance work, but our daily business, our habit and vocation. As artists give themselves to their models, and poets to their classical pursuits, so must we addict ourselves to prayer. We must be immersed in prayer as in our element, and so pray without ceasing. Lord, teach us so to pray that we may be more and more prevalent in supplication.

— Covell Avenue bulletin

Dr. Isaac Watts (1674-1748) was a noted English hymnwriter and Non-conformist minister in London from 1702. His Works were published in seven volumes in 1810.

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