Things That Cannot Be Shaken

"This phrase, 'Yet once more,' indicates the removal of things that are shaken—that is, things that have been made—in order that the things that cannot be shaken may remain" (Hebrews 12:27).

After all we have been considering regarding the unfathomable love and care of God, it might seem to those who do not understand the deepest ways of love that no trials or hardness could ever come into the lives of his children. But if we look deeply into the matter, we shall see that often love itself must bring the hardness. "For the Lord disciplines the one he loves, and chastises every son whom he receives. It is for discipline that you have to endure. God is treating you as sons. For what son is there whom his father does not discipline? If you are left without discipline, in which all have participated, then you are illegitimate children and not sons" (Hebrews 12:6-8).

If love sees those it loves going wrong, it must, because of its very love, do what it can to save them; and the love that fails to do this is only selfishness. Therefore, just because of his unfathomable love, the God of love—when he sees his children resting their souls on things that can be shaken—must necessarily remove those things from their lives in order that they may be driven to rest only on the things that cannot be shaken. This process of removing is sometimes very hard.

We will all acknowledge, I think, that if our souls are to rest in peace and comfort, it can only be on unshakable foundations. It is no more possible for the soul to be comfortable when it is trying to rest on "things that can be shaken" than it is for the body. No one can rest comfortably in a shaking bed or sit in comfort on a rickety chair.

Foundations, to be reliable, must always be unshakable. "Everyone then who hears these words of mine and does them will be like a wise man who built his house on the rock. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat on that house, but it did not fall, because it had been founded on the rock. And everyone who hears these words of mine and does not do them will be like a foolish man who built his house on the sand. And the rain fell, and the floods came, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell, and great was the fall of it" (Matthew 7:24-27).

It is very possible in the Christian life to build one's spiritual house on such insecure foundations that, when storms beat upon it, the ruin of that house is great. Many a religious experience that has seemed fair enough when all was going well in life has tottered and fallen when trials have come, because its foundations were insecure. It is therefore of vital importance to each one of us to see to it that our religious life is built upon "things that cannot be shaken."

Of course, the immediate thought that will come to every mind is that it must be built upon the Rock, Christ Jesus. This is true; but the great point is what is meant by that expression. It is one of those religious phrases that is often used conventionally, with no definite or real meaning attached to it. Conventionally, we believe that Christ is the only Rock upon which to build, but practically—though perhaps unconsciously—we believe that in order to have a rock upon which it will be really safe to build, many other things must be added to Christ. We think, for instance, that the right frames of mind and feelings must be added, or the right doctrines or dogmas, or whatever else may seem to each one of us to constitute the necessary degree of security. And if we were only perfectly honest with ourselves, I suspect we would often find that our dependence was almost wholly upon these additions of our own, and that Christ himself, as our rock of dependence, was of altogether secondary importance.

What we ought to mean when we talk of building upon the Rock, Christ Jesus, is what I am trying all through this book to make plain: that the Lord is enough for our salvation—just the Lord only, without any additions of our own. It is the Lord himself, as he is in his own intrinsic character, our Creator and Redeemer, and our all-sufficient portion.

"But God's firm foundation stands" (2 Timothy 2:19), and it is the only foundation that does.

Therefore, we need to be "shaken" off every other foundation so that we may be forced to rest on the foundation of God alone. This explains the necessity for those "shakings" through which so many Christians seem called to pass. The Lord sees that they are building their spiritual houses on flimsy foundations which will not be able to withstand the "stream [that] broke against that house" (Luke 6:48) during the storms of life. Not in anger, but in tenderest love, he shakes our earth and our heaven until all that "can be shaken" is removed, and only those "things which cannot be shaken" are left behind.

The Apostle tells us that the things that are shaken are the "things that have been made" (Hebrews 12:27); that is, the things that are manufactured by our own efforts—feelings that we stir up, doctrines that we elaborate, and good works that we perform. It is not that these are bad things in themselves. It is only when the soul begins to rest on them instead of upon the Lord that he is compelled to "shake" us off them. And this shaking applies, we are told, "not only the earth but also the heavens" (Hebrews 12:26). This means, I am sure, that it is possible to have "things that are made" even in religious matters. How much of the so-called religiousness of many Christians consists of these "things that are made," I cannot say; but I sometimes think the great overturnings and tossings in matters of faith, which so distress Christians in these times, may be only the necessary shaking of the "things that are made," in order that only that which "cannot be shaken" may remain.

There are times, perhaps, in our religious lives, when our experience seems as settled and immovable as the roots of the everlasting mountains. But then comes an upheaval; all our foundations are shaken and thrown down, and we are ready to despair and to question whether we can be Christians at all. Sometimes it is an upheaval in our outward circumstances, and sometimes it is in our inward experience. If people have rested on their good works and their faithful service, the Lord is often obliged to take away all power for work or all opportunity, so that the soul may be driven from its false resting place and forced to rest in the Lord alone.

