__________________________________________________________________

           Title: Spurgeon's Sermons Volume 1: 1855
      Creator(s): Spurgeon, Charles Haddon (1834-1892)
   CCEL Subjects: All; Sermons;
      LC Call no: BV42
   LC Subjects:

   Practical theology

   Worship (Public and Private) Including the church year, Christian
   symbols, liturgy, prayer, hymnology

   Times and Seasons. The church year
     __________________________________________________________________

                            The Immutability of God

   A Sermon

   (No. 1)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 7th, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "I am the Lord, I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are not
   consumed."--Malachi 3:6

   It has been said by some one that "the proper study of mankind is man."
   I will not oppose the idea, but I believe it is equally true that the
   proper study of God's elect is God; the proper study of a Christian is
   the Godhead. The highest science, the loftiest speculation, the
   mightiest philosophy, which can ever engage the attention of a child of
   God, is the name, the nature, the person, the work, the doings, and the
   existence of the great God whom he calls his Father. There is something
   exceedingly improving to the mind in a contemplation of the Divinity.
   It is a subject so vast, that all our thoughts are lost in its
   immensity; so deep, that our pride is drowned in its infinity. Other
   subjects we can compass and grapple with; in them we feel a kind of
   self-content, and go our way with the thought, "Behold I am wise." But
   when we come to this master-science, finding that our plumb-line cannot
   sound its depth, and that our eagle eye cannot see its height, we turn
   away with the thought, that vain man would be wise, but he is like a
   wild ass's colt; and with the solemn exclamation, "I am but of
   yesterday, and know nothing." No subject of contemplation will tend
   more to humble the mind, than thoughts of God. We shall be obliged to
   feel--

   "Great God, how infinite art thou,

   What worthless worms are we!"

   But while the subject humbles the mind it also expands it. He who often
   thinks of God, will have a larger mind than the man who simply plods
   around this narrow globe. He may be a naturalist, boasting of his
   ability to dissect a beetle, anatomize a fly, or arrange insects and
   animals in classes with well nigh unutterable names; he may be a
   geologist, able to discourse of the megatherium and the plesiosaurus,
   and all kinds of extinct animals; he may imagine that his science,
   whatever it is, ennobles and enlarges his mind. I dare say it does, but
   after all, the most excellent study for expanding the soul, is the
   science of Christ, and him crucified, and the knowledge of the Godhead
   in the glorious Trinity. Nothing will so enlarge the intellect, nothing
   so magnify the whole soul of man, as a devout, earnest, continued
   investigation of the great subject of the Deity. And, whilst humbling
   and expanding, this subject is eminently consolatary. Oh, there is, in
   contemplating Christ, a balm for every wound; in musing on the Father,
   there is a quietus for every grief; and in the influence of the Holy
   Ghost, there is a balsam for every sore. Would you lose your sorrows?
   Would you drown your cares? Then go, plunge yourself in the Godhead's
   deepest sea; be lost in his immensity; and you shall come forth as from
   a couch of rest, refreshed and invigorated. I know nothing which can so
   comfort the soul; so calm the swelling billows of grief and sorrow; so
   speak peace to the winds of trial, as a devout musing upon the subject
   of the Godhead. It is to that subject that I invite you this morning.
   We shall present you with one view of it,--that is the immutability of
   the glorious Jehovah. "I am," says my text, "Jehovah," (for so it
   should be translated) "I am Jehovah, I change not: therefore ye sons of
   Jacob are not consumed."

   There are three things this morning. First of all, an unchanging God;
   secondly, the persons who derive benefit from this glorious attribute,
   "the sons of Jacob;" and thirdly, the benefit they so derive, they "are
   not consumed.' We address ourselves to these points.

   I. First of all, we have set before us the doctrine of THE IMMUTABILITY
   OF GOD. "I am God, I change not." Here I shall attempt to expound, or
   rather to enlarge the thought, and then afterwards to bring a few
   arguments to prove its truth.

   1. I shall offer some exposition of my text, by first saying, that God
   is Jehovah, and he changes not in his essence. We cannot tell you what
   Godhead is. We do not know what substance that is which we call God. It
   is an existence, it is a being; but what that is, we know not. However,
   whatever it is, we call it his essence, and that essence never changes.
   The substance of mortal things is ever changing. The mountains with
   their snow-white crowns, doff their old diadems in summer, in rivers
   trickling down their sides, while the storm cloud gives them another
   coronation; the ocean, with its mighty floods, loses its water when the
   sunbeams kiss the waves, and snatch them in mists to heaven; even the
   sun himself requires fresh fuel from the hand of the Infinite Almighty,
   to replenish his ever burning furnace. All creatures change. Man,
   especially as to his body, is always undergoing revolution. Very
   probably there is not a single particle in my body which was in it a
   few years ago. This frame has been worn away by activity, its atoms
   have been removed by friction, fresh particles of matter have in the
   mean time constantly accrued to my body, and so it has been
   replenished; but its substance is altered. The fabric of which this
   world is made is ever passing away; like a stream of water, drops are
   running away and others are following after, keeping the river still
   full, but always changing in its elements. But God is perpetually the
   same. He is not composed of any substance or material, but is
   spirit--pure, essential, and ethereal spirit--and therefore he is
   immutable. He remains everlastingly the same. There are no furrows on
   his eternal brow. No age hath palsied him; no years have marked him
   with the mementoes of their flight; he sees ages pass, but with him it
   is ever now. He is the great I AM--the Great Unchangeable. Mark you,
   his essence did not undergo a change when it became united with the
   manhood. When Christ in past years did gird himself with mortal clay,
   the essence of his divinity was not changed; flesh did not become God,
   nor did God become flesh by a real actual change of nature; the two
   were united in hypostatical union, but the Godhead was still the same.
   It was the same when he was a babe in the manager, as it was when he
   stretched the curtains of heaven; it was the same God that hung upon
   the cross, and whose blood flowed down in a purple river, the self-same
   God that holds the world upon his everlasting shoulders, and bears in
   his hands the keys of death and hell. He never has been changed in his
   essence, not even by his incarnation; he remains everlastingly,
   eternally, the one unchanging God, the Father of lights, with whom
   there is no variableness, neither the shadow of a change.

   2. He changes not in his attributes. Whatever the attributes of God
   were of old, that they are now; and of each of them we may sing "As it
   was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end,
   Amen." Was he powerful? Was he the mighty God when he spake the world
   out of the womb of nonexistence? Was he the Omnipotent when he piled
   the mountains and scooped out the hollow places for the rolling deep?
   Yes, he was powerful then, and his arm is unpalsied now, he is the same
   giant in his might; the sap of his nourishment is undried, and the
   strength of his soul stands the same for ever. Was he wise when he
   constituted this mighty globe, when he laid the foundations of the
   universe? Had he wisdom when he planned the way of our salvation, and
   when from all eternity he marked out his awful plans? Yes, and he is
   wise now; he is not less skillful, he has not less knowledge; his eye
   which seeth all things is undimmed; his ear which heareth all the
   cries, sighs, sobs, and groans of his people, is not rendered heavy by
   the years which he hath heard their prayers. He is unchanged in his
   wisdom, he knows as much now as ever, neither more nor less; he has the
   same consummate skill, and the same infinite forecastings. He is
   unchanged, blessed be his name, in his justice. just and holy was he in
   the past; just and holy is he now. He is unchanged in his truth; he has
   promised, and he brings it to pass; he hath saith it, and it shall be
   done. He varies not in the goodness, and generosity, and benevolence of
   his nature. He is not become an Almighty tyrant, whereas he was once an
   Almighty Father; but his strong love stands like a granite rock,
   unmoved by the hurricanes of our iniquity. And blessed be his dear
   name, he is unchanged in his love. When he first wrote the covenant,
   how full his heart was with affection to his people. He knew that his
   Son must die to ratify the articles of that agreement. He knew right
   well that he must rend his best beloved from his bowels, and send him
   down to earth to bleed and die. He did not hesitate to sign that mighty
   covenant; nor did he shun its fulfillment. He loves as much now as he
   did then, and when suns shall cease to shine, and moons to show their
   feeble light, he still shall love on for ever and for ever. Take any
   one attribute of God, and I will write semper idem on it (always the
   same). Take any one thing you can say of God now, and it may be said
   not only in the dark past, but in the bright future it shall always
   remain the same: "I am Jehovah, I change not."

   3. Then again, God changes not in his plans. That man began to build,
   but was not able to finish, and therefore he changed his plan, as every
   wise man would do in such a case; he built upon a smaller foundation
   and commenced again. But has it ever been said that God began to build
   but was not able to finish? Nay. When he hath boundless stores at his
   command, and when his own right hand would create worlds as numerous as
   drops of morning dew, shall he ever stay because he has not power? and
   reverse, or alter, or disarrange his plan, because he cannot carry it
   out? "But," say some, "perhaps God never had a plan." Do you think God
   is more foolish than yourself then, sir? Do you go to work without a
   plan? "No," say you, "I have always a scheme." So has God. Every man
   has his plan, and God has a plan too. God is a master-mind; he arranged
   everything in his gigantic intellect long before he did it; and once
   having settled it, mark you, he never alters it. "This shall be done,"
   saith he, and the iron hand of destiny marks it down, and it is brought
   to pass. "This is my purpose," and it stands, nor can earth or hell
   alter it. "This is my decree," saith he, promulgate it angels; rend it
   down from the gate of heaven ye devils; but ye cannot alter the decree;
   it shall be done. God altereth not his plans; why should he? He is
   Almighty, and therefore can perform his pleasure. Why should he? He is
   the All-wise, and therefore cannot have planned wrongly. Why should he?
   He is the everlasting God, and therefore cannot die before his plan is
   accomplished. Why should he change? Ye worthless atoms of existence,
   ephemera of the day! Ye creeping insects upon this bayleaf of
   existence! ye may change your plans, but he shall never, never change
   his. Then has he told me that his plan is to save me? If so, I am safe.

   "My name from the palms of his hands

   Eternity will not erase;

   Impress'd on his heart it remains,

   In marks of indelible grace."

   4. Yet again, God is unchanging in his promises. Ah! we love to speak
   about the sweet promises of God; but if we could ever suppose that one
   of them could be changed, we would not talk anything more about them.
   If I thought that the notes of the bank of England could not be cashed
   next week, I should decline to take them; and if I thought that God's
   promises would never be fulfilled--if I thought that God would see it
   right to alter some word in his promises--farewell Scriptures! I want
   immutable things: and I find that I have immutable promises when I turn
   to the Bible: for, "by two immutable things in which it is impossible
   for God to lie," he hath signed, confirmed, and sealed every promise of
   his. The gospel is not "yea and nay," it is not promising today, and
   denying tomorrow; but the gospel is "yea, yea," to the glory of God.
   Believer! there was a delightful promise which you had yesterday; and
   this morning when you turned to the Bible the promise was not sweet. Do
   you know why? Do you think the promise had changed? Ah, no! You
   changed; that is where the matter lies. You had been eating some of the
   grapes of Sodom, and your mouth was thereby put out of taste, and you
   could not detect the sweetness. But there was the same honey there,
   depend upon it, the same preciousness. "Oh!" says one child of God, "I
   had built my house firmly once upon some stable promises; there came a
   wind, and I said, O Lord, I am cast down and I shall be lost." Oh! the
   promises were not cast down; the foundations were not removed; it was
   your little "wood, hay, stubble" hut, that you had been building. It
   was that which fell down. You have been shaken on the rock, not the
   rock under you. But let me tell you what is the best way of living in
   the world. I have heard that a gentleman said to a Negro, "I can't
   think how it is you are always so happy in the Lord and I am often
   downcast." "Why Massa," said he, "I throw myself flat down on the
   promise--there I lie; you stand on the promise--you have a little to do
   with it, and down you go when the wind comes, and then you cry, Oh! I
   am down;' whereas I go flat on the promise at once, and that is why I
   fear no fall." Then let us always say, "Lord there is the promise; it
   is thy business to fulfill it." Down I go on the promise flat! no
   standing up for me. That is where you should go--prostrate on the
   promise; and remember, every promise is a rock, an unchanging thing.
   Therefore, at his feet cast yourself, and rest there forever.

   5. But now comes one jarring note to spoil the theme. To some of you
   God is unchanging in his threatenings. If every promise stands fast,
   and every oath of the covenant is fulfilled, hark thee, sinner!--mark
   the word--hear the death-knell of thy carnal hopes; see the funeral of
   thy fleshly trustings. Every threatening of God, as well as every
   promise shall be fulfilled. Talk of decrees! I will tell you of a
   decree: "He that believeth not shall be damned." That is a decree, and
   a statute that can never change. Be as good as you please, be as moral
   as you can, be as honest as you will, walk as uprightly as you
   may,--there stands the unchangeable threatening: "He that believeth not
   shall be damned." What sayest thou to that, moralist? Oh, thou wishest
   thou couldst alter it, and say, "He that does not live a holy life
   shall be damned." That will be true; but it does not say so. It says,
   "He that believeth not." Here is the stone of stumbling, and the rock
   of offence; but you cannot alter it. You must believe or be damned,
   saith the Bible; and mark, that threat of God is an unchangeable as God
   himself. And when a thousand years of hell's torments shall have passed
   away, you shall look on high, and see written in burning letters of
   fire, "He that believeth not shall be damned." "But, Lord, I am
   damned." Nevertheless it says "shall be" still. And when a million ages
   have rolled away, and you are exhausted by your pains and agonies, you
   shall turn up your eye and still read "SHALL BE DAMNED," unchanged,
   unaltered. And when you shall have thought that eternity must have spun
   out its last thread--that every particle of that which we call
   eternity, must have run out, you shall still see it written up there,
   "SHALL BE DAMNED." O terrific thought! How dare I utter it? But I must.
   Ye must be warned, sirs, "lest ye also come into this place of
   torment." Ye must be told rough things; for if God's gospel is not a
   rough thing & the law is a rough thing; Mount Sinai is a rough thing.
   Woe unto the watchman that warns not the ungodly! God is unchanging in
   his threatenings. Beware, O sinner, for "it is a fearful thing to fall
   into the hands of the living God."

   6. We must just hint at one thought before we pass away and that
   is--God is unchanging in the objects of his love--not only in his love,
   but in the objects of it.

   "If ever it should come to pass,

   That sheep of Christ might fall away.

   My fickle, feeble soul, alas,

   Would fall a thousand times a day."

   If one dear saint of God had perished, so might all; if one of the
   covenant ones be lost, so may all be, and then there is no gospel
   promise true; but the Bible is a lie, and there is nothing in it worth
   my acceptance. I will be an infidel at once, when I can believe that a
   saint of God can ever fall finally. If God hath loved me once, then he
   will love me for ever.

   "Did Jesus once upon me shine,

   Then Jesus is for ever mine."

   The objects of everlasting love never change. Those whom God hath
   called, he will justify; whom he has justified, he will sanctify; and
   whom he sanctifies, he will glorify.

   1. Thus having taken a great deal too much time, perhaps, in simply
   expanding the thought of an unchanging God, I will now try to prove
   that He is unchangeable. I am not much of an argumentative preacher,
   but one argument that I will mention is this: the very existence, and
   being of a God, seem to me to imply immutability. Let me think a
   moment. There is a God; this God rules and governs all things; this God
   fashioned the world: he upholds and maintains it. What kind of being
   must he be? It does strike me that you cannot think of a changeable
   God. I conceive that the thought is so repugnant to common sense, that
   if you for one moment think of a changing God, the words seem to clash,
   and you are obliged to say, "Then he must be a kind of man," and get a
   Mormonite idea of God. I imagine it is impossible to conceive of a
   changing God; it is so to me. Others may be capable of such an idea,
   but I could not entertain it. I could no more think of a changing God,
   than I could of a round square, or any other absurdity. The thing seems
   so contrary, that I am obliged, when once I say God, to include the
   idea of an unchanging being.

   2. Well, I think that one argument will be enough, but another good
   argument may be found in the fact of God's perfection. I believe God to
   be a perfect being. Now, if he is a perfect being, he cannot change. Do
   you not see this? Suppose I am perfect today, if it were possible for
   me to change, should I be perfect tomorrow after the alteration? If I
   changed, I must either change from a good state to a better--and then
   if I could get better, I could not be perfect now--or else from a
   better state to a worse--and if I were worse, I should not be perfect
   then. If I am perfect, I cannot be altered without being imperfect. If
   I am perfect today, I must keep the same tomorrow if I am to be perfect
   then. So, if God is perfect, he must be the same; for change would
   imply imperfection now, or imperfection then.

