A garden inclosed is My sister, My spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.
The Lord’s own view of His Church and people
I. The nearness of kin of the Church to Christ, and Christ to the Church. He calls her in the text, “My sister, My spouse.” As if He could not express His near and dear relationship to her by any one term, He employs the two. “My sister”--that is, one by birth, partaker of the same nature. “My spouse”--that is, one in love, joined by sacred ties of affection that never can be snapped. “My sister” by birth, “My spouse” by choice. “My sister” in communion, “My spouse” in absolute union with Myself. Oh, how near akin is Christ to all His people! But first, do try to realize the person of Christ. Believe that He truly is, and that He truly is here--as much here and as really here as He was at Jerusalem, when He sat at the head of the table, and entertained the twelve at the last supper. Jesus is a real Man, a real Christ--recollect that. Then let this further truth be equally well realized, that He has so taken upon Himself our human nature that He may correctly call His Church His sister. He has become so truly man in His incarnation, that He is not ashamed to call us brethren. He calls us so because we are so. Change of place has made no change of heart in Him. He in His glory is the same Jesus as in His humiliation. No man is so fully a man as Jesus Christ. If you speak of any other man, something or other narrows his manhood. You think of Milton as of a poet and an Englishman, rather than as a man. You think of Cromwell rather as of a warrior, than as a man. The second Adam is, par excellence, man. We may not think of Him as one amongst a vast number who may be distantly akin to us, as all men are akin to one another by descent; but the Lord comes near to each individual. He takes each one of His believing people by the hand, and says, “My brother.” In our text He salutes the whole Church as “My sister.” He says this with tender emphasis. As we have already observed, the first term, “sister,” implies kinship of nature; but the second term, “My spouse,” indicates another kinship, dearer, and, in some respects, nearer; a kinship undertaken of choice, but, once undertaken, is everlasting. This kinship amounts to unity, insomuch that the spouse loses her name, loses her identity, and, to a high degree, is merged in the greater personality to which she is united. Such is our union to Christ, if indeed we be His, that nothing can so well set it forth as marriage union. He loves us so much that He taken us up into Himself by the absorption of love. If you are true believers, if you have been born again, if you are really looking to Christ alone for salvation, He has brought you into a condition of the utmost conceivable nearness with Himself “He has participated in your nature, and He has made you a partaker of His nature, and in so many words He says, I will betroth thee unto Me for ever; yea, I will betroth thee unto Me in righteousness, and in judgment, and in lovingkindness, and in mercies. I will even betroth thee unto Me in faithfulness: and thou shalt know the Lord.”
II. The security of the people of God in consequence of being what they are. “A garden inclosed is My sister, My spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.” We are not only like a garden, but a garden “inclosed.” If the garden were not inclosed, the wild boar out of the wood would bark the vines, and uproot the flowers; but infinite mercy has made the Church of God an inclosure, into which no invader may dare to come. “For I, saith the Lord, will be unto her a wall of fire round about, and will be the glory in the midst of her.” Is she a spring? Are her secret thoughts, and loves, and desires like cool streams of water? Then the Bridegroom calls her “a spring shut up.” Otherwise, every beast that passed by might foul her waters, and every stranger might quaff her streams. She is a spring shut up, a fountain sealed, like some choice cool spring in Solomon’s private garden around the house of the forest of Lebanon--a fountain which he reserved for his own drinking, by placing the royal seal upon it, and locking it up by secret means, known only to himself. The legend hath it that there were fountains which none knew of but Solomon, and he had so shut them up that, with his ring he touched a secret spring, a door opened, and living waters leaped out to fill his jewelled cup. No one knew but Solomon the secret charm by which he set flowing the pent-up stream, of which no lip drank but his own. Now, God’s people are as much shut up, and preserved, and kept from danger by the care of Christ, as the springs in Solomon’s garden were reserved expressly for himself. Are you really in Christ? If so, who is to pluck you thence? Are you really trusting Him? How can He fail you? Have you been begotten again into the Divine family? How can that new life be quenched?
