It is easy to overlook how closely connected
the life to come is with the present. Some imagine that when “this
mortal shall have put on immortality” (1 Cor. 15: 54) and all
present deficiencies in communion and walk with the Lord will have
gone forever, that our eternal portion will be unaffected by the
lives we have led here. Of course, for each one of us, the state
will be perfect, for “we shall be like him, for we shall see him as
he is” (1 John 3: 2). Perfection, however, is not equality. Each
flower is beautiful and immaculate, but some are large and some are
small. The flower reflects the bud before it.
So when it is no longer a condition of
faith, but of sight, no longer of hope, but of face to face, we must
not imagine that our portions will not vary.
Of course, there are many wonderful blessings
that are untouched by the character and quality of our service here.
How precious to know that every child of the Father’s love shall be
clasped to His heart alike—that there shall be no more distance for
the one saved “through [the] fire” (1 Cor. 3: 15) than for the one
“utterly spent” (2 Cor. 12: 15) in God’s service! Indeed, as we
contemplate such blessings as these we might be tempted to think
that there cannot be any room for any difference whatever. Is it not
true of every believer that “as we have borne the image of the [one]
made of dust, we shall bear also the image of the heavenly [one]” (1
Cor. 15: 49)? Yet unspeakably true as all this is, he that has an
ear to receive the testimony of God’s Word will find that, in
addition to the common blessings which every one of Christ’s own
shall have, there are also distinctive and individual blessings,
blessings which are not, therefore, the same for all.
The promise to the overcomer in Pergamos is
proof of this: “He that has an ear, let him what the Spirit says to
the assemblies. To him that overcomes, to him will I give of the
hidden manna; and I will give to him a white stone, and on the stone
a new name written, which no one knows but he that receives [it]”
(Rev. 2: 17). The promise has two parts, which are in beautiful
relation to one another. The manna, as is evident, speaks of Christ
Himself, and of our apprehension of Him; the white stone is a sign,
on the other hand, of His appreciation of us. How blessed is the
interchange of affection thus expressed! That, however, is not all,
for both these blessings are clearly individual and limited only to
the overcomer alone. All do not share in them. Let us take them in
their order.
The manna is wilderness food: it fell only
there. In Egypt it was not known, and when Israel arrived within the
borders of the land it ceased. It was divine provision for those to
whom God was an absolute necessity, for He had brought them into a
place where natural provision was lacking and where they were wholly
cast upon Him. The wilderness does not speak of what we are
naturally, for Egypt is the natural condition, and Egypt is a very
fruitful land. The worldly Christian has, in essence gone back to
Egypt, and is occupied with the fruits of this life. It is the
overcomer alone who feels this world to be a wilderness: all his
hopes, his dreams and his thoughts are elsewhere. His food (that
which sustains him in a barren scene), is out of heaven, typical of
Christ as the bread of life (see John 6: 31–33). But here in the
address to Pergamos it is not just manna, but “the
hidden manna” (v17, my
emphasis). The “hidden manna” was that which was put into the ark as
a memorial before God (see Exod. 16: 33). There was therefore, not
only divine provision for man seen in the manna,
but what was precious to God. In promising this to the overcomer,
the Lord is thus intimating that the overcomer is able to enter in
to the delight that God had in Christ as Man down here. Pergamos was
a worldly assembly, dwelling “where the throne of Satan [is]” (Rev.
2: 13). Of this “ruler of the world” the Lord says “in me he has
nothing” (John 14: 30). Only the overcomer in Pergamos—one who views
this world not as a place to ‘get on’ but as a wilderness—can really
ever enter into the delight that God had in Christ here as “a root
out of dry ground” (Is. 53: 2). Our present life is not cut off by
so broad a division from the eternal one as some would have it. In
measure as we feel this world to be a wilderness here, and in
measure as we feed on the divine provision now, so shall we enjoy
the “hidden manna” in a day to come.
These things raise many questions: How much
material for the joy hereafter are we gathering here? How much need
have we of Christ day by day? How much hunger and thirst have we
after Him? These are very strong terms, but they are evidently also
the terms of Scripture: “Work not [for] the food perishes, but [for]
the food which abides unto life eternal, which the Son of man shall
give to you” (John 6: 27). Which is it for which we are
really labouring? The
food which perishes, or the food which abides? Blessed as it is to
be saved from the wrath to come, is our eye on the city which has
foundations, walking as strangers and pilgrims here? Or are we
practically living here much as others do—the days filled up with a
routine of cares and claims, floating in the stream of this world?
Much may be pleaded as to the necessities of duties, while the daily
need and ministry of Christ is a thing unknown. Again, it is one
thing to understand what is
meant by the wilderness, but how much is this world really
felt as such? Many can
explain the doctrine but few there are who have experienced the
reality. Overcomers, by definition, are never numerous. Such
questions search such us all.
Let us now briefly consider the second part of
the promise—“a white stone” (Rev. 2: 17). The Greek word used for
stone in this passage
(yhfoς)
is used only one other time in the NT, where Paul, recalling his
behaviour when unconverted, says “and when they were put to death I
gave my
vote” (Acts 26: 10; my
emphasis). Again,
yhfhzwy,
the
verb derived from
yhfoς,
is also used twice in the NT and is translated
count (see Luke 14: 28;
Rev. 13: 18), Now the connection between the words
vote and count, and the
seemingly unrelated stone may not be readily apparent. Once we see,
however, that people in the ancient world voted by casting small
stones into a receptacle, all becomes clear. The meaning of
this stone is therefore
unmistakable: it refers to a person that
God has chosen and
commended, and the whiteness
only serves to emphasise the unreserved nature of this approval. Yet
there is more, for there is a new name inscribed upon the pebble
“which no one knows but he that receives [it]” (Rev. 2: 17). Names
in Scripture are always significant and are descriptive of whoever
bears them. To know God’s name is know what He is—to know His
character—and in the same way the new name here speaks of some
character in the one on whom the name is conferred of which Christ
approves. It is a unique and peculiar link between the Lord and His
servant. It is not publicly noted or rewarded, but a secret link
between the Lord and the individual saint. But where is our
spiritual character formed? In our lives here. When we reach heaven
there will be no more opportunity for such formation.
These two things then—the hidden manna and the
secret name on a white stone—speak to us of what shall be preciously
unique to the individual saint. Both imply something wrought here,
which has an impact on that scene up there. Both are inseparably
connected with one another, for the appreciation of Christ by the
soul is the necessary basis of His answering approval. Let us
therefore cast aside the falsehood that would have it that our
conduct on earth is of no consequence in the hereafter and seek to
be wholly for the One who has loved us and given Himself for us!