   3. Again, there is the fact of God's infinity, which puts change out of
   the question. God is an infinite being. What do you mean by that? There
   is no man who can tell you what he means by an infinite being. But
   there cannot be two infinities. If one thing is infinite, there is no
   room for anything else; for infinite means all. It means not bounded,
   not finite, having no end. Well, there cannot be two infinities. If God
   is infinite today, and then should change and be infinite tomorrow,
   there would be two infinities. But that cannot be. Suppose he is
   infinite and then changes, he must become finite, and could not be God;
   either he is finite today and finite tomorrow, or infinite today and
   finite tomorrow, or finite today and infinite tomorrow--all of which
   suppositions are equally absurd. The fact of his being an infinite
   being at once quashes the thought of his being a changeable being.
   Infinity has written on its very brow the word "immutability."

   4. But then, dear friends, let us look at the past: and there we shall
   gather some proofs of God's immutable nature. "Hath he spoken, and hath
   he not done it? Hath he sworn, and hath it not come to pass?" Can it
   not be said of Jehovah, "He hath done all his will, and he hath
   accomplished all his purpose?" Turn ye to Philistia; ask where she is.
   God said, "Howl Ashdod, and ye gates of Gaza, for ye shall fall;" and
   where are they? Where is Edom? Ask Petra and its ruined walls. Will
   they not echo back the truth that God hath said, "Edom shall be a prey,
   and shall be destroyed?" Where is Babel, and where Nineveh? Where Moab
   and where Ammon? Where are the nations God hath said he would destroy?
   Hath he not uprooted them and cast out the remembrance of them from the
   earth? And hath God cast off his people? Hath he once been unmindful of
   his promise? Hath he once broken his oath and covenant, or once
   departed from his plan? Ah! no. Point to one instance in history where
   God has changed! Ye cannot, sirs; for throughout all history there
   stands the fact that God has been immutable in his purposes. Methinks I
   hear some one say, "I can remember one passage in Scripture where God
   changed!" And so did I think once. The case I mean, is that of the
   death of Hezekiah. Isaiah came in and said, Hezekiah, you must die,
   your disease is incurable, set your house in order.' He turned his face
   to the wall and began to pray; and before Isaiah was in the outer
   court, he was told to go back and say, "Thou shalt live fifteen years
   more." You may think that proves that God changes; but really I cannot
   see in it the slightest proof in the world. How do you know that God
   did not know that? Oh! but God did know it; he knew that Hezekiah would
   live. Then he did not change, for if he knew that, how could he change?
   That is what I want to know. But do you know one little thing?--that
   Hezekiah's son Manasseh, was not born at that time, and that had
   Hezekiah died, there would have been no Manasseh, and no Josiah and no
   Christ, because Christ came from that very line. You will find that
   Manasseh was twelve years old when his father died; so that he must
   have been born three years after this. And do you not believe that God
   decreed the birth of Manasseh, and foreknew it? Certainly. Then he
   decreed that Isaiah should go and tell Hezekiah that his disease was
   incurable, and then say also in the same breath, "But I will cure it,
   and thou shalt live." He said that to stir up Hezekiah to prayer. He
   spoke, in the first place as a man. "According to all human probability
   your disease is incurable, and you must die." Then he waited till
   Hezekiah prayed; then came a little "but" at the end of the sentence.
   Isaiah had not finished the sentence. He said, "You must put your house
   in order for there is no human cure; but" (and then he walked out.
   Hezekiah prayed a little, and then he came in again, and said) "But I
   will heal thee." Where is there any contradiction there, except in the
   brain of those who fight against the Lord, and wish to make him a
   changeable being.

   II. Now secondly, let me say a word on THE PERSONS TO WHOM THIS
   UNCHANGEABLE GOD IS A BENEFIT. "I am God, I change not; therefore ye
   sons of Jacob are not consumed." Now, who are "the sons of Jacob," who
   can rejoice in an immutable God?

   1. First, they are the sons of God's election; for it is written,
   "Jacob have I loved, and Esau have I hated, the children being not yet
   born neither having done good nor evil." It was written, "The elder
   shall serve the younger." "The sons of Jacob"--

   "Are the sons of God's election,

   Who through sovereign grace believe;

   Be eternal destination

   Grace and glory they receive."

   God's elect are here meant by "the sons of Jacob,"--those whom he
   foreknew and fore-ordained to everlasting salvation.

   2. By "the sons of Jacob" are meant, in the second place, persons who
   enjoy peculiar rights and titles. Jacob, you know, had no rights by
   birth; but he soon acquired them. He changed a mess of pottage with his
   brother Esau, and thus gained the birthright. I do not justify the
   means; but he did also obtain the blessing, and so acquired peculiar
   rights. By "the sons of Jacob" here, are meant persons who have
   peculiar rights and titles. Unto them that believe, he hath given the
   right and power to become sons of God. They have an interest in the
   blood of Christ; they have a right to "enter in through the gates into
   the city;" they have a title to eternal honors; they have a promise to
   everlasting glory; they have a right to call themselves sons of God.
   Oh! there are peculiar rights and privileges belonging to the "sons of
   Jacob."

   3. But, then next, these "sons of Jacob" were men of peculiar
   manifestations. Jacob had peculiar manifestations from his God, and
   thus he was highly honored. Once at night-time he lay down and slept;
   he had the hedges for his curtains, the sky for his canopy, a stone for
   his pillow, and the earth for his bed. Oh! then he had a peculiar
   manifestation. There was a ladder, and he saw the angels of God
   ascending and descending. He thus had a manifestation of Christ Jesus,
   as the ladder which reaches from earth to heaven, up and down which
   angels came to bring us mercies. Then what a manifestation there was at
   Mahanaim, when the angels of God met him; and again at Peniel, when he
   wrestled with God, and saw him face to face. Those were peculiar
   manifestations; and this passage refers to those who, like Jacob, have
   had peculiar manifestations.

   Now then, how many of you have had personal manifestations? "Oh!" you
   say "that is enthusiasm; that is fanaticism." Well, it is a blessed
   enthusiasm, too, for the sons of Jacob have had peculiar
   manifestations. They have talked with God as a man talketh with his
   friend; they have whispered in the ear of Jehovah; Christ hath been
   with them to sup with them, and they with Christ; and the Holy Spirit
   hath shone into their souls with such a mighty radiance, that they
   could not doubt about special manifestations. The "sons of Jacob" are
   the men, who enjoy these manifestations.

   4. Then again, they are men of peculiar trials. Ah! poor Jacob! I
   should not choose Jacob's lot if I had not the prospect of Jacob's
   blessing; for a hard lot his was. He had to run away from his father's
   house to Laban's; and then that surly old Laban cheated him all the
   years he was there--cheated him of his wife, cheated him in his wages,
   cheated him in his flocks, and cheated him all through the story.
   By-and-bye he had to run away from Laban, who pursued him and overtook
   him. Next came Esau with four hundred men to cut him up root and
   branch. Then there was a season of prayer, and afterwards he wrestled,
   and had to go all his life with his thigh out of joint. But a little
   further on, Rachael, his dear beloved, died. Then his daughter Dinah is
   led astray, and the sons murder the Shechemites. Anon there is dear
   Joseph sold into Egypt, and a famine comes. Then Reuben goes up to his
   couch and pollutes it; Judah commits incest with his own
   daughter-in-law; and all his sons become a plague to him. At last
   Benjamin is taken away; and the old man, almost broken-hearted, cries,
   "Joseph is not, and Simeon is not, and ye will take Benjamin away."
   Never was man more tried than Jacob, all through the one sin of
   cheating his brother. All through his life God chastised him. But I
   believe there are many who can sympathize with dear old Jacob. They
   have had to pass through trials very much like his. Well,
   cross-bearers! God says, "I change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob are
   not consumed." Poor tried souls! ye are not consumed because of the
   unchanging nature of your God. Now do not get fretting, and say, with
   the self-conceit of misery, "I am the man who hath seen affliction."
   Why "the Man of Sorrows" was afflicted more than you; Jesus was indeed
   a mourner. You only see the skirts of the garments of affliction. You
   never have trials like his. You do not understand what troubles means;
   you have hardly sipped the cup of trouble; you have only had a drop or
   two, but Jesus drunk the dregs. Fear not saith God, "I am the Lord, I
   change not; therefore ye sons of Jacob," men of peculiar trials, "are
   not consumed."

   5. Then one more thought about who are the "sons of Jacob," for I
   should like you to find out whether you are "sons of Jacob,"
   yourselves. They are men of peculiar character; for though there were
   some things about Jacob's character which we cannot commend, there are
   one or two things which God commends. There was Jacob's faith, by which
   Jacob had his name written amongst the mighty worthies who obtained not
   the promises on earth, but shall obtain them in heaven. Are you men of
   faith, beloved? Do you know what it is to walk by faith, to live by
   faith, to get your temporary food by faith, to live on spiritual
   manna--all by faith? Is faith the rule of your life? if so, you are the
   "sons of Jacob."

   Then Jacob was a man of prayer--a man who wrestled, and groaned, and
   prayed. There is a man up yonder who never prayed this morning, before
   coming up to the house of God. Ah! you poor heathen, don't you pray?
   No! he says, "I never thought of such a thing; for years I have not
   prayed." Well, I hope you may before you die. Live and die without
   prayer, and you will pray long enough when you get to hell. There is a
   woman: she did not pray this morning; she was so busy sending her
   children to the Sunday School, she had no time to pray. No time to
   pray? Had you time to dress? There is a time for every purpose under
   heaven, and if you had purposed to pray, you would have prayed. Sons of
   God cannot live without prayer. They are wrestling Jacobs. They are men
   in whom the Holy Ghost so works, they they can no more live without
   prayer than I can live without breathing. They must pray. Sirs, mark
   you, if you are living without prayer, you are living without Christ;
   and dying like that, your portion will be in the lake which burneth
   with fire. God redeem you, God rescue you from such a lot! But you who
   are "the sons of Jacob," take comfort, for God is immutable.

   III. Thirdly, I can say only a word about the other point--THE BENEFIT
   WHICH THESE "SONS OF JACOB" RECEIVE FROM AN UNCHANGING GOD. "Therefore
   ye sons Jacob are not consumed." "Consumed?" How? how can man be
   consumed? Why, there are two ways. We might have been consumed in hell.
   If God had been a changing God, the "sons of Jacob" here this morning,
   might have been consumed in hell; but for God's unchanging love I
   should have been a faggot in the fire. But there is a way of being
   consumed in this world; there is such a things as being condemned
   before you die--"condemned already;" there is such a thing as being
   alive, and yet being absolutely dead. We might have been left to our
   own devices, and then where should we have been now? Revelling with the
   drunkard, blaspheming Almighty God. Oh? had he left you, dearly
   beloved, had he been a changing God, ye had been amongst the filthiest
   of the filthy, and the vilest of the vile. Cannot you remember in your
   life, seasons similar to those I have felt? I have gone right to the
   edge of sin; some strong temptation has taken hold of both my arms, so
   that I could not wrestle with it. I have been pushed alone, dragged as
   by an awful satanic power to the very edge of some horrid precipice. I
   have looked down, down, down, and seen my portion; I quivered on the
   brink of ruin. I have been horrified, as, with my hair upright, I have
   thought of the sin I was about to commit, the horrible pit into which I
   was about to fall. A strong arm hath saved me. I have started back and
   cried, O God! could I have gone so near sin, and yet come back again?
   Could I have walked right up to the furnace and not fallen down, like
   Nebuchadnezzar's strong men, devoured by the very heat? Oh! is it
   possible I should be here this morning, when I think of the sins I have
   committed, and the crimes which have crossed my wicked imagination?
   Yes, I am here, unconsumed, because the Lord changes not. Oh! if he had
   changed, we should have been consumed in a dozen ways; if the Lord had
   changed, you and I should have been consumed by ourselves; for after
   all, Mr. Self is the worst enemy a Christian has. We should have proved
   suicides to our own souls; we should have mixed the cup of poison for
   our own spirits, if the Lord had not been an unchanging God, and dashed
   the cup out of our hands when we were about to drink it. Then we should
   have been consumed by God himself if he had not been a changeless God.
   We call God a Father; but there is not a father in this world who would
   not have killed all his children long ago, so provoked would he have
   been with them, if he had been half as much troubled as God has been
   with his family. He has the most troublesome family in the whole
   world--unbelieving, ungrateful, disobedient, forgetful, rebellious,
   wandering, murmuring, and stiffnecked. Well it is that he is
   longsuffering, or else he would have taken not only the rod, but the
   sword to some of us long ago. But there was nothing in us to love at
   first, so, there cannot be less now. John Newton used to tell a
   whimsical story, and laugh at it too, of a good woman who said, in
   order to prove the doctrine of Election, "Ah! sir, the Lord must have
   loved me before I was born, or else he would not have seen anything in
   me to love afterwards." I am sure it is true in my case, and true in
   respect most of God's people; for there is little to love in them after
   they are born, that if he had not loved them before then, he would have
   seen no reason to choose them after; but since he loved them without
   works, he loves them without works still; since their good works did
   not win his affection, bad works cannot sever that affection; since
   their righteousness did not bind his love to them, so their wickedness
   cannot snap the golden links. He loved them out of pure sovereign
   grace, and he will love them still. But we should have been consumed by
   the devil, and by our enemies--consumed by the world, consumed by our
   sins, by our trials, and in a hundred other ways, if God had ever
   changed.

   Well, now, time fails us, and I can say but little. I have only just
   cursorily touched on the text. I now hand it to you. May the Lord help
   you "sons of Jacob" to take home this portion of meat; digest it well,
   and feed upon it. May the Holy Ghost sweetly apply the glorious things
   that are written! And may you have "a feast of fat things, of wines on
   the lees well refined!" Remember God is the same, whatever is removed.
   Your friends may be disaffected, your ministers may be taken away,
   every thing may change, but God does not. Your brethren may change and
   cast out your name as vile: but God will love you still. Let your
   station in life change, and your property be gone; let your whole life
   be shaken, and you become weak and sickly; let everything flee
   away--there is one place where change cannot put his finger; there is
   one name on which mutability can never be written; there is one heart
   which never can alter; that heart is God's--that name Love.

   "Trust him, he will ne'er deceive you.

   Though you hardly of him deem;

   He will never, never leave you,

   Nor will let you quite leave him."
     __________________________________________________________________

                           The Remembrance of Christ

   A Sermon

   (No. 2)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, January 7th, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "This do in remembrance of me."--1 Corinthians 11:24.

   IT SEEMS, then, that Christians may forget Christ. The text implies the
   possibility of forgetfulness concerning him whom gratitude and
   affection should constrain them to remember. There could be no need for
   this loving exhortation, if there were not a fearful supposition that
   our memories might prove treacherous, and our remembrance superficial
   in its character, or changing in its nature. Nor is this a bare
   supposition: it is, alas, too well confirmed in our experience, not as
   a possibility, but as a lamentable fact. It seems at first sight too
   gross a crime to lay at the door of converted men. It appears almost
   impossible that those who have been redeemed by the blood of the dying
   Lamb should ever forget their Ransomer; that those who have been loved
   with an everlasting love by the eternal Son of God, should ever forget
   that Son; but if startling to the ear, it is alas, too apparent to the
   eye to allow us to deny the fact. Forget him who ne'er forgot us!
   Forget him who poured his blood forth for our sins! Forget him who
   loved us even to the death! Can it be possible? Yes it is not only
   possible, but conscience confesses that it is too sadly a fault of all
   of us, that we can remember anything except Christ. The object which we
   should make the monarch of our hearts, is the very thing we are most
   inclined to forget. Where one would think that memory would linger, and
   unmindfulness would be an unknown intruder, that is the spot which is
   desecrated by the feet of forgetfulness, and that the place where
   memory too seldom looks. I appeal to the conscience of every Christian
   here: Can you deny the truth of what I utter? Do you not find
   yourselves forgetful of Jesus? Some creature steals away your heart,
   and you are unmindful of him upon whom your affection ought to be set.
   Some earthly business engrosses your attention when you should have
   your eye steadily fixed upon the cross. It is the incessant round of
   world, world, world; the constant din of earth, earth, earth, that
   takes away the soul from Christ. Oh! my friends, is it not too sadly
   true that we can recollect anything but Christ, and forget nothing so
   easy as him whom we ought to remember? While memory will preserve a
   poisoned weed, it suffereth the Rose of Sharon to wither.