Sometimes the dependence is upon good feelings or pious emotions, and the soul has to be deprived of these before it can learn to depend only upon God. Sometimes dependence is placed upon "sound doctrine," and a person feels they occupy an invulnerable position because their "views" are so correct and their doctrines are so "orthodox." Then the Lord is obliged to "shake" those doctrines and to plunge that person, perhaps, into confusion and darkness regarding their "views." It was at just such a moment as this that my own soul caught its first real sight of God; what had seemed like certain spiritual ruin and defeat was turned into the most triumphant victory.

Or it may be that the upheaval comes in our outward circumstances. Everything has seemed so firmly established in prosperity that no dream of disaster disturbs us. Our reputation is assured, our work has prospered, our efforts have all been successful beyond our hopes, and our soul is at ease; the need for God is in danger of becoming far off and vague. Then the Lord is obliged to put an end to it all. Our prosperity crumbles around us like a house built on the sand, and we are tempted to think he is angry with us. But in truth, it is not anger, but tenderest love. His very love compels him to take away the outward prosperity that is keeping our souls from entering the interior spiritual kingdom for which we long.

"Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation" (Habakkuk 3:17-18).

Then, and often not until then, will our souls learn to rejoice in the Lord only.

Paul declared that he "count[ed] everything as loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord" (Philippians 3:8). When we learn to say the same, the peace and joy that the gospel promises become our permanent possession.

"What wrong did your fathers find in me that they went far from me, and went after worthlessness, and became worthless?" asks the Lord of the children of Israel (Jeremiah 2:5).

"For my people have committed two evils: they have forsaken me, the fountain of living waters, and hewed out cisterns for themselves, broken cisterns that can hold no water" (Jeremiah 2:13).

Like the Israelites, we too forsake the fountain of living waters and try to dig out cisterns of our own devising. We seek to quench our thirst with our own experiences or activities, and then wonder why we still thirst. It is to save us from perishing for want of water that the Lord finds it necessary to destroy our broken cisterns; only then can we be forced to drink from the fountain of living waters.

We are told that if we "trust in emptiness," then "emptiness will be [our] payment" (Job 15:31), and many times we have found this to be true. Have you ever crossed a dangerous swamp full of quicksands, where every step was a risk? Firm-looking hillocks continually deceived you into a false dependence, causing you to sink into the mire and water hidden beneath them. If you have, you will understand what it means to "trust in vanity," and you will appreciate the blessing of any situation that reveals the rottenness of your false dependencies and drives you to trust in what is safe and permanent. When our feet are walking on "miry bog," we should welcome the Divine Guide who brings us out of the mud and "set[s] my feet upon a rock, making my steps secure" (Psalm 40:2), even though the paths he calls us to walk may seem narrow and hard.

The prophet Jeremiah, when lamenting the sins of his people, says, "we have made lies our refuge, and in falsehood we have taken shelter" (Isaiah 28:15). He adds that the Lord declared, "hail will sweep away the refuge of lies, and waters will overwhelm the shelter" (Isaiah 28:17). It might look as though it were God's wrath doing this, and many frightened Christians think it is; but his wrath is only against the refuges of lies, not against us. Love could do no less than destroy these refuges so that we may be delivered.

A dear old friend of mine, who was very interested in my spiritual welfare, once gave me a little book called The Seventeen False Rests of the Soul. He evidently felt I was in danger of settling down upon one of these false rests. The book explained, in quaint old language, that the soul is continually tempted to sit down upon something false as if it were a final resting place. God is then continually obliged to "unbottom" all such false resting places, much like someone might remove the seat of a chair and let the sitter fall through. All seventeen false rests were described, showing how the soul—being "unbottomed" from each one in turn—settled down at last upon the only true rest in God.

This "unbottoming" is just another word for the "shakings" and "emptyings" I have been writing about. It is always a painful process and often a discouraging one. Everything seems unstable, and rest seems utterly unattainable. No sooner do we find an experience or a doctrine in which we think we may surely rest, than a great "shaking" comes and we are forced out again. This process must continue until all that can be shaken is removed, and only "those things which cannot be shaken" remain. Often the answer to our most fervent prayers for deliverance comes in such a form that it seems as if "the foundations also of the mountains trembled and quaked" (Psalm 18:7). We do not always see at first that it is through this very shaking that the deliverance we prayed for is accomplished, bringing us into the "broad place" (Psalm 18:19) for which we long.

The old mystics used to teach what they called "detachment," meaning the cutting loose of the soul from all that could hold it back from God. This need for detachment is the secret of many of our "shakings." We cannot follow the Lord fully as long as we are tied fast to anything else, any more than a boat can sail into the boundless ocean while it is tied to the shore.