III. The most striking idea of the text is that of separation: “A garden inclosed is My sister, My spouse; a spring shut up, a fountain sealed.” A garden is a plot of ground separated from the common waste for a special purpose: such is the Church. The Church is a separate and distinct thing from the world. Let us, however, take heed that our separateness from the world is of the same kind as our Lord’s. We are not to adopt a peculiar dress, or a singular mode of speech, or shut ourselves out of society. He did not so; but He was a man of the people, mixing with them for their good. He was seen at a wedding-feast, aiding the festivities: He even ate bread in a Pharisee’s house, among cautious enemies. He neither wore phylacteries, nor enlarged the borders of his garments, nor sought a secluded cell, nor exhibited any eccentricity of manner. He was separate from sinners only because He was holy and harmless, and they were not. The Church is to be a garden, walled, taken out of the common, and made a separate and select plot of ground. She is to be a spring shut up, and a fountain sealed, no longer open to the fowl of the air, and the beasts of the field. Saints are to be separate from the rest of men, even as Abraham was when he said to the sons of Seth, “I am a stranger and a sojourner with you.”
IV. The text bears even more forcibly another idea, namely, that of reservation. The Church of God is “a garden inclosed.” What for? Why, that nobody may come into that garden, to eat the fruit thereof, but the Lord Himself. It is “a spring shut up,” that no one may drink of the stream but the Lord Jesus. “But,” cries one, “are we not to seek the good of our fellow-men?” Assuredly we are to do so for Christ’s sake. “Are we not to seek to help on sanitary, educational, and purifying processes, and the like? Yes so far as all can be done for His sake We are to be the Lord’s servants for the blessing of the world, and we may do anything which He would have done. In such a garden as the text speaks of, every plant bears flowers for its owner, every tree yields fruit for him. “All for Jesus,” is to be our motto. No one among us may dare to live unto himself, even in the refined way in which many are doing it, who even try to win souls that they may have the credit of being zealous and successful. We may so far degenerate as even to attempt to glorify Christ that we may have the credit of glorifying Him. It will not do. We must be truly, thoroughly, really living for Jesus: we must be a garden inclosed, reserved, shut up for Him. The wall must wholly inclose the garden, for a gap anywhere will admit an intruder everywhere. If one part of our being be left under the dominion of sin, it will show its power everywhere. The spring must be sealed at the very source, that every drop may be for Jesus throughout the whole of its course. Our first thoughts, desires, and must wishes be His, and then all our words and deeds. We must be “wholly reserved for Christ that died, surrendered to the Crucified.” (C. H. Spurgeon.)
The garden of the soul
Your soul is, or should be, the Beloved’s vineyard, God’s fruitful field, God’s garden and your own. The history of this garden of gardens falls into four Chapter s--
I. The common ground. That beautiful garden was once a bit of heath or moorland, over which the beasts ranged. In its natural state it was worthless. About one hundred years ago the finest garden in the world was the palace-garden of Versailles. But when the French king chose the spot it was a marshy moor. It cost twenty-five years of toil and forty millions of money to change it into the royal garden. And every garden was a waste till the busy hand of cultivation clothed it with various beauties. And are not greater wonders wrought in the soul reclaimed front the outfield of the world?
II. The ground cultivated, or the garden.
1. It must first be inclosed. “A garden inclosed is my spouse,” says Solomon. Of every Christian soul we may say, as Satan said of Job, “Thou hast made a hedge about him.”
2. The soil must next be broken up. What hard and rough work is the digging, the trenching, and the uprooting! But as the confusion in our gardens in spring does not discourage us, so we should not be discouraged by those sorrows that belong to the cultivation of the soul.
3. Then without wise sowing all the gardener’s pains would be lost. Fill mind and memory with the delightful truths of the Bible, and let them sink deep, that, seed-like, they may swell, and sprout, and bring forth fruits and flowers of choicest perfume and colour. And you must be ever tending them, for to let your garden alone is to spoil all.
4. The gardener’s utmost art would be in vain without the sunshine, the shower, and the quickening breath of spring. That philosopher, famed for his contentment, was right, who, when asked by a friend to show him the splendid garden of which he was always boasting, led him into a bare, rocky space behind his house. “Where is your garden?” the friend asked. “Look up,” said the philosopher, “heaven is a part of my garden”. Every good gift in the garden really comes from above; for should God command the clouds to rain no rain, the earth would soon be as iron. Heaven shields, broods over, and enriches every fruitful sod. It is a great truth that Paul planteth and Apollos watereth, but God giveth the increase. Turn, then, your whole being fairly towards the sunshine of God’s grace, and pray that the garden of your soul may always be as ready to receive heavenly blessing as is the garden around your dwelling.