   The cause of this is very apparent: it lies in one or two facts. We
   forget Christ, because regenerate persons as we really are, still
   corruption and death remain even in the regenerate. We forget him
   because we carry about with us the old Adam of sin and death. If we
   were purely new-born creatures, we should never forget the name of him
   whom we love. If we were entirely regenerated beings, we should sit
   down and meditate on all our Saviour did and suffered; all he is; all
   he has gloriously promised to perform; and never would our roving
   affections stray; but centered, nailed, fixed eternally to one object,
   we should continually contemplate the death and sufferings of our Lord.
   But alas! we have a worm in the heart, a pest-house, a charnel-house
   within, lusts, vile imaginations, and strong evil passions, which, like
   wells of poisonous water, send out continually streams of impurity. I
   have a heart, which God knoweth, I wish I could wring from my body and
   hurl to an infinite distance; a soul which is a cage of unclean birds,
   a den of loathsome creatures, where dragons haunt and owls do
   congregate, where every evil beast of ill-omen dwells; a heart too vile
   to have a parallel--"deceitful above all things and desperately
   wicked." This is the reason why I am forgetful of Christ. Nor is this
   the sole cause; I suspect it lies somewhere else too. We forget Christ
   because there are so many other things around us to attract our
   attention. "But," you say, "they ought not to do so, because though
   they are around us, they are nothing in comparison with Jesus Christ:
   though they are in dread proximity to our hearts, what are they
   compared with Christ?" But do you know, dear friends, that the nearness
   of an object has a very great effect upon its power? The sun is many,
   many times larger than the moon, but the moon has a greater influence
   upon the tides of the ocean than the sun, simply because it is nearer,
   and has a greater power of attraction. So I find that a little crawling
   worm of the earth has more effect upon my soul than the glorious Christ
   in heaven; a handful of golden earth, a puff of fame, a shout of
   applause, a thriving business, my house, my home, will affect me more
   than all the glories of the upper world; yea, than the beatific vision
   itself: simply because earth is near, and heaven is far away. Happy
   day, when I shall be borne aloft on angels' wings to dwell for ever
   near my Lord, to bask in the sunshine of his smile, and to be lost in
   the ineffable radiance of his lovely countenance. We see then the cause
   of forgetfulness; let us blush over it; let us be sad that we neglect
   our Lord so much, and now let us attend to his word, "This do in
   remembrance of me," hoping that its solemn sounds may charm away the
   demon of base ingratitude.

   We shall speak, first of all, concerning the blessed object of memory;
   secondly, upon the advantages to be derived from remembering this
   Person; thirdly, the gracious help, to our memory--"This do in
   remembrance of me;" and fourthly, the gentle command, " This do in
   remembrance of me." May the Holy Ghost open my lips and your hearts,
   that we may receive blessings.

   I. First of all, we shall speak of THE GLORIOUS AND PRECIOUS OBJECT OF
   MEMORY--"This do in remembrance of ME." Christians have many treasures
   to lock up in the cabinet of memory. They ought to remember their
   election--"Chosen of God ere time began." They ought to be mindful of
   their extraction, that they were taken out of the miry clay, hewn out
   of the horrible pit. They ought to recollect their effectual calling,
   for they were called of God, and rescued by the power of the Holy
   Ghost. They ought to remember their special deliverances--all that has
   been done for them, and all the mercies bestowed on them. But there is
   one whom they should embalm in their souls with the most costly
   spices--one who, above all other gifts of God, deserves to be had in
   perpetual remembrance. One I said, for I mean not an act, I mean not a
   deed; but it is a Person whose portrait I would frame in gold, and hang
   up in the state-room of the soul. I would have you earnest students of
   all the deeds of the conquering Messiah. I would have you conversant
   with the life of our Beloved. But O forget not his person; for the text
   says, "This do in remembrance of me." It is Christ's glorious person
   which ought to be the object of our remembrance. It is his image which
   should be enshrined in every temple of the Holy Ghost.

   But some will say, "How can we remember Christ's person, when we never
   saw it? We cannot tell what was the peculiar form of his visage; we
   believe his countenance to be fairer than that of any other
   man--although through grief and suffering more marred--but since we did
   not see it, we cannot remember it. We never saw his feet as they trod
   the journeys of his mercy; we never beheld his hands as he stretched
   them out full of lovingkindness; we cannot remember the wondrous
   intonation of his language, when in more than seraphic eloquence, he
   awed the multitude, and chained their ears to him; we cannot picture
   the sweet smile that ever hung on his lips, nor that awful frown with
   which he dealt out anathemas against the Pharisees; we cannot remember
   him in his sufferings and agonies, for we never saw him." Well,
   beloved, I suppose it is true that you cannot remember the visible
   appearance, for you were not then born; but do you not know that even
   the apostle said, though he had known Christ after the flesh, yet,
   thenceforth after the flesh he would know Christ no more. The natural
   appearance, the race, the descent, the poverty, the humble garb, were
   nothing in the apostle's estimation of his glorified Lord. And thus,
   though you do not know him after the flesh, you may know him after the
   spirit; in this manner you can remember Jesus as much now as Peter, or
   Paul, or John, or James, or any of those favoured ones who once trod in
   his footsteps, walked side by side with him, or laid their heads upon
   his bosom. Memory annihilates distance and over leapeth time, and can
   behold the Lord, though he be exalted in glory.

   Ah! let us spend five minutes in remembering Jesus. Let us remember him
   in his baptism, when descending into the waters of Jordan, a voice was
   heard, saying, "This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased."
   Behold him coming up dripping from the stream! Surely the conscious
   water must have blushed that it contained its God. He slept within its
   waves a moment, to consecrate the tomb of baptism, in which those who
   are dead with Christ are buried with him. Let us remember him in the
   wilderness, whither he went straight from his immersion. Oh! I have
   often thought of that scene in the desert, when Christ, weary and
   way-worn, sat him down, perhaps upon the gnarled roots of some old
   tree. Forty days that he fasted, he was an hungered, when in the
   extremity of his weakness there came the evil spirit. Perhaps he had
   veiled his demon royalty in the form of some aged pilgrim, and taking
   up a stone, said, "Way-worn pilgrim, if thou be the Son of God command
   this stone to be made bread." Methinks I see him, with his cunning
   smile, and his malicious leer, as he held the stone, and said,
   "If,"--blasphemous if,--"If thou be the Son of God, command that this
   stone shall become a meal for me and thee, for both of us are hungry,
   and it will be an act of mercy; thou canst do it easily; speak the
   word, and it shall be like the bread of heaven; we will feed upon it,
   and thou and I will be friends for ever." But Jesus said--and O how
   sweetly did he say it--"Man shall not live by bread alone." Oh! how
   wonderfully did Christ fight the tempter! Never was there such a battle
   as that. It was a duel foot to foot--a single-handed combat--when the
   champion lion of the pit, and the mighty lion of the tribe of Judah,
   fought together. Splendid sight! Angels stood around to gaze upon the
   spectacle, just as men of old did sit to see the tournament of noted
   warriors. There Satan gathered up his strength; here Apollyon
   concentrated all his satanic power, that in this giant wrestle he might
   overthrow the seed of the woman. But Jesus was more than a match for
   him; in the wrestling he gave him a deadly fall, and came off more than
   a conqueror. Lamb of God! I will remember thy desert strivings, when
   next I combat with Satan. When next I have a conflict with roaring
   Diabolus, I will look to him who conquered once for all, and broke the
   dragon's head with his mighty blows.

   Further, I beseech you remember him in all his daily temptations and
   hourly trials, in that life-long struggle of his, through which he
   passed. Oh! what a mighty tragedy was the death of Christ! and his life
   too? Ushered in with a song, it closed with a shriek. "It is finished."
   It began in a manger, and ended on a cross; but oh, the sad interval
   between! Oh! the black pictures of persecution, when his friends
   abhorred him; when his foes frowned at him as he passed the streets;
   when he heard the hiss of calumny, and was bitten by the foul tooth of
   envy; when slander said he had a devil and was mad: that he was a
   drunken man and a wine-bibber; and when his righteous soul was vexed
   with the ways of the wicked. Oh! Son of God, I must remember thee; I
   cannot help remembering thee, when I think of those years of toil and
   trouble which thou didst live for my sake. But you know my chosen
   theme--the place where I can always best remember Christ. It is a shady
   garden full of olives. O that spot! I would that I had eloquence, that
   I might take you there. Oh! if the Spirit would but take us, and set us
   down hard by the mountains of Jerusalem, I would say, see there runs
   the brook of Kedron, which the king himself did pass; and there you see
   the olive trees. Possibly, at the foot of that olive, lay the three
   disciples when they slept; and there, ah! there, I see drops of blood.
   Stand here, my soul, a moment; those drops of blood--dost thou behold
   them? Mark them; they are not the blood of wounds; they are the blood
   of a man whose body was then unwounded. O my soul picture him when he
   knelt down in agony and sweat,--sweat, because he wrestled with
   God,--sweat, because he agonized with his Father. "My Father, if it be
   possible, let this cup pass from me." O Gethsemane! thy shades are
   deeply solemn to my soul. But ah! those drops of blood! Surely it is
   the climax of the height of misery; it is the last of the mighty acts
   of this wondrous sacrifice. Can love go deeper than that? Can it stoop
   to greater deeds of mercy? Oh! had I eloquence, I would bestow a tongue
   on every drop of blood that is there; that your hearts might rise in
   mutiny against your languor and coldness, and speak out with earnest
   burning remembrance of Jesus. And now, farewell, Gethsemane.

   But I will take you somewhere else, where you shall still behold the
   "Man of Sorrows." I will lead you to Pilate's hall, and let you see him
   endure the mockeries of cruel soldiers: the smitings of mailed gloves;
   the blows of clenched fists; the shame; the spitting, the plucking of
   the hair: the cruel buffetings. Oh! can you not picture the King of
   Martyrs, stript of his garments; exposed to the gaze of fiend-like men?
   See you not the crown about his temples, each thorn acting as a lancet
   to pierce his head? Mark you not his lacerated shoulders, and the white
   bones starting out from the bleeding flesh? Oh, Son of Man! I see thee
   scourged and flagellated with rods and whips, how can I henceforward
   cease to remember thee? My memory would be more treacherous than
   Pilate, did it not every cry, Ecce Homo,--"Behold the man."

   Now, finish the scene of woe by a view of Calvary. Think of the pierced
   hands and the bleeding side; think of the scorching sun, and then the
   entire darkness; remember the broiling fever and the dread thirst;
   think of the death shriek, "It is finished!" and of the groans which
   were its prelude. This is the object of memory. Let us never forget
   Christ. I beseech you, for the love of Jesus, let him have the chief
   place in your memories. Let not the pearl of great price be dropped
   from your careless hand into the dark ocean of oblivion.

   I cannot, however, help saying one thing before I leave this head: and
   that is, there are some of you who can very well carry away what I have
   said, because you have read it often, and heard it before; but still
   you cannot spiritually remember anything about Christ, because you
   never had him manifested to you, and what we have never known, we
   cannot remember. Thanks be unto God, I speak not of you all, for in
   this place there is a goodly remnant according to the election of
   grace, and to them I turn. Perhaps I could tell you of some old barn,
   hedge-row, or cottage; or if you have lived in London, about some
   garret, or some dark lane or street, where first you met with Christ;
   or some chapel into which you strayed, and you might say, "Thank God, I
   can remember the seat where first he met with me, and spoke the
   whispers of love to my soul, and told me he had purchased me."

   "Dost mind the place, the spot of ground,

   Where Jesus did thee meet?"

   Yes, and I would love to build a temple on the spot, and to raise some
   monument there, where Jehovah-Jesus first spoke to my soul, and
   manifested himself to me. But he has revealed himself to you more than
   once--has he not? And you can remember scores of places where the Lord
   hath appeared of old unto you, saying, "Behold I have loved you with an
   everlasting love." If you cannot all remember such things, there are
   some of you that can; and I am sure they will understand me when I say,
   come and do this in remembrance of Christ--in remembrance of all his
   loving visitations, of his sweet wooing words, of his winning smiles
   upon you, of all he has said and communicated to your souls. Remember
   all these things tonight, if it be possible for memory to gather up the
   mighty aggregate of grace. "Bless the Lord. O my soul, and forget not
   all his benefits."

   II. Having spoken upon the blessed object of our memory, we say,
   secondly, a little upon THE BENEFITS TO BE DERIVED FROM A LOVING
   REMEMBRANCE OF CHRIST.

   Love never says, "Cui bono?" Love never asks what benefit it will
   derive from love. Love from its very nature is a disinterested thing.
   It loves; for the creature's sake it loves, and for nothing else. The
   Christian needs no argument to make him love Christ; just as a mother
   needs no argument to make her love her child. She does it because it is
   her nature to do so. The new-born creature must love Christ, it cannot
   help it. Oh! who can resist the matchless charms of Jesus Christ?--the
   fairest of ten thousand fairs, the loveliest of ten thousand loves. Who
   can refuse to adore the prince of perfection, the mirror of beauty, the
   majestic Son of God? But yet it may be useful to us to observe the
   advantages of remembering Christ, for they are neither few nor small.

   And first, remembrance of Jesus will tend to give you hope when you are
   under the burden of your sins. Notice a few characters here tonight.
   There comes in a poor creature. Look at him! He has neglected himself
   this last month; he looks as if he had hardly eaten his daily bread.
   What is the matter with you? "Oh!" says he, "I have been under a sense
   of guilt; I have been again and again lamenting, because I fear I can
   never be forgiven; once I thought I was good, but I have been reading
   the Bible, and I find that my heart is deceitful above all things, and
   desperately wicked;' I have tried to reform, but the more I try, the
   deeper I sink in the mire, there is certainly no hope for me. I feel
   that I deserve no mercy; it seems to me that God must destroy me, for
   he has declared, The soul that sinneth it shall die;' and die I must,
   be damned I must, for I know I have broken God's law." How will you
   comfort such a man? What soft words will you utter to give him peace? I
   know! I will tell thee that there is one, who for thee hath made a
   complete atonement; if thou only believest on him thou art safe for
   ever. Remember him, thou poor dying, hopeless creature, and thou shalt
   be made to sing for joy and gladness. See, the man believes, and in
   ecstasy exclaims, "Oh! come all ye that fear God, and I will tell you
   what he hath done for my soul."

   "Tell it unto sinners, tell,

   I am, I am out of hell."

   Hallelujah! God hath blotted out my sins like a thick cloud! That is
   one benefit to be derived from remembering Christ. It gives us hope
   under a sense of sin, and tells us there is mercy yet.

   Now, I must have another character. And what does he say? "I cannot
   stand it any longer; I have been persecuted and ill-treated, because I
   love Christ; I am mocked, and laughed at, and despised: I try to bear
   it, but I really cannot. A man will be a man; tread upon a worm and he
   will turn upon you; my patience altogether fails me; I am in such a
   peculiar position that it is of no use to advise me to have patience,
   for patience I cannot have; my enemies are slandering me, and I do not
   know what to do." What shall we say to that poor man? How shall we give
   him patience? What shall we preach to him? You have heard what he has
   to say about himself. How shall we comfort him under this great trial?
   If we suffered the same, what should we wish some friend to say to us?
   Shall we tell him that other persons have borne as much? He will say,
   "Miserable comforters are ye all!" No, I will tell him, "Brother, you
   are persecuted; but remember the words of Jesus Christ, how he spake
   unto us, and said, Rejoice in that day, and leap for joy, for great is
   your reward in heaven, for so persecuted they the prophets that were
   before you." My brother! think of him, who, when he died, prayed for
   his murderers, and said, "Father, forgive them, for they know not what
   they do." All you have to bear, is as nothing compared with his mighty
   sufferings. Take courage; face it again like a man; never say die. Let
   not your patience be gone; take up your cross daily, and follow Christ.
   Let him be your motto; set him before your eyes. And, now, receiving
   this, hear what the man will say. He tells you at once--"Hail,
   persecution; welcome shame. Disgrace for Jesus shall be my honor, and
   scorn shall be my highest glory.

   "Now, for the love I bear his name,

   What was my gain I count my loss,

   I pour contempt on all my shame,

   And nail my glory to his cross.'"

   There is another effect, you see, to remembering Christ. It tends to
   give us patience under persecution. It is a girdle to brace up the
   loins, so that our faith may endure to the end.

   Dear friends, I should occupy your time too much if I went into the
   several benefits; so I will only just run over one or two blessings to
   be received. It will give us strength in temptation. I believe that
   there are hours with every man, when he has a season of terrific
   temptation. There was never a vessel that lived upon the mighty deep
   but sometimes it had to do battle with a storm. There she is, the poor
   barque, rocked up and down on the mad waves. See how they throw her
   from wave to wave, and toss her to mid heaven. The winds laugh her to
   scorn. Old Ocean takes the ship in his dripping fingers, and shakes it
   to and fro. How the mariners cry out for fear! Do you know how you can
   put oil upon the waters, and all shall be still? Yes. One potent word
   shall do it. Let Jesus come; let the poor heart remember Jesus, and
   steadily then the ship shall sail, for Christ has the helm. The winds
   shall blow no more, for Christ shall bid them shut their mighty mouths,
   and never again disturb his child. There is nothing which can give you
   strength in temptation, and help you to weather the storm, like the
   name of Jesus Christ, the incarnate Son of God. Then again, what
   comfort it will give you on a sick bed--the name of Christ! It will
   help you to be patient to those who wait upon you, and to endure the
   sufferings which you have to bear; yea, it shall be so with you, that
   you shall have more hope in sickness than in health, and shall find a
   blessed sweetness in the bitterness of gall. Instead of feeling vinegar
   in your mouth, through your trouble, you shall find honey for
   sweetness, in the midst of all the trial and trouble that God will put
   upon you, "For he giveth songs in the night."

