The opening of this chapter presents to us a subject of immense interest to the heart,--namely, the true character of divine restoration. When the child of God has, in any way, declined in his spiritual condition, and lost his communion, he is in great danger, when conscience begins to work, of failing in the apprehension of divine grace, and of stopping short of the proper mark of divine restoration. Now, we know that God does every thing in a way entirely worthy of himself. Whether he creates, redeems, converts, restores, or provides, he can only act like himself. What is worthy of himself is, ever and only, his standard of action. This is unspeakably happy for us, inasmuch as we would ever seek to "limit the Holy One of Israel;" and in nothing are we so prone to limit him as in his restoring grace. In the case now before us, we see that Abraham was not only delivered out of Egypt, but brought back "unto the place where his tent had been _at the beginning_, ... unto the place of the altar which he had made there _at the first_: and there Abraham called on the name of the Lord." Nothing can satisfy God, in reference to a wanderer or backslider, but his being entirely restored. We, in the self-righteousness of our hearts, might imagine that such an one should take a lower place than that which he had formerly occupied; and so he should, were it a question of his merit or his character; but, inasmuch as it is, altogether, a question of grace, it is God's prerogative to fix the standard of restoration; and his standard is set forth in the following passage: "If thou wilt return, O Israel, return _to me_." It is thus that God restores, and it would be unworthy of himself to do any thing else. He will either not restore at all, or else restore in such a way as to magnify and glorify the riches of his grace. Thus, when the leper was brought back, he was actually conducted "to the door of the tabernacle of the congregation." When the prodigal returned, he was set down at the table with the father. When Peter was restored, he was able to stand before the men of Israel and say, "ye denied the Holy One, and the Just,"--the very thing which he had done himself, under the most aggravated circumstances. In all these cases, and many more which might be adduced, we see the perfectness of God's restoration. He always brings the soul back to himself, in the full power of grace and the full confidence of faith. "If thou wilt return, return _to me_." "Abraham came unto the place where his tent had been at _the beginning_."
Then, as to the moral effect of divine restoration, it is most deeply practical. If legalism gets its answer in the _character_ of the restoration, antinomianism gets its answer in the _effect_ thereof. The restored soul will have a very deep and keen sense of the evil from which it has been delivered, and this will be evidenced by a jealous, prayerful, holy, and circumspect spirit. We are not restored in order that we may, the more lightly, go and sin again, but rather that we may "go and sin no more." The deeper my sense of the _grace_ of divine restoration, the deeper will be my sense of the _holiness_ of it also. This principle is taught and established throughout all scripture; but especially in two well-known passages, namely, Psalms xxiii. 3, and 1 John i. 9: "He restoreth my soul: _he leadeth me in the paths of righteousness_ for his name's sake." And again: "If we confess our sins, he is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to _cleanse us from all unrighteousness_." The proper path for a divinely-restored soul is "the path of righteousness." In other words, having tasted divine grace we walk in righteousness. To talk of grace, while walking in unrighteousness, is, as the apostle says, to turn "the grace of our God into lasciviousness." If "grace reigns through righteousness unto eternal life," it also manifests itself in righteousness, in the outflow of that life. The grace that forgives us our sins, cleanses us from all unrighteousness. Those things must never be separated. When taken together, they furnish a triumphant answer to the legalism and antinomianism of the human heart.