The Life That Wins
by Charles G. Trumbull
1872-1941
This was delivered by Dr. Trumbull in 1911 before the National
Convention of the Presbyterian Brotherhood of America meeting in St. Louis,
Missouri.
There is only one life that wins and that is the life of Jesus
Christ. Every man may have that life; every man may live that life.
I do not mean that every man may be Christ-like; I mean something very much
better than that. I do not mean that a man may always have Christ's help. I mean
something better than that. I do not mean that a man have power from Christ. I
mean something very much better than power. And I do not mean that a man shall
be merely saved from his sins and kept from sinning. I mean something better
than even that victory.
To explain what I do mean, I must simply tell you a very personal and recent
experience of my own. I think I am correct when I say that I have known more
than most men know about failure, about betrayals and dishonoring of Christ,
about disobedience to heavenly visions, about conscious falling short of that
which I saw other men attaining, and which I knew Christ was expecting of me.
Not a great while ago I should have had to stop just there, and only say I hoped
that some day I would be led out of all that into something better. If you had
asked me how, I would have had to say I did not know. But, thanks to His
long-suffering patience and infinite love and mercy, I do not have to stop
there, but I can go on to speak of something more than a miserable story of
personal failure and disappointment.
The conscious needs of my life, before there came the new experience of Christ
of which I would tell you, were definite enough. Three stand out:
About a year before, I had begun, in various ways, to get intimations that
certain men to whom I looked upon were conspicuously blessed in their Christian
service and seemed to have a conception or consciousness of Christ that I did
not have, that was beyond, bigger, deeper than any thought of Christ I had ever
had. I rebelled at the suggestion when it first came to me. How could anyone
have a better idea of Christ than I? (I am just laying bare to you the blind,
self-satisfied workings of my sin-stunted mind and heart.)
Did I not believe in Christ and worship Him as the Son of God and one with God?
Had I not accepted Him as my personal Saviour more than twenty years before? Did
I not believe that in Him alone was eternal life, and was I not trying to live
in His service, giving my whole life to Him? Did I not ask His help and guidance
constantly, and believe that in Him was my only hope? Was I not championing the
very cause of the highest possible conception of Christ, by conducting in the
columns of The Sunday School Times a symposium on the Deity of Christ, in
which the leading Bible scholars of the world were testifying to their personal
belief in Christ as God's Son?
All this I was doing; how could a higher or better conception of Christ than
mine be possible? I knew that I needed to serve Him far better than I had ever
done, but that I needed a new conception of Him I would not admit.
And yet it kept coming at me, from directions that I could not ignore, I heard
from a preacher of power a sermon on Ephesians 4:12-13:
"Unto the building up of the body of Christ, till we all attain unto the unity of the faith, and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a full grown man, unto the measure of the stature of the fullness of Christ;"
And as I followed it I was amazed, bewildered. I couldn’t follow him. He was
beyond my depth. He was talking about Christ, unfolding Christ, in a way that I
admitted was utterly unknown to me. Whether he was right or wrong I wasn't quite
ready to say that night, but if he was right, then I was wrong.
Later I read another sermon by this same man on "Paul's Conception of the
Lord Jesus Christ." As I read it, I was conscious of the same uneasy
realization that he and Paul were talking about a Christ whom I simply did not
know. Could they be right? If they were right, how could I get their knowledge?
One day I came to know another minister whose work among men had been greatly
blessed. I learned from him that what he counted his greatest spiritual asset
was his habitual consciousness of the actual presence of Jesus. Nothing so bore
him up, he said, as the realization that Jesus was always with him in actual
presence, and that this was so, independent of his own feelings, independent of
his deserts, and independent of his own notions as to how Jesus would manifest
His Presence.
Moreover, he said that Christ was the home of his thoughts. Whenever his mind
was free from other matters, it would turn to Christ and he would talk aloud to
Christ when he was alone – on the street, anywhere – as easily and naturally
as to a human friend. So real to him was Jesus' actual presence.