   But just to close up the advantages of remembering Christ, do you know
   where you will have the benefit most of all? Do you know the place
   where chiefly you will rejoice that you ever thought of him? I will
   take you to it. Hush! Silence! You are going up stairs into a lonely
   room. The curtains hang down. Some one stands there weeping. Children
   are around the bed, and friends are there. See that man lying? That is
   yourself. Look at him; his eyes are your eyes; his hands are your
   hands. That is yourself. You will be there soon. Man! that is yourself.
   Do you see it? It is a picture of yourself. Those are your eyes that
   soon will be closed in death--your hands, that will lie stiff and
   motionless--your lips that will be dry and parched, between which they
   will put drops of water. Those are your words that freeze in air, and
   drop so slowly from your dying lips. I wonder whether you will be able
   to remember Christ there. If you do not, I will picture you. Behold
   that man, straight up in the bed; see his eyes starting from their
   sockets. His friends are all alarmed; they ask him what he sees. He
   represses the emotion; he tells them he sees nothing. They know that
   there is something before his eyes. He starts again. Good God! what is
   that I see--I seem to see? What is it? Ah! one sigh! The soul is gone.
   The body is there. What did he see? He saw a flaming throne of
   judgment; he saw God upon it, with his sceptre; he saw books opened; he
   beheld the throne of God, and saw a messenger, with a sword brandished
   in the air to smite him low. Man! that is thyself; there thou wilt be
   soon. That picture is thine own portrait. I have photographed thee to
   the life. Look at it. That is where thou shalt be within a few
   years--ay, within a few days. But if thou canst remember Christ, shall
   I tell thee what thou wilt do? Oh! thou wilt smile in the midst of
   trouble. Let me picture such a man. They put pillows behind him; he
   sits up in bed, and takes the hand of the loved one, and says,
   "Farewell! weep not for me; the kind God shall wipe away all tears from
   every eye." Those round about are addressed, "Prepare to meet your God,
   and follow me to the land of bliss." Now he has set his house in order.
   All is done. Behold him, like good old Jacob, leaning on his staff,
   about to die. See how his eyes sparkle; he claps his hands; they gather
   round to hear what he has to say; he whispers "Victory!" and summoning
   a little more strength, he cries, "Victory!" and at last, with his
   final gasp, "Victory, through him that loved us!" and he dies. This is
   one of the great benefits to be derived from remembering Christ--to be
   enabled to meet death with blessed composure.

   III. We are now arrived at the third portion of our meditation, which
   is a SWEET AID TO MEMORY.

   At schools we used certain books, called "Aids to Memory." I am sure
   they rather perplexed than assisted me. Their utility was equivalent to
   that of a bundle of staves under a traveller's arm: true he might use
   them one by one to walk with, but in the mean time he carried a host of
   others which he would never need. But our Saviour was wiser than all
   our teachers, and his remembrances are true and real aids to memory.
   His love tokens have an unmistakeable language, and they sweetly win
   our attention.

   Behold the whole mystery of the sacred Eucharist. It is bread and wine
   which are lively emblems of the body and blood of Jesus. The power to
   excite remembrance consists in the appeal thus made to the senses. Here
   the eye, the hand, the mouth, find joyful work. The bread is tasted,
   and entering within, works upon the sense of taste, which is one of the
   most powerful. The wine is sipped--the act is palpable. We know that we
   are drinking, and thus the senses, which are usually clogs to the soul,
   become wings to lift the mind in contemplation. Again, much of the
   influence of this ordinance is found in its simplicity. How beautifully
   simple the ceremony is--bread broken and wine poured out. There is no
   calling that thing a chalice, that thing a paten, and that a host. Here
   is nothing to burden the memory--here is the simple bread and wine. He
   must have no memory at all who cannot remember that he has eaten bread,
   and that he has been drinking wine. Note again, the mighty pregnancy of
   these signs--how full they are of meaning. Bread broken--so was your
   Saviour broken. Bread to be eaten--so his flesh is meat indeed. Wine
   poured out, the pressed juice of the grape--so was your Saviour crushed
   under the foot of divine justice: his blood is your sweetest wine. Wine
   to cheer your heart--so does the blood of Jesus. Wine to strengthen and
   invigorate you--so does the blood of the mighty sacrifice. Oh! make
   that bread and wine to your souls tonight a sweet and blessed help of
   remembrance of that dear Man who once on Calvary died. Like the little
   ewe lamb, you are now to eat your Master's bread and drink from his
   cup. Remember the hand which feeds you.

   But before you can remember Christ well here, you must ask the
   assistance of the Holy Spirit. I believe there ought to be a
   preparation before the Lord's Supper. I do not believe in Mrs.
   Toogood's preparation, who spent a week in preparing, and then finding
   it was not the Ordinance Sunday, she said she had lost all the week. I
   do not believe in that kind of preparation, but I do believe in a holy
   preparation for the Lord's Supper: when we can on a Saturday if
   possible, spend an hour in quiet meditation on Christ, and the passion
   of Jesus; when, especially on the Sabbath afternoon, we can devoutly
   sit down and behold him, then these scenes become realities, and not
   mockeries, as they are to some. I fear greatly that there are some of
   you who will drink the wine, and not think of his blood: and vile
   hypocrites you will be while you do it. Take heed to yourselves, "He
   that eateth and drinketh" unworthily, eateth and
   drinketh--what?--"damnation to himself." This is a plain English word;
   mind what you are doing! Do not do it carelessly; for of all the sacred
   things on earth, it is the most solemn. We have heard of some men
   banded together by drawing blood from their arms and drinking it all
   round; that was most horrid, but at the same time most solemn. Here you
   are to drink blood from the veins of Christ, and sip the trickling
   stream which gushed from his own loving heart. Is not that a solemn
   thing? Ought anybody to trifle with it? To go to church and take it for
   sixpence? To come and join us for the sake of getting charities? Out
   upon it! It is an awful blasphemy against Almighty God; and amongst the
   damned in hell, those shall be among the most accursed who dared thus
   to mock the holy ordinance of God. This is the remembrance of Christ.
   "This do in remembrance of me." If you cannot do it in remembrance of
   Christ, I beseech you, as you love your souls, do not do it at all. Oh!
   regenerate man or woman, enter not into the court of the priests, lest
   Israel's God resent the intrusion.

   IV. And now to close up. Here is a sweet command: "This do in
   remembrance of me." To whom does this command apply? "This do ye." It
   is important to answer this question--"This do ye," Who are intended?
   Ye who put your trust in me. "This do ye in remembrance of me." Well,
   now, you should suppose Christ speaking to you tonight; and he says,
   "This do ye in remembrance of me." Christ watches you at the door. Some
   of you go home, and Christ says, "I thought I said, This do ye in
   remembrance of me.'" Some of you keep your seats as spectators. Christ
   sits with you, and he says, "I thought I said, This do ye in
   remembrance of me.'" "Lord, I know you did." "Do you love me then?"
   "Yes, I love thee; I love, Lord; thou knowest I do." "But, I say, go
   down there--eat that bread, drink that wine." "I do not like to, Lord;
   I should have to be baptized if I joined that church, and I am afraid I
   shall catch cold, or be looked at. I am afraid to go before the church,
   for I think they would ask some questions I could not answer." "What,"
   says Christ, "is this all you love me? Is this all your affection to
   your Lord. Oh! how cold to me, your Saviour. If I had loved you no more
   than this, you would have been in hell: if that were the full extent of
   my affection, I should not have died for you. Great love bore great
   agonies; and is this all your gratitude to me?" Are not some of you
   ashamed, after this? Do you not say in your hearts, "it is really
   wrong?" Christ says, "Do this in remembrance of me," and are you not
   ashamed to stay away? I give a free invitation to every lover of Jesus
   to come to this table. I beseech you, deny not yourselves the privilege
   by refusing to unite with the church. If you still live in sinful
   neglect of this ordinance, let me remind you that Christ has said,
   "Whosoever shall be ashamed of me in this generation, of him will I be
   ashamed, when I come in the glory of my Father." Oh, soldier of the
   cross, act not the coward's part!

   And not to lead you into any mistakes, I must just add one thing, and
   then I have done. When I speak of your taking the ordinance of the
   Lord's Supper, do not imagine that I wish you for one moment to suppose
   that there is anything saving in it. Some say that the ordinance of
   baptism is non-essential, so is the ordinance of the Lord's Supper, it
   is non-essential, if we look upon it in the light of salvation. Be
   saved by eating a piece of bread! Nonsense, confounded nonsense! Be
   saved by drinking a drop of wine! Why, it is too absurd for common
   sense to admit any discussion upon. You know it is the blood of Jesus
   Christ; it is the merit of his agonies; it is the purchase of his
   sufferings; it is what he did, that alone can save us. Venture on him;
   venture wholly, and then you are saved. Hearest thou, poor convinced
   sinner, the way of salvation? If I ever meet thee in the next world,
   thou mightest, perhaps, say to me, "I spent one evening, sir, in
   hearing you, and you never told me the way to heaven." Well, thou shalt
   hear it. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, trust in his righteousness,
   and thou art saved beyond the vengeance of the law, or the power of
   hell. But trust in thine own works, and thou art lost as sure as thou
   art alive.

   Now, O ever glorious Son of God, we approach thy table to feast on the
   viands of grace, permit each of us, in reliance upon thy Spirit, to
   exclaim in the words of one of thine own poets:

   "Remember thee, and all thy pains,

   And all thy love to me--

   Yes, while a pulse or breath remains,

   I will remember thee.

   And when these failing lips grow dumb,

   And thought and memory flee;

   When thou shalt in thy kingdom come,

   Jesus, remember me!"
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The Sin of Unbelief

   A Sermon

   (No. 3)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 14, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "And that lord answered the man of God, and said, Now, behold, if the
   Lord should make windows in heaven, might such a thing be? And he said,
   Behold, thou shalt see it with thine eyes but shalt not eat thereof"--2
   Kings 7:19.

   ONE WISE man may deliver a whole city; one good man may be the means of
   safety to a thousand others. The holy ones are "the salt of the earth,"
   the means of the preservation of the wicked. Without the godly as a
   conserve, the race would be utterly destroyed. In the city of Samaria
   there was one righteous man--Elisha, the servant of the Lord. Piety was
   altogether extinct in the court. The king was a sinner of the blackest
   dye, his iniquity was glaring and infamous. Jehoram walked in the ways
   of his father Ahab, and made unto himself false gods. The people of
   Samaria were fallen like their monarch: they had gone astray from
   Jehovah; they had forsaken the God of Israel; they remembered not the
   watchword of Jacob, "The Lord thy God is one God;" and in wicked
   idolatry they bowed before the idols of the heathens, and therefore the
   Lord of Hosts suffered their enemies to oppress them until the curse of
   Ebal was fulfilled in the streets of Samaria, for "the tender and
   delicate woman who would not adventure to set the sole of her foot upon
   the ground for delicateness," had an evil eye to her own children, and
   devoured her offspring by reason of fierce hunger (Deut 28:56-58). In
   this awful extremity the one holy man was the medium of salvation. The
   one grain of salt preserved the entire city; the one warrior for God
   was the means of the deliverance of the whole beleaguered multitude.
   For Elisha's sake the Lord sent the promise that the next day, food
   which could not be obtained at any price, should be had at the cheapest
   possible rate--at the very gates of Samaria. We may picture the joy of
   the multitude when first the seer uttered this prediction. They knew
   him to be a prophet of the Lord; he had divine credentials; all his
   past prophecies had been fulfilled. They knew that he was a man sent of
   God, and uttering Jehovah's message. Surely the monarch's eyes would
   glisten with delight, and the emaciated multitude would leap for joy at
   the prospects of so speedy a release from famine. "To-morrow," would
   they shout, "to-morrow our hunger shall be over, and we shall feast to
   the full."

   However, the lord on whom the king leaned expressed his disbelief. We
   hear not that any of the common people, the plebeians, ever did so; but
   an aristocrat did it. Strange it is, that God has seldom chosen the
   great men of this world. High places and faith in Christ do seldom well
   agree. This great man said, "Impossible!" and, with an insult to the
   prophet, he added, "If the Lord should make windows in heaven, might
   such a thing be." His sin lay in the fact, that after repeated seals of
   Elisha's ministry, he yet disbelieved the assurances uttered by the
   prophet on God's behalf. He had, doubtless, seen the marvelous defeat
   of Moab; he had been startled at tidings of the resurrection of the
   Shunamite's son; he knew that Elisha had revealed Benhadad's secrets
   and smitten his marauding hosts with blindness; he had seen the bands
   of Syria decoyed into the heart of Samaria; and he probably knew the
   story of the widow, whose oil filled all the vessels, and redeemed her
   sons; at all events the cure of Naaman was common conversation at
   court; and yet, in the face of all this accumulated evidence, in the
   teeth of all these credentials of the prophet's mission, he yet
   doubted, and insultingly told him that heaven must become an open
   casement, ere the promise could be performed. Whereupon God pronounced
   his doom by the mouth of the man who had just now proclaimed the
   promise: "thou shalt see it with thine eyes, but shalt not eat
   thereof." And providence--which always fulfills prophecy, just as the
   paper takes the stamp of the type--destroyed the man. Trodden down in
   the streets of Samaria, he perished at its gates, beholding the plenty,
   but tasting not of it. Perhaps his carriage was haughty, and insulting
   to the people; or he tried to restrain their eager rush; or, as we
   would say, it might have been by mere accident that he was crushed to
   death; so that he saw the prophecy fulfilled, but never lived to enjoy
   it. In his case, seeing was believing, but it was not enjoying.

   I shall this morning invite your attention to two things--the man's sin
   and his punishment. Perhaps I shall say but little of this man, since I
   have detailed the circumstances, but I shall discourse upon the sin of
   unbelief and the punishment thereof.

I. And first, the SIN.

   His sin was unbelief. He doubted the promise of God. In this particular
   case unbelief took the form of a doubt of the divine veracity, or a
   mistrust of God's power. Either he doubted whether God really meant
   what he said, or whether it was within the range of possibility that
   God should fulfill his promise. Unbelief hath more phases than the
   moon, and more colors than the chameleon. Common people say of the
   devil, that he is seen sometimes in one shape, and sometimes in
   another. I am sure this is true of Satan's first-born child--unbelief,
   for its forms are legion. At one time I see unbelief dressed out as an
   angel of light. It calls itself humility, and it saith, "I would not be
   presumptuous; I dare not think that God would pardon me; I am too great
   a sinner." We call that humility, and thank God that our friend is in
   so good a condition. I do not thank God for any such delusion. It is
   the devil dressed as an angel of light; it is unbelief after all. At
   other times we detect unbelief in the shape of a doubt of God's
   immutability: "The Lord has loved me, but perhaps he will cast me off
   to-morrow. He helped me yesterday, and under the shadows of his wings I
   trust; but perhaps I shall receive no help in the next affliction. He
   may have cast me off; he may be unmindful of his covenant, and forget
   to be gracious." Sometimes this infidelity is embodied in a doubt of
   God's power. We see every day new straits, we are involved in a net of
   difficulties, and we think "surely the Lord cannot deliver us." We
   strive to get rid of our burden, and finding that we cannot do it, we
   think God's arm is as short as ours, and his power as little as human
   might. A fearful form of unbelief is that doubt which keeps men from
   coming to Christ; which leads the sinner to distrust the ability of
   Christ to save him, to doubt the willingness of Jesus to accept so
   great a transgressor. But the most hideous of all is the traitor, in
   its true colors, blaspheming God, and madly denying his existence.
   Infidelity, deism, and atheism, are the ripe fruits of this pernicious
   tree; they are the most terrific eruptions of the volcano of unbelief.
   Unbelief hath become of full stature, when quitting the mask and laying
   aside disguise, it profanely stalks the earth, uttering the rebellious
   cry, "No God," striving in vain to shake the throne of the divinity, by
   lifting up its arm against Jehovah, and in its arrogance would

   "Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod,

   Re-judge his justice--be the god of God."

   Then truly unbelief has come to its full perfection, and then you see
   what it really is, for the least unbelief is of the same nature as the
   greatest.

