The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars-Glenn Conjurske

The Sun, the Moon, and the Stars

by Glenn Conjurske

“There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another glory of the stars: for one star differeth from another star in glory.” (I Cor. 15:41). The sun, the moon, and the stars are ordained of God to give light to the inhabitants of the earth, and as such they are the physical representations of the spiritual lights which God has given to men. That God made the physical lights as they are with that end in view I have no doubt. The spiritual realities are of greater moment to him, and the lower creation is but a mirror of them. I have written before of the sun, as the God-ordained picture of Christ,[ and might therefore say the less of it here, except that it is the delight of my heart to do so.

Malachi calls Christ “the Sun of righteousness,” who rises “with healing in his wings.” (Mal. 4:2). John calls him “the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.” (John 1:9). Christ calls himself “the light of the world.” (John 8:12).

Now there is no question that in the natural realm the sun is “the light of the world.” It is the light and the life of the earth and all that is in it. Take the sun from the sky, and the earth would very soon be cold and dark and dead. This sun is God’s picture of Christ, drawn no doubt for that end. Christ came first, and the sun later. Christ was with the Father in glory before the world was. By him the worlds were made, and this sun was made—-as who can doubt?—-to be a picture of him.

And what a picture it is! Of all things known to man, there is nothing like the sun. Though its sight is always welcome to the eye of man, though it is benign and cheering beyond anything else known to earth, so that the lowest creatures of the earth love to bask in its warmth, and even the mindless leaves and flowers turn their faces instinctively to its rays, yet its glory is such that no eye of man can bear it. Though every man may bask in light of the sun, yet no man may dare to gaze upon it.

But to properly understand “the glory of the sun,” we must compare it to “the glory of the moon.” The moon is the divinely drawn picture of the church, and though it has a glory not to be despised, it pales before the sun. The sun is the source of its own light. The moon has no light of its own, but can only reflect the light of the sun. The glory of the moon is indeed a great wonder, when we consider that it is but dust and clay, but the fact that the moon has any glory at all belongs solely to the surpassing glory of the sun, which can transform this drab piece of clay into an orb of glorious light. And here is the place of the church—-not to shine of itself, but to reflect the glory of the Lord. Then it may shine indeed, and the brighter the better.

But there is another contrast. We never see the sun but in all its glory. As it appears one day, so it appears the next. As it appears one week, so it appears the next. As it appears in one century, so it appears in the next. Not so the moon. The moon is as fickle as the sun is faithful. Sometimes indeed we see it as a full orb of light and glory, but its glory is short-lived, and anon it will be but a thin sliver of light. Even that is worth a great deal in the darkness of this world, and the church has never sunk so low as to be absolutely worthless. It is amazing how far a little light will go in the midst of deep darkness. I was once in a hospital elevator in which the ceiling light was burned out. It was dark indeed when travelling between the floors, but the little lighted numbers which came on at each floor level gave a great plenty of light to dispel the darkness. And so the true church of God may do at its lowest state. Nevertheless, that little light which the church has given during most of its existence is truly shameful, when compared with what it is capable of. With what delight does the heart look back upon those rare and short-lived times in the history of the church, when the moon was full, and gave to the surrounding gloom a full orb of light and glory. Such were the Reformation, the great Methodist revival, and the world-wide missions movement of the nineteenth century. How does the heart yearn for a return of such days. Not that we suppose the church has ever actually reached its fulness of light, but I speak of what is obviously pictured by the waxing and waning of the moon.

The moon at its fullest and brightest pales before the sun, but no matter about that. We have no need of the moon while the sun shines. It is when the sun has set that the moon is needed, and it is in the absence of the Lord that the church is needed. And what a glorious place the moon has in the absence of the sun. The eye of the world cannot follow the sun in its absence, and must therefore be left in the darkness, but for the moon. The heavenly position of the moon enables her to bask always in the light of the sun, and give that light in turn to the world below. The shining of the moon is a constant testimony to the absent sun, when the world cannot trace the path of the sun itself. “As long as I am in the world,” our Lord has said, “I am the light of the world.” (John 9:5). But when he is gone, the world must receive his light through the church. Yet when the church sinks down from its heavenly position, to amalgamate itself with the world, it can no longer catch the rays of the absent sun, and its light is extinguished. “Ye are the light of the world. A city that is set on a hill cannot be hid.” (Matt. 5:14). When that exalted position is lost, the light is as good as hid under a bushel.