III. The garden neglected. A neglected garden is one of the completest pictures of desolation in the world: it is desolation’s throne in the deserted village.
IV. The garden well kept. Solomon gives a picture of what your soul should be, and Isaiah of what it should not be. Everything had been done for the Beloved’s vineyard, and in return He received only wild grapes (Isaiah 5:1-30.). But the garden in the Song was stocked with all rich and beautiful things. It gave pleasure to every sense: its fine forms and colours gladdened the eye, its ripe fruits gratified the palate, its exquisite perfumes gave delight, and its leaves yielded an additional joy by their agreeable shade. A holy soul is compared to such a garden. It is the most beautiful thing in the world, a paradise of heaven on earth. “How can my soul be a fruitful garden of God?” do you ask. The answer is, by good cultivation; and that is the work of God and man. For “we are labourers together with God: ye are God’s husbandry” (1 Corinthians 3:9) All your powers should be gladly devoted to this God-like work of keeping your own vineyard. I remember visiting in spring a poor widow residing in a miserable corner of the city. Her soul was a garden of God. On the window-sill she had some flowers in jelly-dishes and spoutless teapots--a touching proof of that love of the country which city life wakens in all but the broken-hearted. I took notice of the flowers. “Yes,” she said, “I take many a bit lesson from them; if I neglect them for a day or two, they hang their bit heads and wither. And my soul does the very same if it is not always watered with the grace of God.” God help you so to cultivate the garden of your soul as that you shall bring much fruit to His praise! (James Wells.)
A secret and yet no secret
(with verse 15):--Observe the contrast which the two verses present to us. There are two works of the Holy Spirit within us. The first is when He puts into us the living waters; the next is when He enables us to pour forth streams of the same living waters in our daily life. The Spirit of God first implants in us the new nature. This is His work--to regenerate us, to put into us the new principle, the life of God in Christ. Then next, He gives us power to send forth that life in gracious emanations of holiness of life, of devoutness of communion with God, of likeness to Christ, of conformity to His image. The streams are as much of the Holy Spirit as the fountain itself. He digs the well, and He afterwards with heavenly rain fills the pools. He first of all makes the stream in the desert to flow from the flinty rock, and afterwards out of His infinite supplies He feeds the stream and bids it follow us all our days. Now, we think the first verse, to a great extent, sets forth the secret and mysterious work of the Holy Spirit in the creation of the new man in the soul. Into this secret no eye of man can look. The inner life in the Christian may well be compared to an inclosed garden--to a spring shut up--to a fountain sealed. But the second verse sets forth the manifest effects of grace, for no sooner is that life given than it begins to show itself. No sooner is the mystery of righteousness in the heart, than, like the mystery of iniquity, it “doth already work.” It cannot lie still; it cannot be idle; it must not rest; but, as God is ever active, so this God-like principle is active too; thus you have a picture of the outer life proceeding from the inner. “A fountain of gardens, a well of living waters, and streams from Lebanon.” The first is what the Christian is before God; the next is what the Christian will become before men. The first is the blessedness which he receives in himself; the next is the blessedness which he diffuses to others.