   I am astonished, and I am sure you will be, when I tell you that there
   are some strange people in the world who do not believe that unbelief
   is a sin. Strange people I must call them, because they are sound in
   their faith in every other respect; only, to make the articles of their
   creed consistent, as they imagine, they deny that unbelief is sinful. I
   remember a young man going into a circle of friends and ministers, who
   were disputing whether it was a sin in men that they did not believe
   the gospel. Whilst they were discussing it, he said, "Gentlemen am I in
   the presence of Christians? Are you believers in the Bible, or are you
   not?" They said, "We are Christians of course." "Then," said he, "does
   not the Scripture say, of sin, because they believed not on me?' And is
   it not the damning sin of sinners, that they do not believe on Christ?"
   I could not have thought that persons should be so fool-hardy as to
   venture to assert that, "it is no sin for a sinner not to believe on
   Christ." I thought that, however far they might wish to push their
   sentiments, they would not tell a lie to uphold the truth, and, in my
   opinion this is what such men are really doing. Truth is a strong tower
   and never requires to be buttressed with error. God's Word will stand
   against all man's devices. I would never invent a sophism to prove that
   it is no sin on the part of the ungodly not to believe, for I am sure
   it is, when I am taught in the Scriptures that, "This is the
   condemnation, that light is come into the world, and men love darkness
   rather than light," and when I read, "He that believeth not is
   condemned already, because he believeth not on the Son of God," I
   affirm, and the Word declares it, unbelief is a sin. Surely with
   rational and unprejudiced persons, it cannot require any reasoning to
   prove it. Is it not a sin for a creature to doubt the word of its
   Maker? Is it not a crime and an insult to the Divinity, for me, an
   atom, a particle of dust, to dare to deny his words? Is it not the very
   summit of arrogance and extremity of pride for a son of Adam to say,
   even in his heart, "God I doubt thy grace; God I doubt thy love; God I
   doubt thy power?" Oh! sirs believe me, could ye roll all sins into one
   mass,--could you take murder, and blasphemy, and lust, adultery, and
   fornication, and everything that is vile and unite them all into one
   vast globe of black corruption, they would not equal even then the sin
   of unbelief. This is the monarch sin, the quintessence of guilt; the
   mixture of the venom of all crimes; the dregs of the wine of Gomorrah;
   it is the A1 sin, the master-piece of Satan, the chief work of the
   devil.

   I shall attempt this morning, for a little while, to shew the extremely
   evil nature of the sin of unbelief.

  1.

   And let me say here, that unbelief in the Christian is of the self-same
   nature as unbelief in the sinner. It is not the same in its final
   issue, for it will be pardoned in the Christian; yea it is pardoned: it
   was laid upon the scapegoat's head of old: it was blotted out and
   atoned for; but it is of the same sinful nature. In fact, if there can
   be one sin more heinous than the unbelief of a sinner, it is the
   unbelief of a saint. For a saint to doubt God's word--for a saint to
   distrust God after innumerable instances of his love, after ten
   thousand proofs of his mercy, exceeds everything. In a saint, moreover,
   unbelief is the root of other sins. When I am perfect in faith, I shall
   be perfect in everything else; I should always fulfill the precept if I
   always believed the promise. But it is because my faith is weak, that I
   sin. Put me in trouble, and if I can fold my arms and say,
   "Jehovah-Jireh, the Lord will provide," you will not find me using
   wrong means to escape from it. But let me be in temporal distress and
   difficulty; if I distrust God, what then? Perhaps I shall steal, or do
   a dishonest act to get out of the hands of my creditors; or if kept
   from such a transgression, I may plunge into excess to drown my
   anxieties. Once take away faith, the reins are broken; and who can ride
   an unbroken steed without rein or bridle? Like the chariot of the sun,
   with Phaeton for its driver, such should we be without faith. Unbelief
   is the mother of vice; it is the parent of sin; and, therefore, I say
   it is a pestilent evil--a master sin.

  2.

   "Law and terrors do but harden,

   All the while they work alone:

   But a sense of blood-bought pardon

   Will dissolve a heart of stone."

   Methinks the tale of Calvary is enough to break a rock. Rocks did rend
   when they saw Jesus die. Methinks the tragedy of Golgotha is enough to
   make a flint gush with tears, and to make the most hardened wretch weep
   out his eyes in drops of penitential love; but yet we tell it you, and
   repeat it oft, but who weeps over it? Who cares about it? Sirs, ye sit
   as unconcerned as if it did not signify to you. Oh! behold and see all
   ye that pass by. Is it nothing to you that Jesus should die? Ye seem to
   say "It is nothing." What is the reason? Because there is unbelief
   between you and the cross. If there were not that thick veil between
   you and the Saviour's eyes, his looks of love would melt you. But
   unbelief is the sin which keeps the power of the gospel from working in
   the sinner: and it is not till the Holy Ghost strikes that unbelief
   out--it is not till the Holy Spirit rends away that infidelity and
   takes it altogether down, that we can find the sinner coming to put his
   trust in Jesus.

  3.

   Faith fosters every virtue; unbelief murders every one. Thousands of
   prayers have been strangled in their infancy by unbelief. Unbelief has
   been guilty of infanticide; it has murdered many an infant petition;
   many a song of praise that would have swelled the chorus of the skies,
   has been stifled by an unbelieving murmur; many a noble enterprise
   conceived in the heart has been blighted ere it could come forth, by
   unbelief. Many a man would have been a missionary; would have stood and
   preached his Master's gospel boldly; but he had unbelief. Once make a
   giant unbelieving, and he becomes a dwarf. Faith is the Samsonian lock
   of the Christian; cut it off, and you may put out his eyes--and he can
   do nothing.

  4.

   And, oh! do you not know that unbelief kept Moses and Aaron out of
   Canaan? They honored not God; they struck the rock when they ought to
   have spoken to it. They disbelieved: and therefore the punishment came
   upon them, that they should not inherit that good land, for which they
   had toiled and labored.

   Let me take you where Moses and Aaron dwelt--to the vast and howling
   wilderness. We will walk about it for a time; sons of the weary foot,
   we will become like the wandering Bedouins, we will tread the desert
   for a while. There lies a carcass whitened in the sun; there another,
   and there another. What means these bleached bones? What are these
   bodies--there a man, and there a woman? What are all these? How came
   these corpses here? Surely some grand encampment must have been here
   cut off in a single night by a blast, or by bloodshed. Ah; no, no.
   Those bones are the bones of Israel; those skeletons are the old tribes
   of Jacob. They could not enter because of unbelief. They trusted not in
   God. Spies said they could not conquer the land. Unbelief was the cause
   of their death. It was not the Anakims that destroyed Israel; it was
   not the howling wilderness which devoured them; it was not the Jordan
   which proved a barrier to Canaan; neither Hivite or Jebusite slew them;
   it was unbelief alone which kept them out of Canaan. What a doom to be
   pronounced on Israel, after forty years of journeying: they could not
   enter because of unbelief!

   Not to multiply instances, recollect Zechariah. He doubted, and the
   angel struck him dumb. His mouth was closed because of unbelief. But
   oh! if you would have the worst picture of the effects of unbelief--if
   you would see how God has punished it, I must take you to the siege of
   Jerusalem, that worst massacre which time has ever seen; when the
   Romans razed the walls to the ground, and put the whole of the
   inhabitants to the sword, or sold them as slaves in the market-place.
   Have you never read of the destruction of Jerusalem, by Titus? Did you
   never turn to the tragedy of Masada, when the Jews stabbed each other
   rather than fall into the hands of the Romans? Do you not know, that to
   this day the Jew walks through the earth a wanderer, without a home and
   without a land? He is cut off, as a branch is cut from a vine; and why?
   Because of unbelief. Each time ye see a Jew with a sad and somber
   countenance--each time ye mark him like a denizen of another land,
   treading as an exile in this our country--each time ye see him, pause
   and say, "Ah! it was unbelief which caused thee to murder Christ, and
   now it has driven thee to be a wanderer; and faith alone--faith in the
   crucified Nazarene--can fetch thee back to thy country, and restore it
   to its ancient grandeur." Unbelief, you see, has the Cain-mark upon its
   forehead. God hates it; God has dealt hard blows upon it: and God will
   ultimately crush it. Unbelief dishonors God. Every other crime touches
   God's territory; but unbelief aims a blow at his divinity, impeaches
   his veracity, denies his goodness, blasphemes his attributes, maligns
   his character; therefore, God of all things, hates first and chiefly,
   unbelief, wherever it is.

  5.

II. This brings us now to conclude with the PUNISHMENT.

   "Thou shalt see it with thine eyes, but shalt not eat thereof." Listen
   unbelievers! ye have heard this morning your sin; now listen to your
   doom: "Ye shall see it with your eyes, but shalt not eat thereof." It
   is so often with God's own saints. When they are unbelieving, they see
   the mercy with their eyes, but do not eat it. Now, here is corn in this
   land of Egypt; but there are some of God's saints who come here on the
   Sabbath, and say, "I do not know whether the Lord will be with me or
   not." Some of them say, "Well, the gospel is preached, but I do not
   know whether it will be successful." They are always doubting and
   fearing. Listen to them when they get out of the chapel. "Well, did you
   get a good meal this morning?" "Nothing for me." Of course not. Ye
   could see it with your eyes, but did not eat it, because you had no
   faith. If you had come up with faith, you would have had a morsel. I
   have found Christians, who have grown so very critical, that if the
   whole portion of the meat they are to have, in due season, is not cut
   up exactly into square pieces, and put upon some choice dish of
   porcelain, they cannot eat it. Then they ought to go without; and they
   will have to go without, until they are brought to their appetites.
   They will have some affliction, which will act like quinine upon them:
   they will be made to eat by means of bitters in their mouths; they will
   be put in prison for a day or two until their appetite returns, and
   then they will be glad to eat the most ordinary food, off the most
   common platter, or no platter at all. But the real reason why God's
   people do not feed under a gospel ministry, is, because they have not
   faith. If you believed, if you did but hear one promise, that would be
   enough; if you only heard one good thing from the pulpit here would be
   food for your soul, for it is not the quantity we hear, but the
   quantity we believe, that does us good--it is that which we receive
   into our hearts with true and lively faith, that is our profit.

   But, let me apply this chiefly to the unconverted. They often see great
   works of God done with their eyes, but they do not eat thereof. A crowd
   of people have come here this morning to see with their eyes, but I
   doubt whether all of them eat. Men cannot eat with their eyes, for if
   they could, most would be well fed. And, spiritually, persons cannot
   feed simply with their ears, nor simply with looking at the preacher;
   and so we find the majority of our congregations come just to see; "Ah,
   let us hear what this babbler would say, this reed shaken in the wind."
   But they have no faith; they come, and they see, and see, and see, and
   never eat. There is some one in the front there, who gets converted;
   and some one down below, who is called by sovereign grace; some poor
   sinner is weeping under a sense of his blood-guiltiness; another is
   crying for mercy to God: and another is saying, "Have mercy upon me, a
   sinner." A great work is going on in this chapel, but some of you do
   not know anything about it; you have no work going on in your hearts,
   and why? Because ye think it is impossible; ye think God is not at
   work. He has not promised to work for you who do not honor him.
   Unbelief makes you sit here in times of revival and of the outpouring
   of God's grace, unmoved, uncalled, unsaved.

   But, sirs, the worst fulfillment of this doom is to come! Good
   Whitefield used sometimes to lift up both his hands and shout, as I
   wish I could shout, but my voice fails me. "The wrath to come! the
   wrath to come!" It is not the wrath now you have to fear, but the wrath
   to come; and there shall be a doom to come, when "ye shall see it with
   your eyes, but shall not eat thereof." Methinks I see the last great
   day. The last hour of time has struck. I heard the bell toll its death
   knell--time was, eternity is ushered in; the sea is boiling; the waves
   are lit up with supernatural splendour. I see a rainbow--a flying
   cloud, and on it there is a throne, and on that throne sits one like
   unto the Son of Man. I know him. In his hand he holds a pair of
   balances; just before him the books,--the book of life, the book of
   death, the book of remembrance. I see his splendour, and I rejoice at
   it; I behold his pompous appearance, and I smile with gladness that he
   is come to be "admired of all his saints." But there stands a throng of
   miserable wretches, crouching in horror to conceal themselves, and yet
   looking, for their eyes must look on him whom they have pierced; but
   when they look they cry, "Hide me from the face." What face? "Rocks,
   hide me from the face." What face? "The face of Jesus, the man who
   died, but now is come to judgment." But ye cannot be hidden from his
   face; ye must see it with your eyes: but ye will not sit on the right
   hand, dressed in robes of grandeur; and when the triumphal procession
   of Jesus in the clouds shall come, ye shall not march in it; ye shall
   see it, but ye shall not be there. Oh! methinks I see it now, the
   mighty Saviour in his chariot, riding on the rainbow to heaven. See how
   his mighty coursers make the sky rattle while he drives them up
   heaven's hill. A train girt in white follow behind him, and at his
   chariot wheels he drags the devil, death, and hell. Hark, how they clap
   their hands. Hark, how they shout. "Thou hast ascended up on high; thou
   hast led captivity captive." Hark, how they chant the solemn lay,
   "Hallelujah, the Lord God omnipotent reigneth." See the splendour of
   their appearance; mark the crown upon their brows; see their snow-white
   garments; mark the rapture of their countenances; hear how their song
   swells up to heaven while the Eternal joins therein, saying, "I will
   rejoice over them with joy, I will rejoice over them with singing, for
   I have betrothed thee unto me in everlasting lovingkindness." But where
   are you all the while? Ye can see them up there, but where are you?
   Looking at it with your eyes, but you cannot eat thereof. The marriage
   banquet is spread; the good old wines of eternity are broached; they
   sit down to the feast of the king; but there are you, miserable, and
   famishing, and ye cannot eat thereof. Oh! how ye wring your hands.
   Might ye but have one morsel from the table--might ye but be dogs
   beneath the table. You shall be a dog in hell, but not a dog in heaven.

   But to conclude. Methinks I see thee in some place in hell, tied to a
   rock, the vulture of remorse gnawing thy heart; and up there is Lazarus
   in Abraham's bosom. You lift up your eyes and you see who it is. "That
   is the poor man who lay on my dunghill, and the dogs licked his sores;
   there he is in heaven, while I am cast down. Lazarus--yes, it is
   Lazarus; and I who was rich in the world of time am here in hell.
   Father Abraham, send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in
   water, to cool my tongue." But no! it cannot be; it cannot be. And
   whilst you lie there, if there be one thing in hell worse than another,
   it will be seeing the saints in heaven. Oh, to think of seeing my
   mother in heaven while I am cast out! Oh, sinner, only think, to see
   thy brother in heaven--he who was rocked in the selfsame cradle, and
   played beneath the same roof-tree--yet thou art cast out. And, husband,
   there is thy wife in heaven, and thou art amongst the damned. And seest
   thou, father! thy child is before the throne; and thou! accursed of God
   and accursed of man, art in hell. Oh, the hell of hells will be to see
   our friends in heaven, and ourselves lost. I beseech you, my hearers,
   by the death of Christ--by his agony and bloody sweat--by his cross and
   passion--by all that is holy--by all that is sacred in heaven and
   earth--by all that is solemn in time or eternity--by all that is
   horrible in hell, or glorious in heaven--by that awful thought, "for
   ever,"--I beseech you lay these things to heart, and remember that if
   you are damned, it will be unbelief that damns you. If you are lost, it
   will be because ye believed not on Christ; and if you perish, this
   shall be the bitterest drop of gall--that ye did not trust in the
   Saviour.
     __________________________________________________________________

                       The Personality of the Holy Ghost

   A Sermon

   (No. 4)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 21, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "And I will pray the Father, and he shall give you another Comforter,
   that he may abide with you for ever; even the Spirit of truth; whom the
   world cannot receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him:
   but ye know him; for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you."--John
   14:16-17

   You will be surprised to hear me announce that I do not intend this
   morning to say anything about the Holy Spirit as the Comforter. I
   propose to reserve that for a special Sermon this evening. In this
   discourse I shall endeavor to explain and enforce certain other
   doctrines, which I believe are plainly taught in this text, and which I
   hope God the Holy Ghost may make profitable to our souls. Old John
   Newton once said, that there were some books which he could not
   read;--they were good and sound enough; but, said he, "they are books
   of halfpence;--you have to take so much in quantity before you have any
   value; there are other books of silver, and others of gold; but I have
   one book that is a book of bank notes; and every leaf is a bank-note of
   immense value." So I found with this text: that I had a bank-note of so
   large a sum, that I could not tell it out all this morning. I should
   have to keep you several hours before I could unfold to you the whole
   value of this precious promise--one of the last which Christ gave his
   people.

   I invite your attention to this passage because we shall find in it
   some instruction on four points: first, concerning the true and proper
   personality of the Holy Ghost; secondly, concerning the united agency
   of the glorious Three Persons in the work of our salvation; thirdly we
   shall find something to establish the doctrine of the indwelling of the
   Holy Ghost in the souls of all believers; and fourthly, we shall find
   out the reason why the carnal mind rejects the Holy Ghost.