But I turn to the stars. These are the individual servants of Christ. “The seven stars are the angels of the seven churches.” (Rev. 1:20). But my mind was long exercised to find any propriety in this figure. What is the worth of a star? Some stars may be worth a good deal more than others, for “Star differeth from star in glory,” but the light of all of them together pales before the light of the moon at its lowest ebb. Yet the stars have a glory of their own. Their constancy is their glory. When all the moon wanes and fades, a single star may remain constant. I have read of the days of slavery in the Southern states. I do not intend here to discuss the merits of slavery, nor the propriety of slaves escaping from their masters. The Bible does say, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you,” and it is very doubtful there have been many masters who would have their slaves to deprive them of their liberty. But whether it was right, therefore, for the slaves to escape from their masters, is another question. I only know that men by nature love liberty, and that in the days of Southern slavery many of them did escape. But what were they to do after they were escaped? Where could they go? At every town and hamlet was a sheriff or constable waiting to take them back to their masters, and probably to a severe whipping besides. They must lie low during the daylight, and travel at night. But travel whither? They knew nothing of their destination, nothing of the way, nothing of the roads, nothing of the country through which they must pass. They knew only this—-to follow the North Star. That star led them unerringly to their freedom. And is there any more glorious calling than this, to lead a man from the land of slavery and fear to the land where he may walk in the open light of the sun, the hounds of his old master having given up the hopeless chase?

But the stars have a special place in the church of God also. It is a plain fact that the church as a whole, except during the rare times of revival and restoration, is always waning—-always drifting. The church, of course, drifts only as her members drift, but still it seems that there is always a downward current, which draws the church farther and farther from truth and right and God. And it is just here that the value of the stars appears. Though I believe it is an extremely rare thing to find a man of God who does not drift with the times, yet such a man is a star indeed, of the first magnitude. The great need of the church of God is men with some constancy of principle and constancy of conviction, who are “steadfast and unmovable,” who stand as fixed as the North Star, staunchly set against all modern expedients and departures, never wavering, never faltering, never drifting, though the whole world and the whole church should reproach them as old-fashioned and narrow-minded.

But mark, it is not enough that a star should be fixed. It is the business of a star to give light. A burned-out cinder is no star, though it may be fixed for ever. A star gives light, and a true prophet of God does not call upon men to adhere to his dicta “by faith,” but enlightens the mind. He does not lead the blind by the hand, but the seeing by their own eyes. He overcomes objections and satisfies the mind, by dealing honestly with all Scripture, and with every claim of sound reason. He does not conceal difficulties, but squarely faces them. He abhors sophistry, shuffling, and suppression of evidence. A man may be constant enough, who has no ability at all to impart pure light. Some of the most constant are the most mistaken. They are as fixed as stars, but fixed in darkness, not light. They are as obstinate for error as they ought to be steadfast for truth, and while their own church drifts deeper and deeper into materialism, worldliness, sectarian pride, and lukewarmness, they keep the fires of zeal blazing—-for the inerrancy of the Textus Receptus, the eradication of the sin nature, the total inability of man, the apostolic succession of Baptist churches, or some other vagary which will not stand before the light of facts and reason and Scripture. Alas, the blaze of a bonfire is more regarded by those who gather around it than is the light of a star, or these teachers would be put out of business.

All teachers, of course, profess to shed forth the pure beams of the light of heaven, and most of them probably sincerely suppose that they do, but there is so much sophistry in so many of the teachers, and so little thinking in so many of the taught, that there almost appears to be no remedy for the present low state of the church. Yet remedy there certainly is, though it is no easy remedy, for the ills of the church are not mere faults of the intellect. The shallow thinking which pervades the church at the present day is certainly a symptom of deeper ills. Pride, sectarian zeal, and especially lukewarmness are the real roots of the problem. It is not learning which the church stands in need of, but revival. The way to revival is not reason, but repentance—-though methinks a little of sound reason might help a great deal in the direction of repentance. To be proved wrong is a great step in the direction of getting right, and thus—-in a purely spiritual sense—-even a little star-light might contribute much to the brightening of the moon. As for the broad light of the united testimony of the church, oh, that the moon might wax once more, and show her glorious face as in the days of old!

Glenn Conjurske