I. With regard to the first text, you will clearly perceive that in each of the three metaphors you have very plainly the idea of secrecy. There is a garden. A garden is a place where trees have been planted by a skilful hand; where they are nurtured with care, and where fruit is expected by its owner. Such is the Church; such is each renewed soul. But it is a garden inclosed, and so inclosed that one cannot see over its walls--so shut out from the world’s wilderness, that the passer-by must not enter it--so protected from all intrusion that it is a guarded paradise--as secret as was that inner place, the holy of holies, within the tabernacle of old. The Church--and mark, when I say the Church, the same is true of each individual Christian--is set forth next as a spring. “A spring”--the mother of sweet draughts of refreshing water, reaching down into some impenetrable caverns, and bubbling up with perennial supplies from the great deeps. Not a mere cistern, which contains only, but a fresh spring, which through an inward principle within, begets, continues, overflows. But then, it is a spring shut up: just as there were springs in the East, over which an edifice was built, so that none could reach the springs save those who knew the secret entrance. So is the heart of a believer when it is renewed by grace; there is a mysterious life within which no human skill can touch. And then, it is said to be a fountain; but it is a fountain sealed. The outward stones may be discovered, but the door is sealed, so that no man can get into the hidden springs; they are altogether hidden, and hidden too by a royal will and decree of which the seal is the emblem. I say the idea is very much that of secrecy. Now, such is the inner life of the Christian. It is a secret which no other man knoweth, nay, which the very man who is the possessor of it cannot tell to his neighbour. A second thought is written upon the surface of the text. Here you see not only secrecy, but separation. That also runs through the three figures. It is a garden, but it is a garden inclosed--altogether shut out from the surrounding heaths and commons, inclosed with briars and hedged with thorns, which are impassable by the wild beasts. There is a gate through which the Great Husbandman Himself can come; but there is also a gate which shuts out all those who would only rob the keeper of the vineyard of His rightful fruit. There is separation in the spring also. It is not the common spring, of which every passer-by may drink; it is one so kept and preserved distinct from men, that no lip may touch, no eye may even see its secret. It is a something which the stranger intermeddleth not with; it is a life which the world cannot give and cannot take away. All through, you see, there is a separateness, a distinctness. If it be ranged with springs, still it is a spring specially shut up; if it be put with fountains, still it is a fountain bearing a particular mark--a king’s royal seal, so that all can perceive that this is not a general fountain, but a fountain that has a proprietor, and stands specially by itself alone. So is it with the spiritual life. It is a separate thing. I would not give a farthing for that man’s spiritual life who can live altogether with others; if you do not sometimes feel that you must be a garden inclosed, that you must enter into your closet, and shut-to the door; if you do not feel seasons when the society of your dearest friend is an impediment, and when the face of your sweetest relation would but be a cloud between you and Christ, I cannot understand you. Be ye, O ye children of Christ, as chaste virgins kept alone for Christ. In the third place, you have in the text the idea of sacredness. The garden inclosed is walled up that it may be sacred to its owner; the spring shut up is preserved for the use of some special person; and the fountain sealed more eminently still bears the mark of being sacred to some distinguished personage. Now such is the Christian’s heart. It is a spring kept for Christ. Oh, I would that it were always so. Every Christian should feel that he is God’s man--that he has God’s stamp on him--and he should be able to say with Paul, “From henceforth let no man trouble me, for I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.” But I think there is another idea prominent, and it is that of security--security to the inner life. “A garden inclosed.” “The wild boar out of the wood shall not break in there, neither shall the little foxes spoil the vines.” “A fountain shut up.” The bulls of Bashan shall not mud her streams with their furious feet; neither shall the wild beast of Lebanon come there to drink. “A fountain sealed.” No putrid streams shall foul her springs; her water shall be kept clear and living; her fountains shall never be filled up with stones. Oh, how sure and safe is the inner life of the believer. Satan does not know where it is, for “our life is hid with Christ.” The world cannot touch it; it seeks to overthrow it with troubles and trials and persecutions, but we are covered with the Eternal wings, and are safe from fear of evil. How can earthly trials reach the spirit? As well might a man try to strike a soul with a stone, as to destroy a spirit with afflictions. We are one with Christ, even as Christ is one with the Father; therefore as imperishable through Christ’s life as Christ Himself. Truly may we rejoice in the fact that “because He lives we shall live also.” Once more only. I think in looking at the text you receive the thought of unity. You notice, it is but one garden--“a garden inclosed.” “A garden.” It is but one spring, and that is shut up; it is but one fountain. So the inner life of the Christian is but one. If you could imagine two bodies quickened by the very same mind, what a close connection would that be! But here are hundreds of bodies, hundreds of souls, quickened by the self-same Spirit. Brethren, indeed not only ought we to love one another, but the love of Christ constraineth us, so that we cannot resist the impulse; we do love each other in Christ Jesus.