   I. First of all, we shall have some little instruction concerning the
   proper personality of the Holy Spirit. We are so much accustomed to
   talk about the influence of the Holy Ghost and his sacred operations
   and graces, that we are apt to forget that the Holy Spirit is truly and
   actually a person--that he is a subsistence--an existence; or, as we
   Trinitarians usually say, one person in the essence of the Godhead. I
   am afraid that, though we do not know it, we have acquired the habit of
   regarding the Holy Ghost as an emanation flowing from the Father and
   the Son, but not as being actually a person himself. I know it is not
   easy to carry about in our mind the idea of the Holy Spirit as a
   person. I can think of the Father as a person, because his acts are
   such as I can understand. I see him hang the world in ether; I behold
   him swaddling a new-born sea in bands of darkness; I know it is he who
   formed the drops of hail, who leadeth forth the stars by their hosts,
   and calleth them by their name; I can conceive of Him as a person,
   because I behold his operations. I can realize Jesus, the Son of Man,
   as a real person, because he is bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.
   It takes no great stretch of my imagination to picture the babe in
   Bethlehem, or to behold the "Man of sorrows and acquainted with grief,"
   of the king of martyrs, as he was persecuted in Pilate's hall, or
   nailed to the accursed tree for our sins. Nor do I find it difficult at
   times to realize the person of my Jesus sitting on his throne in
   heaven; or girt with clouds and wearing the diadem of all creation,
   calling the earth to judgment, and summoning us to hear our final
   sentence. But when I come to deal with the Holy Ghost, his operations
   are so mysterious, his doings are so secret, his acts are so removed
   from everything that is of sense, and of the body, that I cannot so
   easily get the idea of his being a person; but a person he is. God the
   Holy Ghost is not an influence, an emanation, a stream of something
   flowing from the Father; but he is as much an actual person as either
   God the Son, or God the Father. I shall attempt this morning a little
   to establish the doctrine, and to show you the truth of it--that God
   the Holy Spirit is actually a person.

   The first proof we shall gather from the pool of holy baptism. Let me
   take you down, as I have taken others, into the pool, now concealed,
   but which I wish were always open to your view. Let me take you to the
   baptismal font, where believers put on the name of the Lord Jesus, and
   you shall hear me pronounce the solemn words, "I baptize thee in the
   name,"--mark, "in the name," not names--"of the Father, and of the Son,
   and of the Holy Ghost." Every one who is baptized according to the true
   form laid down in Scripture, must be a Trinitarian: otherwise his
   baptism is a farce and a lie, and he himself is found a deceiver and a
   hypocrite before God. As the Father is mentioned, and as the Son is
   mentioned, so is the Holy Ghost; and the whole is summed up as being a
   Trinity in unity, by its being said, not the names, but the "name" the
   glorious name, the Jehovah name, "of the Father, and of the Son, and of
   the Holy Ghost." Let me remind you that the same thing occurs each time
   you are dismissed from this house of prayer. In pronouncing the solemn
   closing benediction, we invoke on your behalf the love of Jesus Christ,
   the grace of the Father, and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit; and
   thus, according to the apostolic manner, we make a manifest distinction
   between the persons, showing that we believe the Father to be a person,
   the Son to be a person, and the Holy Ghost to be a person. Were there
   no other proofs in Scripture, I think these would be sufficient for
   every sensible man. He would see that if the Holy Spirit were a mere
   influence, he would not be mentioned in conjunction with two whom we
   all confess to be actual and proper persons.

   A second argument arises from the fact that the Holy Ghost has actually
   made different appearances on earth. The Great Spirit has manifested
   himself to man: he has put on a form, so that, whilst he has not been
   beheld by mortal men, he has been so veiled in appearance that he was
   seen, so far as that appearance was concerned, by the eyes of all
   beholders. See you Jesus Christ our Saviour? There is the river Jordan,
   with its shelving banks and its willows weeping at its side. Jesus
   Christ, the Son of God, descends into the stream, and the holy Baptist,
   John, plunges him into the waves. The doors of heaven are opened; a
   miraculous appearance presents itself; a bright light shineth from the
   sky, brighter than the sun in all its grandeur, and down in a flood of
   glory descends something which you recognize to be a dove. It rests on
   Jesus--it sits upon his sacred head, and as the old painters put a halo
   round the brow of Jesus, so did the Holy Ghost shed a resplendence
   around the face of him who came to fulfil all righteousness, and
   therefore commenced with the ordinance of baptism. The Holy Ghost was
   seen as a dove, to mark his purity and his gentleness, and he came down
   like a dove from heaven to show that it is from heaven alone that he
   descendeth. Nor is this the only time when the Holy Ghost has been
   manifest in a visible shape. You see that company of disciples gathered
   together in an upper room; they are waiting for some promised blessing,
   and bye-and-bye it shall come. Hark! there is a sound as of a rushing
   mighty wind; it fills all the house where they are sitting; and
   astonished, they look around them, wondering what will come next. Soon
   a bright light appears, shining upon the heads of each: cloven tongues
   of fire sat upon them. What were these marvelous appearances of wind
   and flame but a display of the Holy Ghost in his proper person? I say
   the fact of an appearance manifests that he must be a person. An
   influence could not appear--an attribute could not appear: we cannot
   see attributes--we cannot behold influences. The Holy Ghost must, then,
   have been a person; since he was beheld by mortal eyes, and he came
   under the cognizance of mortal sense.

   Another proof is from the fact, that personal qualities are, in
   Scripture, ascribed to the Holy Ghost. First, let me read to you a text
   in which the Holy Ghost is spoken of as having understanding. In the
   1st Epistle to the Corinthians, chap. ii., you will read, "But as it is
   written, eye hath not seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into
   the heart of man, the things which God hath prepare for them that love
   him. But God have revealed them unto us by his Spirit: for the Spirit
   searcheth all things, yea, the deep things of God. For what man knoweth
   the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him? Even so
   the things of God knoweth no man, but the Spirit of God." Here you see
   an understanding--a power of knowledge is ascribed to the Holy Ghost.
   Now, if there be any persons here whose minds are of so preposterous a
   complexion that they would ascribe one attribute to another, and would
   speak of a mere influence having understanding, then I give up all the
   argument. But I believe every rational man will admit, that when
   anything is spoken of as having an understanding, it must be an
   existence--it must, in fact, be a person. In the 12th chap., 11th verse
   of the same Epistle, you will find a will ascribed to the Holy Spirit.
   "But all these worketh that one and the self-same spirit, dividing to
   every man severally as he will." So it is plain that the Spirit has a
   will. He does not come from God simply at God's will, but he has a will
   of his own, which is always in keeping with the will of the infinite
   Jehovah, but is, nevertheless, distinct and separate; therefore, I say
   he is a person. In another text, power is ascribed to the Holy Ghost,
   and power is a thing which can only be ascribed to an existence. In
   Romans 15:13, it is written, "Now the God of hope fill you with all joy
   and peace in believing, that ye may abound in hope through the power of
   the Holy Ghost." I need not insist upon it, because it is self-evident,
   that wherever you find understanding, will, and power, you must also
   find an existence; it cannot be a mere attribute, it cannot be a
   metaphor, it cannot be a personified influence; but it must be a
   person.

   But I have a proof which, perhaps, will be more telling upon you than
   any other. Acts and deeds are ascribed to the Holy Ghost; therefore, he
   must be a person. You read in the first chapter of the Book of Genesis,
   that the Spirit brooded over the surface of the earth, when it was as
   yet all disorder and confusion. This world was once a mass of chaotic
   matter, there was no order; it was like the valley of darkness and of
   the shadow of death. God the Holy Ghost spread his wings over it; he
   sowed the seeds of life in it; the germs from which all beings sprang
   were implanted by him; he impregnated the earth so that it became
   capable of life. Now, it must have been a person who brought order out
   of confusion: it must have been an existence who hovered over this
   world and made it what it now is. But do we not read in Scripture
   something more of the Holy Ghost? Yes, we are told that "holy men of
   old spake as they were moved by the Holy Ghost." When Moses penned the
   Pentateuch, the Holy Ghost moved his hand; when David wrote the Psalms,
   and discoursed sweet music on his harp, it was the Holy Spirit that
   gave his fingers their seraphic motion; when Solomon dropped from his
   lips the words of the proverbs of wisdom, or when he hymned the
   Canticles of love, it was the Holy Ghost who gave him words of
   knowledge and hymns of rapture. Ah! and what fire was that which
   touched the lips of the eloquent Isaiah? What hand was that which came
   upon Daniel? What might was that which made Jeremiah so plaintive in
   his grief? or what was that which winged Ezekiel and made him like an
   eagle, soar into mysteries aloft, and see the mighty unknown beyond our
   reach? Who was it that made Amos, the herdsman, a prophet? Who taught
   the rugged Haggai to pronounce his thundering sentences? Who showed
   Habakkuk the horses of Jehovah marching through the waters? or who
   kindled the burning eloquence of Nahum? Who caused Malachi to close up
   the book with the muttering of the word curse? Who was it in each of
   these, save the Holy Ghost? And must it not have been a person who
   spake in and through these ancient witnesses? We must believe it. We
   cannot avoid believing it, when we read that "holy men of old spake as
   they were moved by the Holy Ghost."

   And when has the Holy Ghost ceased to have an influence upon men? We
   find that still he deals with his ministers and with all his saints.
   Turn to the Acts, and you will find that the Holy Ghost said, "Separate
   me Paul and Barnabas for the work." I never heard of an attribute
   saying such a thing. The Holy Spirit said to Peter, "Go to the
   Centurion, and what I have cleansed, that call not thou common." The
   Holy Ghost caught away Philip after he had baptized the Eunuch, and
   carried him away to another place; and the Holy Ghost said to Paul;
   "Thou shalt not go into that city, but shall turn into another." And we
   know that the Holy Ghost was lied unto by Ananias and Sapphira, when it
   was said, "Thou hast not lied unto man, but unto God." Again, that
   power which we feel every day, who are called to preach--that wondrous
   spell which makes our lips so potent--that power which gives us
   thoughts which are like birds from a far-off region, not the natives of
   our soul--that influence which I sometimes strangely feel, which, if it
   does not give me poetry and eloquence, gives me a might I never felt
   before, and lifts me above my fellow-man--that majesty with which he
   clothes his ministers, till in the midst of the battle they cry aha!
   like the war-horse of Job, and move themselves like leviathans in the
   water--that power which gives us might over men, and causes them to sit
   and listen as if their ears were chained, as if they were entranced by
   the power of some magician's wand--that power must come from a person;
   it must come from the Holy Ghost.

   But is it not said in Scripture, and do we not feel it, dear brethren,
   that it is the Holy Ghost who regenerates the soul? It is the Holy
   Ghost who quickens us. "You hath he quickened who were dead in
   trespasses and sins." It is the Holy Spirit who imparts the first germ
   of life, convincing us of sin, of righteousness, and of judgment to
   come. And is it not the Holy Spirit, who, after that flame is kindled,
   still fans it with the breath of his mouth and keeps it alive? Its
   author is its preserver. Oh! can it be said that it is the Holy Ghost
   who strives in men's souls; that it is the Holy Ghost who brings them
   into the sweet place that is called Calvary--can it be said that he
   does all these things, and yet is not a person? It may be said, but it
   must be said by fools; for he never can be a wise man who can consider
   these things can be done by any other than a glorious person--a divine
   existence.

   Allow me to give you one more proof, and I shall have done. Certain
   feelings are ascribed to the Holy Ghost, which can only be understood
   upon the supposition that he is actually a person. In the 4th chapter
   of Ephesians, v. 30, it is said that the Holy Ghost can be grieved:
   "Grieve not the Holy Spirit of God, whereby ye are sealed unto the day
   of redemption." In Isaiah, chap. lxiii, v. 10, it is said that the Holy
   Ghost can be vexed: "But they rebelled, and vexed his Holy Spirit;
   therefore he was turned to be their enemy., and he fought against
   them." In Acts, chap. vii. v. 51, you read that the Holy Ghost can be
   resisted: "Ye stiff-necked and uncircumcised in heart and ears, ye do
   always resist the Holy Ghost; as your fathers did, so do ye." And in
   the 5th chapter, v. 9, of the same book, you will find that the Holy
   Ghost may be tempted. We are informed that Peter said to Ananias and
   Sapphira, "How is it that ye have agreed together to tempt the Spirit
   of the Lord?" Now, these things could not be emotions which might be
   ascribed to a quality or an emanation; they must be understood to
   relate to a person; an influence could not be grieved, it must be a
   person who can be grieved, vexed, or resisted.

   And now, dear brethren, I think I have fully established the point of
   the personality of the Holy Ghost; allow me now, most earnestly, to
   impress upon you the absolute necessity of being sound on the doctrine
   of the Trinity. I knew a man, a good minister of Jesus Christ he is
   now, and I believe he was before he turned his eyes unto heresy--he
   began to doubt the glorious divinity of our blessed Lord, and for years
   did he preach the heterodox doctrine, until one day he happened to hear
   a very eccentric old minister preaching from the text, "But there the
   glorious Lord shall be unto us a place of broad rivers and streams,
   wherein shall go no galley with oars, neither shall gallant ship pass
   thereby. Thy tacklings are loosed; they could not well strengthen their
   mast, they could not spread the sail." "Now," said the old minister,
   "you give up the Trinity, and your tacklings are loosed, you cannot
   strengthen your masts. Once give up the doctrine of three persons, and
   your tacklings are all gone; your mast, which ought to be a support to
   your vessel, is a rickety one, and shakes." A gospel without the
   Trinity! it is a pyramid built upon its apex. A gospel without the
   Trinity! it is a rope of sand that cannot hold together. A gospel
   without the Trinity! then, indeed, Satan can overturn it. But give me a
   gospel with the Trinity, and the might of hell cannot prevail against
   it; no man can any more overthrow it than a bubble could split a rock,
   or a feather break in halves a mountain. Get the thought of the three
   persons, and you have the marrow of all divinity. Only know the Father,
   and know the Son, and know the Holy Ghost to be one, and all things
   will appear clear. This is the golden key to the secrets of nature;
   this is the silken clue of the labyrinths of mystery, and he who
   understands this, will soon understand as much as mortals e'er can
   know.

   II. Now for our second point--the united agency of the three persons in
   the work of our salvation. Look at the text, and you will find all the
   three persons mentioned. "I"--that is the Son--"will pray the Father,
   and he shall give you another Comforter." There are the three persons
   mentioned, all of them doing something for our salvation. "I will
   pray," says the Son. "I will send," says the Father. "I will comfort,"
   says the Holy Ghost. now, let us, for a few moments, discourse upon
   this wondrous theme--the unity of the three persons with regard to the
   great purpose of the salvation of the elect. When God first made man,
   he said, "Let us make man," not let me, but, "Let us make man in our
   own image." The covenant Elohim said to each other, "Let us unitedly
   become the creator of man." So, when in ages far gone by, in eternity,
   they said, "Let us save man:" it was not the Father who said, "Let me
   save man, "but the three persons conjointly said, with one consent,
   "Let us save man." It is to me a source of sweet comfort to think that
   it is not one person of the Trinity that is engaged for my salvation;
   it is not simply one person of the Godhead who vows that he will redeem
   me; but it is a glorious trio of Godlike ones, and the three declare,
   unitedly, "We will save man."

   Now, observe here, that each person is spoken of as performing a
   separate office. "I will pray," says the Son; that is intercession. "I
   will send," says the Father; that is donation. "I will comfort," says
   the Holy Spirit; that is supernatural influence. O! if it were possible
   for us to see the three persons of the Godhead, we should behold one of
   them standing before the throne, with outstretched hands, crying day
   and night, "O, Lord, how long?" We should see one girt with Urim and
   Thummim, precious stones, on which are written the twelve names of the
   tribes of Israel; we should behold him, crying unto his Father, "Forget
   not thy promises, forget not thy covenant;" we should hear him make
   mention of our sorrows, and tell forth our griefs on our behalf, for he
   is our intercessor. And could we behold the Father, we should not see
   him a listless and idle spectator of the intercession of the Son, but
   we should see him with attentive ear listening to every word of Jesus,
   and granting every petition. Where is the Holy Spirit all the while? Is
   he lying idle? O no; he is floating over the earth, and when he seas a
   weary soul, he says, "Come to Jesus, he will give you rest;" when he
   beholds an eye filled with tears, he wipes away the tears, and bids the
   mourner look for comfort on the cross; when he sees the tempest-tossed
   believer, he takes the helm of his soul and speaks the word of
   consolation; he helpeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their
   wounds; and, ever on his mission of mercy, he flies around the world,
   being everywhere present. Behold, how the three persons work together.
   Do not then say, "I am grateful to the Son"--so you ought to be, but
   God the Son no more saves you than God the Father. Do not imagine that
   God the Father is a great tyrant, and that God the Son had to die to
   make him merciful. It was not to make the Father's love towards his
   people. Oh, no. One loves as much as the other; the three are conjoined
   in the great purpose of rescuing the elect from damnation.

