In 1624, on Christmas Day, the Dean of old St Paul's Cathedral stood up to give his sermon. But instead of talking about Christmas, he spoke of autumn. John Donne was not just the Dean of St Paul's, he was one of England's great poets.
Can a sermon be poetry? This one could:
"God made sun and moon to distinguish seasons, and day and night, and we cannot have the fruits of the earth but in their seasons; but God hath made no decree to distinguish the seasons of His mercies; in Paradise, the fruits were ripe the first minute, and in Heaven it is always autumn, His mercies are ever in their maturity.
We ask our daily bread, and God never says you should have come yesterday. He never says you must again to-morrow, but to-day if ye will hear His voice, to-day He will hear you.
If some king of the earth have so large an extent of dominion in north and south, as that he hath winter and summer together in his dominions, so large an extent east and west as that he hath day and night together in his dominions, much more hath God mercy and judgment together;
He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light; He can bring thy summer out of winter, though thou have no spring; though in the ways of fortune, or understanding, or conscience, thou have been benighted till now, wintred and frozen, clouded and eclipsed, damped and benumbed, smothered and stupified till now:
Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon, to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons."
We ask our daily bread, and God never says you should have come yesterday. He never says you must again to-morrow, but to-day if ye will hear His voice, to-day He will hear you.
If some king of the earth have so large an extent of dominion in north and south, as that he hath winter and summer together in his dominions, so large an extent east and west as that he hath day and night together in his dominions, much more hath God mercy and judgment together;
He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light; He can bring thy summer out of winter, though thou have no spring; though in the ways of fortune, or understanding, or conscience, thou have been benighted till now, wintred and frozen, clouded and eclipsed, damped and benumbed, smothered and stupified till now:
Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon, to illustrate all shadows, as the sheaves in harvest, to fill all penuries, all occasions invite His mercies, and all times are His seasons."
Donne reminds us, as Jesus has been showing us in the gospel of Luke, that God is not stingy. His grace and mercy are not offered like a Victorian orphanage, dished out bit by bit - "please sir may I have some more". Quite the opposite. In Jesus, God offers us complete forgiveness and fullness of life, the wayward son is welcomed home by the father with great celebration, the tax collector goes home from the temple justified. God has been merciful to him a sinner. "In Paradise, the fruits were ripe the first minute, and in Heaven it is always autumn, His mercies are ever in their maturity." Above all we see that in the death and resurrection of Jesus.
What does that mean for us?
It means that God has both the desire ("We ask our daily bread, and God never says you should have come yesterday") and the power ("He brought light out of darkness, not out of a lesser light") to meet us in our griefs, sorrows and despairs. As Donne says, "He can bring thy summer out of winter, though thou have no spring".
And it means that, when we feel far away from him, and when our sin feels too much to bear, then we can turn to Jesus and have confidence that our help is in him. In God's great mercy he has come in Christ to bring us home - "Now God comes to thee, not as in the dawning of the day, not as in the bud of the spring, but as the sun at noon."
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