Some months later I was in Edinburgh, attending the World Missionary Conference,
and I saw that one whose writings had helped me greatly was to speak to men
Sunday afternoon on "The Resources of the Christian Life." I went
eagerly to hear him. I expected him to give us a series of definite things that
we could do to strengthen our Christian life; and I knew I needed them. But his
opening words showed me my mistake, while they made my heart leap with a new
joy. What he said was something like this:
"The resources of the Christian life, my friends, are just – Jesus Christ."
That was all. But that was enough, I hadn't grasped it yet; but it was what all
these men had been trying to tell me. Later, as I talked with the speaker about
my personal needs and difficulties he said, earnestly and simply, "Oh, Mr.
Trumbull, if we would only step out upon Christ in a more daring faith, He could
do so much more for us."
Before leaving Great Britain I was confronted once more with the thought that
was beyond me, a Christ whom I did not yet know, in a sermon that a friend of
mine preached in his London church on a Sunday evening in June. His text was
Philippians 1:21: "To me to live is Christ,"
It was the same theme – the unfolding of "the life that is Christ,"
Christ as the whole life and the only life. I did not understand all that he
said, and I knew vaguely that I did not have as my own what he was telling us
about. But I wanted to read the sermon again, and I brought the manuscript away
with me when I left him.
It was about the middle of August that a crisis came with me, I was attending a
young people's Missionary conference, and was faced by a week of daily work
there for which I knew I was miserably, hopelessly unfit and incompetent. For
the few weeks previous had been one of my periods of spiritual let-down, not
uplift, with all the loss and failure and defeat that such a time is sure to
record.
The first evening that I was there a Missionary bishop spoke to us on the Water
of Life. He told us that it was Christ's wish and purpose that every follower of
His should be a wellspring of living, gushing water of life all the time to
others, not intermittently, not interruptedly, but with continuous and
irresistible flow. We have Christ's own word for it, he said, as he quoted,
"He that believeth on me, from within him shall flow rivers of living
water."
He told how some have a little of the water of life, bringing it up in small
bucketsful and at intervals, like the irrigating water-wheel of India, with a
good deal of creaking and grinding, while from the lives of others it flows all
the time in a life-bringing, abundant stream that nothing can stop. And he
described a little old native woman in the East whose marvelous ministry in
witnessing for Christ put to shame those of us who listened. Yet she had known
Christ for only a year.
The next morning, Sunday, alone in my room, I prayed it out with God, as I asked
Him to show me the way out. If there was a conception of Christ that I did not
have, and that I needed because it was the secret of some of these other lives I
had seen or heard of, a conception better than any I had yet had, and beyond me,
I asked God to give it to me. I had with me the sermon I had heard, "To me
to live is Christ," and I rose from my knees and studied it. Then I prayed
again. And God, in His long-suffering patience, forgiveness, and love, gave me
what I asked for. He gave me a new Christ -- wholly new in the conception and
consciousness of Christ that now became mine.
Wherein was the change? It is hard to put it into words, and yet it is, oh, so
new, and real, and wonderful, and miracle-working in both my own life and the
lives of others.
To begin with, I realized for the first time that the many references throughout
the New Testament to Christ in you, and you in Christ, Christ our life, and
abiding in Christ, are literal, actual, blessed fact, and not figures of speech.
How the 15th chapter of John thrilled with new life as I read it now! And the
3rd of Ephesians, 14 to 21. And Galatians 2:20. And Philippians 1:21.
What I mean is this: I had always known that Christ was my Saviour; but I had
looked upon Him as an external Saviour, one who did a saving work for me from
outside, as it were; one who was ready to come close alongside and stay by me,
helping me in all that I needed, giving me power and strength and salvation.
But now I know something better than that. At last I realized that Jesus Christ
was actually and literally within me; and even more than that, that He had
constituted Himself my very life, taking me into union with Himself – my body,
mind, and spirit – while I still had my own identity and free will and full
moral responsibility.
Was not this better than having Him as a helper, or even then having Him as an
external Saviour, to have Him, Jesus Christ, the Son of God as my own very life?
It meant that I need never again ask Him to help me as though He were one and I
another, but rather simply to do His work, His will, in me, and with me, and
through me. My body was His, my mind His, my will His, my spirit His; and not
merely His, but literally part of His; what He asked me to recognize was:
"I have been crucified with Christ and It Is no longer I that live, but Christ that liveth In me."