   But you must notice another thing in my text, which will show the
   blessed unity of the three--the one person promises to the other. The
   Son says, "I will pray the Father." "Very well," the disciples may have
   said, "we can trust you for that." "And he will send you." You see,
   here is the Son signing a bond on behalf of the Father. "He will send
   you another Comforter." There is a bond on behalf of the Holy Spirit
   too. "And he will abide with you forever." One person speaks for the
   other, and how could they, if there were any disagreement between them?
   If one wished to save, and the other not, they could not promise on
   another's behalf. But whatever the Son says, the Father listens to;
   whatever the Father promises, the Holy Ghost works; and, whatever the
   Holy Ghost injects into the soul, that God the Father fulfils. So, the
   three together mutually promise on one another's behalf. There is a
   bond with three names appended--Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. By three
   immutable things, as well as by two, the Christian is secured beyond
   the reach of death and hell. A Trinity of securities, because there is
   a Trinity of God.

   III, Our third point is, the indwelling of the Holy Ghost in believers.
   Now, beloved, these first two things have been matters of pure
   doctrine; this is the subject of experience. The indwelling of the Holy
   Ghost is a subject so profound, and so having to do with the inner man,
   that no soul will be able truly and really to comprehend what I say,
   unless it has been taught of God. I have heard of an old minister, who
   told a fellow of one of the Cambridge colleges, that he understood a
   language that he never learned in all his life. "I have not," he said,
   "even a smattering of Greek, and I know no Latin, but thank God, I can
   talk the language of Canaan, and that is more than you can." So,
   beloved, I shall now have to talk a little of the language of Canaan.
   If you cannot comprehend me, I am much afraid it is because you are not
   of Israelitish extraction; you are not a child of God, nor an inheritor
   of the kingdom of heaven.

   We are told in the text, that Jesus would send the Comforter, who would
   abide in the saints forever; who would dwell with them, and be in them.
   Old Ignatius, the martyr, used to call himself Theophorus, or
   Godbearer, "because," said he, "I bear about with me the Holy Ghost."
   And truly every Christian is a Godbearer. "Know ye not that ye are the
   temples of the Holy Ghost? for he dwelleth in you?" That man is no
   Christian who is not the subject of the indwelling of the Holy Spirit;
   he may talk well, he may understand theology, and be a sound Calvinist;
   he will be the child of nature finely dressed, but not the living
   child. He may be a man of so profound an intellect, so gigantic a soul,
   so comprehensive a mind, and so lofty an imagination, that he may dive
   into all the secrets of nature, may know the path which the eagle's eye
   hath not seen, and go into depths where the ken of mortals reacheth
   not, but he shall not be a Christian with all his knowledge, he shall
   not be a son of God with all his researches, unless he understands what
   it is to have the Holy Ghost dwelling in him and abiding in him; yea,
   and that for ever.

   Some people call this fanaticism, and they say, "You are a Quaker; why
   not follow George Fox?" Well, we would not mind that much: we would
   follow any one who followed the Holy Ghost. Even he, with all his
   eccentricities, I doubt not, was, in many cases, actually inspired by
   the Holy Spirit; and whenever I find a man in whom there rests the
   Spirit of God, the spirit within me leaps to hear the spirit within
   him, and we feel that we are one. The Spirit of God in one Christian
   soul recognizes the Spirit in another. I recollect talking with a good
   man, as I believe he was, who was insisting that it was impossible for
   us to know whether we had the Holy Spirit within us or not. I should
   like him to be here this morning, because I would read this verse to
   him, "But ye know him, for he dwelleth with you, and shall be in you."
   Ah! you think you cannot tell whether you have the Holy Spirit or not.
   Can I tell whether I am alive or not? If I were touched by electricity,
   could I tell whether I was or not? I suppose I should; the shock would
   be strong enough to make me know where I stood. So, if I have God
   within me--if I have Deity tabernacling in my breast--if I have God the
   Holy Ghost resting in my heart, and making a temple of my body, do you
   think I shall know it? Call it fanaticism if you will, but I trust that
   there are some of us who know what it is to be always, or generally,
   under the influence of the Holy Spirit--always in one sense, generally
   in another. When we have difficulties, we ask the direction of the Holy
   Ghost. When we do not understand a portion of Holy Scripture, we ask
   God the Holy Ghost to shine upon us. When we are depressed, the Holy
   Ghost comforts us. You cannot tell what the wondrous power of the
   indwelling of the Holy Ghost is; how it pulls back the hand of the
   saint when he would touch the forbidden thing; how it prompts him to
   make a covenant with his eyes; how it binds his feet, lest they should
   fall in a slippery way; how it restrains his heart, and keeps him from
   temptation. O ye, who know nothing of the indwelling of the Holy Ghost,
   despise it not. O despise not the Holy Ghost, for it is the
   unpardonable sin. "He that speaketh a word against the Son of Man, it
   shall be forgiven him, but he that speaketh against the Holy Ghost, it
   shall never be forgiven him, either in this life, or that which is to
   come." So saith the Word of God. Therefore tremble, lest in anything ye
   despise the influences of the Holy Spirit.

   But before closing this point, there is one little word that pleases me
   very much, that is "forever." You knew I should not miss that; you were
   certain I could not let it go without observation. "Abide with you
   forever." I wish I could get an Armenian here to finish my sermon. I
   fancy I see him taking that word "forever." He would say,
   "for--forever;" he would have to stammer and stutter; for he could
   never get it out all at once. He might stand and pull it about, and at
   last he would have to say, "The translation is wrong." And I suppose
   the poor man would have to prove that the original was wrong too. Ah!
   but blessed be God we can read it--"He shall abide with you forever."
   Once give me the Holy Ghost, and I shall never lose him till "forever"
   has run out; till eternity has spun its everlasting rounds.

   IV. Now we have to close up with a brief remark on the reason why the
   world rejects the Holy Ghost. It is said, "Whom the world cannot
   receive, because it seeth him not, neither knoweth him." You know what
   is sometimes meant by "the world"--those whom God in his wondrous
   sovereignty passed over when he chose his people: the preterite ones;
   those passed over in God's wondrous preterition--not the reprobates who
   were condemned to damnation by some awful decree; but those passed over
   by God, when he chose out his elect. These cannot receive the Spirit.
   Again, it means all in a carnal state are not able to procure
   themselves this divine influence; and, thus it is true, "Whom the world
   cannot receive."

   The unregenerate world of sinners despises the Holy Ghost, "because it
   seeth him not." Yes, I believe this is the great secret why many laugh
   at the idea of the existence of the Holy Ghost--because they see him
   not. You tell the worldling, "I have the Holy Ghost within me." He
   says, "I cannot see it." He wants it to be something tangible--a thing
   he can recognize with his senses. Have you ever heard the argument used
   by a good old Christian against an infidel doctor? The doctor said
   there was no soul, and asked, "Did you ever see a soul?" "No," said the
   Christian. "Did you ever hear a soul?" "No." "Did you ever smell a
   soul?" "No." "Did you ever taste a soul?" "No." "Did you ever feel a
   soul?" "Yes," said the man--"I feel I have one within me." "Well," said
   the doctor, "there are four senses against one; you only have one on
   your side." "Very well," said the Christian, "Did you ever see a pain?"
   "No." "Did you ever hear a pain?" "No." "Did you ever smell a pain?"
   "No." "Did you ever taste a pain?" "No." "Did you ever feel a pain?"
   "Yes." "And that is quite enough, I suppose, to prove there is a pain?"
   "Yes." So the worldling says there is no Holy Ghost, because he cannot
   see it. Well, but we feel it. You say that is fanaticism, and that we
   never felt it. Suppose you tell me that honey is bitter, I reply, "No,
   I am sure you cannot have tasted it; taste it and try." So with the
   Holy Ghost; if you did but feel his influence, you would no longer say
   there is no Holy Spirit, because you cannot see it. Are there not many
   things, even in nature, which we cannot see? Did you ever see the wind?
   No; but ye know there is wind, when you behold the hurricane tossing
   the waves about, and rending down the habitations of men; or when, in
   the soft evening zephyr, it kisses the flowers, and maketh dew-drops
   hang in pearly coronets around the rose. Did ye ever see electricity?
   No; but ye know there is such a thing, for it travels along the wires
   for thousands of miles, and carries our messages; though you cannot see
   the thing itself, you know there is such a thing. So you must believe
   there is a Holy Ghost working in us, both to will and to do, even
   though it is beyond our senses.

   But the last reason why worldly men laugh at the doctrine of the Holy
   Spirit, is, because they do not know it. If they know it by heartfelt
   experience and if they recognized its agency in the soul; if they had
   ever been touched by it; if they had been made to tremble under a sense
   of sin; if they had had their hearts melted, they would never have
   doubted the existence of the Holy Ghost.

   And now, beloved, it says, "He dwelleth with you, and shall be in you."
   We will close up with that sweet recollection--the Holy Ghost dwells in
   all believers and shall be with them.

   One word of comment and advice to the saints of God, and to sinners,
   and I have done. Saints of the Lord! ye have this morning heard that
   God the Holy Ghost is a person; ye have had it proved to your souls.
   What follows from this? Why, it followeth how earnest ye should be in
   prayer to the Holy Spirit, as well as for the Holy Spirit. Let me say
   that this is an inference that you should lift up your prayers to the
   Holy Ghost: that you should cry earnestly unto him; for he is able to
   do exceeding abundantly above all you can speak or think. See this mass
   of people. What is to convert it? See this crowd? Who is to make my
   influence permeate through the mass? You know this place now has a
   mighty influence, and, God blessing us, it will have an influence not
   only upon this city, but upon England at large; for we now employ the
   press as well as the pulpit; and certainly, I should say, before the
   close of the year, more than two hundred thousand of my productions
   will be scattered through the land--words uttered by my lips, or
   written by my pen. But how can this influence be rendered for good? How
   shall God's glory be promoted by it? Only by incessant prayer for the
   Holy Spirit; by constantly calling down the influence of the Holy Ghost
   upon us; we want him to rest upon every page that is printed, and upon
   every word that is uttered. Let us then be doubly earnest in pleading
   with the Holy Ghost, that he would come and own our labors; that the
   whole church at large may be revived thereby, and not ourselves only,
   but the whole world share in the benefit.

   Then, to the ungodly, I have this one closing word to say. Ever be
   careful how you speak of the Holy Ghost. I do not know what the
   unpardonable sin is, and I do not think any man understands it; but it
   is something like this: "He that speaketh a word against the Holy
   Ghost, it shall never be forgiven him." I do not know what that means;
   but tread carefully! There is danger; there is a pit which our
   ignorance has covered by sand; tread carefully! you may be in it before
   the next hour. If there is any strife in your heart to-day, perhaps you
   will go to the ale-house and forget it. Perhaps there is some voice
   speaking in your soul, and you will put it away. I do not tell you will
   be resisting the Holy Ghost, and committing the unpardonable sin; but
   it is somewhere there. Be very careful. O, there is no crime on earth
   so black as the crime against the Holy Spirit! Ye may blaspheme the
   Father, and ye shall be damned for it, unless ye repent; ye may
   blaspheme the Son, and hell shall be your portion, unless ye are
   forgiven; but blaspheme the Holy Ghost, and thus saith the Lord: "There
   is no forgiveness, either in this world nor in the world which is to
   come." I cannot tell you what it is; I do no profess to understand it;
   but there it is. It is the danger signal; stop! man, stop! If thou has
   despised the Holy Spirit-- if thou hast laughed at his revelations, and
   scorned what Christians call his influence, I beseech thee, stop! This
   morning seriously deliberate. Perhaps some of you have actually
   committed the unpardonable sin; stop! Let fear stop you; sit down. Do
   not drive on so rashly as you have done, Jehu! O slacken your reins!
   Thou who are such a profligate in sin--thou who hast uttered such hard
   words against the Trinity, stop! Ah! it makes us all stop. It makes us
   all draw up, and say, "Have I not perhaps so done?" Let us think of
   this; and let us not at any time stifle either with the words or the
   acts of God the Holy Ghost.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                 The Comforter

   A Sermon

   (No. 5)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, January 21, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "But the Comforter, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the Father will send
   in my name, he shall teach you all things and bring all things to your
   remembrance, whatsoever I have said unto you."--John 14:26.

   Good old Simeon called Jesus the consolation of Israel; and so he was.
   Before his actual appearance, his name was the Day-Star; cheering the
   darkness, and prophetic of the rising sun. To him they looked with the
   same hope which cheers the nightly watcher, when from the lonely
   castle-top he sees the fairest of the stars, and hails her as the usher
   of the morn. When he was on earth, he must have been the consolation of
   all those who were privileged to be his companions. We can imagine how
   readily the disciples would run to Christ to tell him of their griefs,
   and how sweetly, with that matchless intonation of his voice, he would
   speak to them, and bid their fears be gone. Like children, they would
   consider him as their Father; and to him every want, every groan, every
   sorrow, every agony, would at once be carried; and he, like a wise
   physician, had a balm for every wound; he had mingled a cordial for
   their every care; and readily did he dispense some mighty remedy to
   allay all the fever of their troubles. Oh! it must have been sweet to
   have lived with Christ. Surely sorrows were then but joys in masks,
   because they gave an opportunity to go to Jesus to have them removed.
   Oh! would to God, some of us may say, that we could have lain our weary
   heads upon the bosom of Jesus, and that our birth had been in that
   happy era, when we might have heard his kind voice, and seen his kind
   look, when he said, "Let the weary ones come unto me."

   But now he was about to die. Great prophecies were to be fulfilled; and
   great purposes were to be answered; and therefore Jesus must go. It
   behoved him to suffer, that he might be made a propitiation for our
   sins. It behoved him to slumber in the dust awhile, that he might
   perfume the chamber of the grave to make it--

   "No more a charnel house to fence

   The relics of lost innocence."

   It behoved him to have a resurrection, that we, who shall one day be
   the dead in Christ, might rise first, and in glorious bodies stand upon
   earth. And if behoved him that he should ascend up on high, that he
   might lead captivity captive; that he might chain the fiends of hell;
   that he might lash them to his chariot wheels, and drag them up high
   heaven's hill, to make them feel a second overthrow from his right arm,
   when he should dash them from the pinnacles of heaven down to the
   deeper depths beneath. "It is right I should go away from you," said
   Jesus, "for if I go not away, the Comforter will not come." Jesus must
   go. Weep, ye disciples; Jesus must be gone. Mourn, ye poor ones, who
   are to be left without a Comforter. But hear how kindly Jesus speaks:
   "I will not leave you comfortless, I will pray the Father, and he shall
   send you another Comforter, who shall be with you, and shall dwell in
   you forever." He would not leave those few poor sheep alone in the
   wilderness; he would not desert his children, and leave them
   fatherless. Albeit that he had a mighty mission which did fill his
   heart and hand; albeit he had so much to perform, that we might have
   thought that even his gigantic intellect would be overburdened; albeit
   he had so much to suffer, that we might suppose his whole soul to be
   concentrated upon the thought of the sufferings to be endured. Yet it
   was not so; before he left, he gave soothing words of comfort; like the
   good Samaritan, he poured in oil and wine, and we see what he promised:
   "I will send you another Comforter--one who shall be just what I have
   been, yea, even more; who shall console you in your sorrows, remove
   your doubts, comfort you in your afflictions, and stand as my vicar on
   earth, to do that which I would have done had I tarried with you."

   Before I discourse of the Holy Ghost as the Comforter, I must make one
   or two remarks on the different translations of the word rendered
   "Comforter." The Rhenish translation, which you are aware is adopted by
   Roman Catholics, has left the word untranslated, and gives it
   "Paraclete." "But the Paraclete, which is the Holy Ghost, whom the
   Father will send in my name, he shall teach you all things." This is
   the original Greek word, and it has some other meanings besides
   "Comforter." Sometimes it means the monitor or instructor: "I will send
   you another monitor, another teacher." Frequently it means "Advocate;"
   but the most common meaning of the word is that which we have here: "I
   will send you another Comforter." However, we cannot pass over those
   other two interpretations without saying something upon them.