II. I shall now try to open the second text, which presents a decided contrast, because it deals not so much with the inner life as with the active life which goes abroad into all the deeds of the Christian in the world, and is the natural outgoing of the life within. First, notice that in contradistinction to our first thought of secrecy you have in the text manifestation. “A fountain of gardens.” Everybody can see a fountain which runs streaming through many gardens, making deserts fertile. “A well of living waters.” Whatever the traveller does not see, when he is riding along on a thirsty day, he is sure to see the fountain; if there be one anywhere he is certain to observe that. “And streams from Lebanon.” So that any passer-by in the valley, looking up the side of the mountain, will see by the clusters of trees which skirt the stream where the stream is; or, if it be a smaller brook, just as sometimes in Cumberland and Westmoreland, on a rainy day you see the mountain suddenly marked with streaks of silver all adown its brown sides, where the brooks are rippling, so the Christian becomes like the streams leaping adown Lebanon s steep sides, clearly perceived even from a distance, manifest to the most casual observer. Now, brethren, this is what you and I ought to be. No man ought to court publicity for his virtue, or notoriety for his zeal; but, at the same time, it is a sin to be always seeking to hide that which God has bestowed upon us for the good of others. The inner life is secret--mind that you have this inner mystery; but out of the secret emanates the manifest; the darkness becomes the mother of light; from the dark mines comes the blazing coal. Oh! see to it, that from all that is hidden and secret and mysterious there comes out the plain and the manifest that men may see the holiness, truthfulness and zeal of God in thy life. But clearly enough, again, we have in the second text, in opposition to the separation of the first, diffusiveness. The garden was inclosed before, now it is “a fountain of gardens”; the well was shut up, now it is a well of living waters; before we had the fountain sealed, now we have streams dashing adown the sides of Lebanon. So a Christian is to be separate in his inner life; but in the outer manifestations of that inner life, he is to mingle for good among his fellow-men. We must let the streams flow abroad; we must seek to give to others what Christ has given to us. Briefly we are obliged to speak on each of these points; but notice, thirdly, that in opposition to the sacredness of the first text we have in the second verse an unlimited freeness, especially in that last expression--“streams from Lebanon.” What can be freer than the brook, which leaps along the mountain-side? There the bird wets its wings; there the red deer comes to drink; and even that wild beast of Lebanon, of which we read in the Book of the Kings, comes there, and without let or hindrance slakes its thirst. What can be finer than the rivulet singing with liquid notes adown the glen? It belongs to no one; it is free to all. Whosoever passeth by, be he peer or peasant, may stoop there and refresh himself from the mountain-stream. So be it with you, Christian. Carry about with you-a piety which you do not wish to keep for yourself. A light loses none of its own lustre when others are lit as its flame. We must be hidden springs within, but let us be sweetly flowing rivulets without, giving drink to every, passer-by. And notice that, while we had in the other text the idea of security, in connection with that we have here in this text the idea of approach. The garden was shut up--that was to keep it. There are no walls here, so that all may come to it. The streams were shut up before; here it is an open well. The fountain was sealed in the first verse; here it is a flowing stream, which is to teach us this--that the way God keeps His people in security is not by shutting out their enemies from attacking them, but while laying them open to temptation and attack, He yet sustains them. And last of all, in opposition to the unity of which I spake, we have in our second text great diversity. You have “a fountain,” not of a garden, but “of gardens”; you have a well, but it is a well of living waters; you have not a stream, but streams--streams from Lebanon. So a Christian is to do good in all sorts of ways, and his fruits are to be of many kinds; he is to be like the trees of Paradise, which bear twelve manner of fruits. The Christian is to have all sorts of graces. Oh t if the fountain, the secret fountain, were better seen to, I think there would be more of these outward streams; and if the sealed well were better guarded, we should see more of these rapid streams from Lebanon, which would make glad the people of God, and the world at large. (C. H. Spurgeon.)
Christ’s Church
I. It is a sacred inclosure. Inclosed:
1. For protection--against the many foes that would injure it.
2. For enjoyment--Christ has a right to witness its beauties and enjoy its fruits.
II. The means by which it is inclosed.
1. By sovereign electing grace--this sweeps round His Church as a boundary line--grand, comprehensive, invisible.
2. By the ministrations of angels--these are its guardians,, servants, etc.
3. By restraining, grace--this is needed by every plant in this garden and every member in Christ’s Church.
4. By Christian ordinances-baptism, the seal of separation.
5. By Christian doctrine--no man can be a Christian without believing some fundamental doctrines. (J. F. Elder, D. D.)