Jesus Christ had constituted Himself my life – not as a figure of speech,
remember, but as a literal, actual fact, as literal as the fact that a certain
tree has been made into this desk on which my hand rests. For "your bodies
are members of Christ," and "ye are the body of Christ."
Do you wonder that Paul could say with tingling joy and exultation, "to me
to live is Christ"? He did not say, as I had mistakenly been supposing I
must say, "To me to live is to be Christ-like," nor, "to me to
live is to have Christ's help," nor, "To me to live is to serve
Christ." No, he plunged through and beyond all that in the bold, glorious,
mysterious claim: "To me to live is Christ!"
I had never understood that verse before. Now, thanks to His gift of Himself, I
am beginning to enter into a glimpse of its wonderful meaning.
And that is how I know for myself that there is a life that wins; that it is the
life of Jesus Christ; and that it may be our life for the asking, if we let Him
– in absolute, unconditional surrender of ourselves to Him, our wills to His
will, making Him the Master of our lives as well as our Saviour – enter in,
occupy us, overwhelm us with Himself, yea, fill us with Himself "unto all
the fullness of God."
What has the result been? Did this experience give me only a new intellectual
conception of Christ, more interesting and satisfying than before? If it were
only that, I should have little to tell you today. No, it meant a
revolutionized, fundamentally changed life, within and without. If any man be in
Christ, you know, there is a new creation.
Do not think that I am suggesting any mistaken, unbalanced theory that, when a
man receives Christ as the fullness of his life, he cannot sin again. The 'life
that is Christ' still leaves us our free will, with that free will we can resist
Christ; and my life, since the new experience of which I speak, has recorded
sins of such resistance.
But I have learned that the restoration after failure can be supernaturally
blessed, instantaneous, and complete. I have learned that, as I trust Christ in
surrender, there need be no fighting against sin, but complete freedom from the
power and even the desire of sin. I have learned that this freedom, this more
than conquering, is sustained in unbroken continuance as I simply recognize that
Christ is my cleansing, reigning life.
The three great lacks of needs of which I spoke at the opening have been
miraculously met.
Two of these were a mother and a son – a young businessman twenty-five-years
old. Another was the general manager of one of the large business houses in
Philadelphia. Though consecrated and active as a Christian for years, he began
letting Christ work out through him in a new way into the lives of his many
associates, and of his salesmen all over the country. A white-haired man of over
seventy found a peace in life and a joy in prayer that he had long ago given up
as impossible for him. Life fairly teems with the miracle-evidences of what
Christ is willing and able to do for other lives through anyone who just turns
over the keys to his complete Indwelling.
Jesus Christ does not want to be our helper; He wants to be our life. He does
not want us to work for Him. He wants us to let Him do His work through us,
using us as we use a pencil to write with; better still, using us as one of the
fingers on His hand.
When our life is not only Christ's but Christ, our life will be a winning life,
for He cannot fail.
And a winning life is a fruit-bearing life, a serving life. It is after all only
a small part of life, and a wholly negative part, to overcome; we must also bear
fruit in character and in service if Christ is our life. And we shall –
because Christ is our life: "He cannot deny himself"; He "came
not to be ministered unto, but to minister,"
An utterly new kind of service will be ours now, as we let Christ serve others
through us, using us. And this fruit-bearing and service, habitual and constant,
must all be by faith in Him; our works are the result of His Life in us; not the
condition, or the secret, or the cause of that Life.
The conditions of thus receiving Christ as the fullness of the life are simply
two – after, of course, our personal acceptance of Christ as our Saviour –
through His shed blood and death as our Substitute and Sin-Bearer, from the
guilt and consequences of our sin.
Upon this second step, the quiet act of faith, all now depends. Faith must
believe God in entire absence of any feeling or evidence. For God's word is
safer, better, and surer than any evidence of His word. We are to say, in blind,
cold faith if need be, "Know that my Lord Jesus is meeting all my needs now
(even my need of faith), because His grace is sufficient for me."
And remember that Christ Himself is better then any of His blessings; better
than the power, or the victory, or the service, that He grants.