If we would reach the "city that has foundations, whose designer and builder is God" (Hebrews 11:10), we must go out like Abraham from all other cities and be detached from every earthly tie.

Everything in Abraham’s life that could be shaken was shaken. He was, as it were, emptied from vessel to vessel—here today and gone tomorrow. All his resting places were disturbed, with no settlement or comfort anywhere. We, like Abraham, are looking for a city with foundations, and therefore we too will need to be emptied from vessel to vessel. We do not realise this, and when the shakings come, we are in despair, thinking we shall never reach that city at all. But it is these very shakings that make it possible for us to reach it.

The Psalmist had learned this, and after all the shakings of his eventful life, he cried, "For God alone, O my soul, wait in silence, for my hope is from him. He only is my rock and my salvation, my fortress; I shall not be shaken. On God rests my salvation and my glory; my mighty rock, my refuge is God" (Psalm 62:5-7). At last, God was everything to him; and then he found that God was enough.

It is the same with us. When everything in our lives and experience is shaken that can be shaken, and only that which cannot be shaken remains, we are brought to see that God only is our rock and our foundation. We learn to have our expectation from him alone. "Therefore we will not fear though the earth gives way, though the mountains be moved into the heart of the sea, though its waters roar and foam, though the mountains tremble at its swelling... God is in the midst of her; she shall not be moved; God will help her when morning dawns" (Psalm 46:2-3, 5).

"Shall not be moved"—what an inspiring declaration! Can it be possible that we, who are so easily moved by the things of earth, can arrive at a place where nothing can upset our temper or disturb our calm? Yes, it is possible; and the Apostle Paul knew it. When he was on his way to Jerusalem, where he foresaw that "imprisonment and afflictions" awaited him, he could say triumphantly, "But I do not account my life of any value nor as precious to myself" (Acts 20:23- 24). In the older language, he said, "None of these things move me." Everything in Paul’s life that could be shaken had been shaken. If we let God have his way with us, we may come to the same place. Neither the small irritations of life nor its great trials will have the power to move us from the "peace of God, which surpasses all understanding" (Philippians 4:7), which is the portion of those who have learned to rest only on God.

In the Revelation made to John on the island of Patmos, the Spirit tells the churches what awaits those who overcome: "The one who conquers, I will make him a pillar in the temple of my God.

Never shall he go out of it" (Revelation 3:12). To be as immovable as a pillar in the house of our God is an end for which one would gladly endure all the "shakings" and "unbottomings" necessary to get there!

"Therefore let us be grateful for receiving a kingdom that cannot be shaken, and thus let us offer to God acceptable worship, with reverence and awe, for our God is a consuming fire" (Hebrews 12:28-29). A great many people are afraid of the consuming fire of God, but that is only because they do not understand what it is. It is the fire of God’s love that must, by its very nature, consume everything that can harm his people. If our hearts are set on being what the love of God wants us to be, his fire is something we shall warmly welcome rather than fear.

"Implacable is love.

Foes may be bought or teased From their malign intent; But he goes unappeased, Who is on kindness bent."

Let us thank God then that he is "on kindness bent" towards us, and that the consuming fire of his love will not cease to burn until it has refined us as silver is refined. For the promise is that "he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify the sons of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, and they will bring offerings in righteousness to the Lord" (Malachi 3:3). He gives us this inspiring assurance: if we will but submit to this purifying process, we shall become "pleasing to the Lord" (Malachi 3:4). "Then all nations will call you blessed, for you will be a land of delight, says the Lord of hosts" (Malachi 3:12).

To be "pleasing" and a "delight" to the Lord may seem impossible to us when we look at our shortcomings and our unworthiness. But when we think of this lovely, consuming fire of God’s love, we can take heart and be courageous. He will not fail or be discouraged until all our dross and inferior silver is burned away, and we ourselves come forth in his likeness, conformed to his image.

Our souls long for the "kingdom that cannot be shaken" (Hebrews 12:28). He who is "on kindness bent" will, if we let him, shake everything in our lives that can be shaken. He will "unbottom" us from every false rest until only that which cannot be shaken remains.

One of the most impressive sermons I ever heard was preached by a sweet-faced old Quaker lady. She rose in the stillness and said, "Yesterday, sister Tabitha broke my best china teapot into pieces. But the Lord, whom I trust, kept my soul in perfect peace and enabled me not to utter a single word of reproach." That was all; the sermon was ended. But into every heart there entered a sense of what it would mean to be kept in the immovable kingdom of the love of God. This kingdom can be our home if we will only submit to the shakings of God and learn to rest only and always on him.

May he hasten that day for each one of us!