Practical Religion: J. C. Ryle on the Christian Life

Chapter 17: Our Home

"Lord, you have been our dwelling place throughout all generations." [Psalm 90:1]

There are two reasons why the text which heads this paper should ring in our hearts with special power. It is the first verse of a deeply solemn Psalm—the first bar of a wondrous piece of spiritual music. I cannot tell how others feel when they read the ninetieth Psalm. It always makes me lean back in my chair and think.

For one thing, this ninetieth Psalm is the only Psalm composed by "Moses, the man of God." It expresses that holy man's feelings, as he saw the whole generation whom he had led out of Egypt, dying in the wilderness. Year after year he saw that fearful judgment being fulfilled, which Israel brought on itself by unbelief : "In this desert your bodies will fall--every one of you twenty years old or more who was counted in the census and who has grumbled against Me. Not one of you will enter the land." [Numbers 14:29-30]

One after another he saw, laying in the desert, the bones of the heads of the families whom he had led out of Egypt. For forty long years he saw the strong, the swift, the wise, the tender, the beautiful, who had crossed the Red Sea with him in triumph, cut down and withering like grass. For forty years he saw his companions continually changing, becoming weaker and passing away. Who can wonder that he should say, "Lord, You have been our dwelling place." We are all pilgrims and strangers on the earth, and we have no place to dwell. "Lord, You are our home."

For another thing, the ninetieth Psalm forms part of the Burial Service of the Church of England. Whatever fault men may find with the Prayer-book, I think no one can deny the singular beauty of the Burial Service. Beautiful are the texts which it puts into the minister's mouth as he meets the coffin at the churchyard gate, and leads the mourners into the church. Beautiful is the chapter from the first Epistle to the Corinthians about the resurrection of the body. Beautiful are the sentences and prayers appointed to be read as the body is laid in its home beneath the earth. But especially beautiful, to my mind, are the Psalms which are selected for reading when the mourners have just taken their places in church. I know of nothing which sounds so soothing, honoring, heart-touching, and moving to man's spirit, at that trying moment, as the wondrous utterance of the old inspired law-giver: "Lord, You have been our dwelling place." "Lord, You are our home."

I want to draw from these words two thoughts that may do the readers of this paper some good. An English home is famous all over the world for its happiness and comfort. It is a little bit of heaven left upon the earth. But even an English home is not forever. The family nest is sure to taken down, and its residents are sure to be scattered. Bear with me for a few short minutes, while I try to set before you the best, truest, and happiest home.

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