   "I will send you another teacher." Jesus Christ had been the official
   teacher of his saints whilst on earth. They called no man Rabbi except
   Christ. They sat at no men's feet to learn their doctrines; but they
   had them direct from the lips of him who "spake as never man spake."
   "And now," says he, "when I am gone, where shall you find the great
   infallible teacher? Shall I set you up a pope at Rome, to whom you
   shall go, and who shall be your infallible oracle? Shall I give you the
   councils of the church to be held to decide all knotty points?" Christ
   said no such thing. "I am the infallible paraclete, or teacher, and
   when I am gone, I will send you another teacher, and he shall be the
   person who is to explain Scripture; he shall be the authoritative
   oracle of God, who shall make all dark things light, who shall unravel
   mysteries, who shall untwist all knots of revelation, and shall make
   you understand what you could not discover, had it not been for his
   influence." And, beloved, no man ever learns anything aright, unless he
   is taught of the Spirit. You may learn election, and you may know it so
   that you shall be damned by it, if you are not taught of the Holy
   Ghost; for I have known some who have learned election to their soul's
   destruction; they have learned it so that they said they were of the
   elect, whereas, they had no marks, no evidences, and no works of the
   Holy Ghost in their souls. There is a way of learning truth in Satan's
   college, and holding it in licentiousness; but if so, it shall be to
   your souls as poison to your veins and prove your everlasting ruin. No
   man can know Jesus Christ unless he is taught of God. There is no
   doctrine of the Bible which can be safely, thoroughly, and truly
   learned, except by the agency of the one authoritative teacher. Ah!
   tell me not of systems of divinity; tell me not of schemes of theology;
   tell me not of infallible commentators, or most learned and most
   arrogant doctors; but tell me of the Great Teacher, who shall instruct
   us, the sons of God, and shall make us wise to understand all things.
   He is the Teacher; it matters not what this man or that man says; I
   rest on no man's boasting authority, nor will you. Ye are not to be
   carried away with the craftiness of men, nor sleight of words; this is
   the authoritative oracle--the Holy Ghost resting in the hearts of his
   children.

   The other translation is advocate. Have you ever thought how the Holy
   Ghost can be said to be an advocate? You know Jesus Christ is called
   the wonderful, the counsellor, the mighty God; but how can the Holy
   Ghost be said to be an advocate? I suppose it is thus; he is an
   advocate on earth to plead against the enemies of the cross. How was it
   that Paul could so ably plead before Felix and Agrippa? How was it that
   the Apostles stood unawed before the magistrates, and confessed their
   Lord? How has it come to pass, that in all times God's ministers have
   been made fearless as lions, and their brows have been firmer than
   brass; their hearts sterner than steel, and their words like the
   language of God? Why, it was simply for this reason; that it was not
   the man who pleaded, but it was God the Holy Ghost pleading through
   him. Have you never seen an earnest minister, with hands uplifted and
   eyes dropping tears, pleading with the sons of men? Have you never
   admired that portrait from the hand of old John Bunyan?--a grave person
   with eyes lifted up to heaven, the best of books in his hand, the law
   of truth written on his lips, the world behind his back, standing as if
   he pleaded with men, and a crown of gold hanging over his head. Who
   gave that minister so blessed a manner, and such goodly matter? Whence
   came his skill? Did he acquire it in the college? Did he learn it in
   the seminary? Ah, no. He learned it of the God of Jacob; he learned it
   of the Holy Ghost; for the Holy Ghost is the great counsellor who
   teaches us how to advocate his cause aright.

   But, beside this, the Holy Ghost is the advocate in men's hearts. Ah! I
   have known men reject a doctrine until the Holy Ghost began to
   illuminate them. We, who are the advocates of the truth, are often very
   poor pleaders; we spoil our cause by the words we use; but it is a
   mercy that the brief is in the hand of a special pleader, who will
   advocate successfully, and overcome the sinner's opposition. Did you
   ever know him fail once? Brethren, I speak to your souls; has not God
   in old times convinced you of sin? Did not the Holy Ghost come and
   prove that you were guilty, although no minister could ever get you out
   of your self-righteousness? Did he not advocate Christ's righteousness?
   Did he not stand and tell you that your works were filthy rags? And
   when you had well-nigh still refused to listen to his voice, did he not
   fetch hell's drum and make it sound about your ears; bidding you look
   through the vista of future years, and see the throne set, and the
   books open, and the sword brandished, and hell burning, and fiends
   howling, and the damned shrieking forever? And did he not convince you
   of the judgment to come? He is a mighty advocate when he pleads in the
   soul--of sin, of righteousness, and of the judgment to come. Blessed
   advocate! Plead in my heart; plead with my conscience. When I sin, make
   conscience bold to tell me of it; when I err, make conscience speak at
   once; and when I turn aside to crooked ways, then advocate the cause of
   righteousness, and bid me sit down in confusion, knowing by guiltiness
   in the sight of God.

   But there is yet another sense in which the Holy Ghost advocates, and
   that is, he advocates our cause with Jesus Christ, with groanings that
   cannot be uttered. O my soul! thou art ready to burst within me. O my
   heart! thou art swelled with grief. The hot tide of my emotion would
   well-nigh overflood the channels of my veins. I long to speak, but the
   very desire chains my tongue. I wish to pray, but the fervency of my
   feeling curbs my language. There is a groaning within that cannot be
   uttered. Do you know who can utter that groaning? who can understand
   it, and who can put it into heavenly language, and utter it in a
   celestial tongue, so that Christ can hear it? O yes; it is God the Holy
   Spirit; he advocates our cause with Christ, and then Christ advocates
   it with his Father. He is the advocate who maketh intercession for us,
   with groanings that cannot be uttered.

   Having thus explained the Spirit's office as a teacher and advocate, we
   now come to the translation of our version--the Comforter; and here I
   shall have three divisions: first, the comforter; secondly, the
   comfort; and thirdly, the comforted.

   I. First, then, the COMFORTER. Briefly let me run over in my mind, and
   in your minds too, the characteristics of this glorious Comforter. Let
   me tell you some of the attributes of his comfort, so that you may
   understand how well adapted he is to your case.

   And first, we will remark, that God the Holy Ghost is a very loving
   Comforter. I am in distress, and I want consolation. Some passer-by
   hears of my sorrow, and he steps within, sits down, and essays to cheer
   me; he speaks soothing words, but he loves me not; he is a stranger; he
   knows me not at all; he has only come in to try his skill. And what is
   the consequence? His words run o'er me like oil upon a slab of
   marble--they are like the pattering rain upon the rock; they do not
   break my grief; it stands unmoved as adamant, because he has no love
   for me. But let some one who loves me dear as his own life, come and
   plead with me, then truly his words are music; they taste like honey;
   he knows the password of the doors of my heart, and my ear is attentive
   to every word; I catch the intonation of each syllable as it falls, for
   it is like the harmony of the harps of heaven. Oh! there is a voice in
   love, it speaks a language which is its own; it has an idiom and a
   brogue which none can mimic; wisdom cannot imitate it; oratory cannot
   attain unto it; it is love alone which can reach the mourning heart;
   love is the only handkerchief which can wipe the mourner's tears away.
   And is not the Holy Ghost a loving comforter? Dost thou know, O saint,
   how much the Holy Spirit loves thee? Canst thou measure the love of the
   Spirit? Dost thou know how great is the affection of his soul towards
   thee? Go measure heaven with thy span; go weigh the mountains in the
   scales; go take the ocean's water, and tell each drop; go count the
   sand upon the sea's wide shore; and when thou hast accomplished this,
   thou canst tell how much he loveth thee. He has loved thee long, he has
   loved thee well, he loved thee ever, and he still shall love thee;
   surely he is the person to comfort thee, because he loves. Admit him,
   then, to your heart, O Christian, that he may comfort you in your
   distress.

   But next, he is a faithful Comforter. Love sometimes proveth
   unfaithful. "Oh! sharper than a serpent's tooth" is an unfaithful
   friend! Oh! far more bitter than the gall of bitterness, to have a
   friend turn from me in my distress! Oh! woe of woes, to have one who
   loves me in my prosperity, forsake me in the dark day of my trouble.
   Sad indeed; but such is not God's Spirit. He ever loves, and loves even
   to the end--a faithful Comforter. Child of God, you are in trouble. A
   little while ago, you found him a sweet and loving Comforter; you
   obtained relief from him when others were but broken cisterns; he
   sheltered you in his bosom, and carried you in his arms. Oh, wherefore
   dost thou distrust him now? Away with thy fears; for he is a faithful
   Comforter. "Ah! but," thou sayest, "I fear I shall be sick, and shall
   be deprived of his ordinances." Nevertheless he shall visit thee on thy
   sick bed, and sit by thy side, to give thee consolation. "Ah! but I
   have distresses greater than you can conceive of; wave upon wave
   rolleth over me; deep calleth unto deep, at the noise of the Eternal's
   waterspouts." Nevertheless, he will be faithful to his promise. "Ah!
   but I have sinned." So thou hast, but sin cannot sever thee from his
   love; he loves thee still. Think not, O poor downcast child of God,
   because the scars of thine old sins have marred thy beauty, that he
   loves thee less because of that blemish. O no! He loved thee when he
   foreknew thy sin; he loved thee with the knowledge of what the
   aggregate of thy wickedness would be; and he does not love thee less
   now. Come to him in all boldness of faith; tell him thou hast grieved
   him, and he will forget thy wandering, and will receive thee again; the
   kisses of his love shall be bestowed upon thee, and the arms of his
   grace shall embrace thee. He is faithful; trust him, he will never
   deceive you; trust him, he will never leave you.

   Again, he is an unwearied Comforter. I have sometimes tried to comfort
   persons, and have been tired. You, now and then, meet with a case of a
   nervous person. You ask, "What is your trouble?" You are told; and you
   essay, if possible, to remove it; but while you are preparing your
   artillery to battle the trouble, you find that it has shifted its
   quarters, and is occupying quite a different position. You change your
   argument and begin again; but lo, it is again gone, and you are
   bewildered. You feel like Hurcules, cutting off the evergrowing heads
   of the Hydra, and you give up your task in despair. You meet with
   persons whom it is impossible to comfort, reminding one of the man who
   locked himself up in fetters, and threw the key away, so that nobody
   could unlock him. I have found some in the fetters of despair. "O, I am
   the man," say they, "that has seen affliction; pity me, pity me, O, my
   friends;" and the more you try to comfort such people, the worse they
   get; and, therefore, out of all heart, we leave them to wander alone
   among the tombs of their former joys. But the Holy Ghost is never out
   of heart with those whom he wishes to comfort. He attempts to comfort
   us, and we run away from the sweet cordial; he gives us some sweet
   draught to cure us, and we will not drink it; he gives some wondrous
   potion to charm away all our troubles, and we put it away from us.
   Still be pursues us; and though we say that we will not be comforted,
   he says we shall be, and when he has said, he does it; he is not to be
   wearied by all our sins, nor by all our murmurings.

   And oh, how wise a Comforter is the Holy Ghost. Job had comforters, and
   I think he spoke the truth when he said, "Miserable comforters are ye
   all." But I dare say they esteemed themselves wise; and when the young
   man Elihu rose to speak, they thought he had a world of impudence. Were
   they not "grave and reverend seigniors?" Did not they comprehend his
   grief and sorrow? If they could not comfort him, who could? But they
   did not find out the cause. They thought he was not really a child of
   God, that he was self-righteous, and they gave him the wrong physic. It
   is a bad case when the doctor mistakes a disease and gives a wrong
   prescription, and so perhaps kills the patient. Sometimes, when we go
   and visit people, we mistake their disease; we want to comfort them on
   this point, whereas they do not require any such comfort at all, and
   they would be better left alone, than spoiled by such unwise comforters
   as we are. But oh, how wise the Holy Spirit is! He takes the soul, lays
   it on the table, and dissects it in a moment; he finds out the root of
   the matter, he sees where the complaint is, and then he applies the
   knife where something is required to be taken away, or puts a plaster
   where the sore is; and he never mistakes. O how wise is the blessed
   Holy Ghost; from ever comforter I turn, and leave them all, for thou
   art he who alone givest the wisest consolation.

   Then mark, how safe a Comforter the Holy Ghost is. All comfort is not
   safe, mark that. There is a young man over there very melancholy. You
   know how he became so. He stepped into the house of God and heard a
   powerful preacher, and the word was blessed, and convinced him of sin.
   When he went home, his father and the rest found there was something
   different about him, "Oh," they said, "John is mad, he is crazy;" and
   what said his mother? "Send him into the country for a week; let him go
   to the ball or the theatre." John, did you find any comfort there? "Ah
   no; they made me worse, for while I was there I thought hell might open
   and swallow me up." Did you find any relief in the gayeties of the
   world? "No," say you, "I thought it was idle waste of time." Alas! this
   is miserable comfort, but it is the comfort of the worldling; and, when
   a Christian gets into distress, how many will recommend him this remedy
   and the other. "Go and hear Mr. So-and-so preach;" "have a few friends
   at you house;" "Read such-and-such a consoling volume;" and very likely
   it is the most unsafe advice in the world. The devil will sometimes
   come to men's souls as a false comforter; and he will say to the soul,
   "What need is there to make all this ado about repentance? you are no
   worse than other people;" and he will try to make the soul believe,
   that what is presumption, is the real assurance of the Holy Ghost; thus
   he deceives many by false comfort. Ah! there have been many, like
   infants, destroyed by elixirs, given to lull them to sleep; many have
   been ruined by the cry of "peace, peace," when there is no peace;
   hearing gentle things, when they ought to be stirred to the quick.
   Cleopatra's asp was brought in a basket of flowers; and men's ruin
   often lurks in fair and sweet speeches. But the Holy Ghost's comfort is
   safe, and you may rest on it. Let him speak the word, and there is a
   reality about it; let him give the cup of consolation, and you may
   drink it to the bottom; for in its depths there are no dregs, nothing
   to intoxicate or ruin, it is all safe.

   Moreover, the Holy Ghost is an active Comforter; he does not comfort by
   words, but by deeds. Some comfort by, "Be ye warmed, and be ye filled,
   giving nothing." But the Holy Ghost gives, he intercedes with Jesus; he
   gives us promises, he gives us grace, and so he comforts us. Mark
   again, he is always a successful Comforter; he never attempts what he
   cannot accomplish.

   Then, to close up, he is an ever-present Comforter, so that you never
   have to send for him. Your God is always near you; and when you need
   comfort in your distress, behold the word is nigh thee; it is in thy
   mouth, and in thy heart. He is an ever-present help in time of trouble.
   I wish I had time to expand these thoughts, but I cannot.

   II. The second thing is the COMFORT. Now there are some persons who
   make a great mistake about the influence of the Holy Spirit. A foolish
   man, who had a fancy to preach in a certain pulpit, though in truth he
   was quite incapable of the duty, called upon the minister, and assured
   him solemnly, that it had been revealed to him by the Holy Ghost that
   he was to preach in his pulpit. "Very well," said the minister, "I
   suppose I must not doubt your assertion, but as it has not been
   revealed to me that I am to let you preach, you must go your way, until
   it is." I have heard many fanatical persons say the Holy Spirit
   revealed this and that to them. Now, that is very generally revealed
   nonsense. The Holy Ghost does not reveal anything fresh now. He brings
   old things to our remembrance. "He shall teach you all things, and
   bring all things to your remembrance, whatsoever I have told you." The
   canon of revelation is closed, there is no more to be added; God does
   not give a fresh revelation, but he rivets the old one. When it has
   been forgotten, and laid in the dusty chamber of our memory, he fetches
   it out and cleans the picture, but does not paint a new one. There are
   no new doctrines, but the old ones are often revived. It is not, I say,
   by any new revelation that the Spirit comforts. He does so by telling
   us old things over again; he brings a fresh lamp to manifest the
   treasures hidden in Scripture; he unlocks the strong chests in which
   the truth has long lain, and he points to secret chamber filled with
   untold riches; but he coins no more, for enough is done. Believer!
   there is enough in the Bible for thee to live upon forever. If thou
   shouldst outnumber the years of Methuselah, there would be no need for
   a fresh revelation; if thou shouldst live till Christ should come upon
   the earth, there would be no need for the addition of a single word; if
   thou shouldst go down as deep as Jonah, or even descend as David said
   he did into the belly of hell, still there would be enough in the Bible
   to comfort thee without a supplementary sentence. But Christ says, "He
   shall take of mine, and show it unto you." Now, let me just tell you
   briefly what it is the Holy Ghost tells us.

   Ah! does he not whisper to the heart, "Saint, be of good cheer; there
   is one who died for thee; look to Calvary, behold his wounds, see the
   torrent gushing from his side--there is thy purchaser, and thou art
   secure. He loves thee with an everlasting love, and this chastisement
   is meant for thy good; each stroke is working thy healing; by the
   blueness of the wound thy soul is made better." "Whom he loveth he
   chasteneth, and scourgeth every son whom he receiveth." Doubt not his
   grace, because of thy tribulation; but believe that he loveth thee as
   much in seasons of trouble, as in times of happiness. And then,
   moreover, he says, "What is all thy suffering compared with that of thy
   Lord's? or what, when weighed in the scales of Jesus' agonies, is all
   thy distress? And especially at times does the Holy Ghost take back the
   veil of heaven, and lets the soul behold the glory of the upperworld!
   Then it is that the saint can say, "O thou art a Comforter to me!"

   "Let cares like a wild deluge come,

   And storms of sorrow fall;

   May I but safely reach my home,

   My God, my heaven, my all."

   Some of you could follow, were I to tell of manifestations of heaven.
   You, too, have left sun, moon, and stars at your feet, while, in you
   flight, outstripping the tardy lightning, you have seemed to enter the
   gates of pearl, and tread the golden streets, borne aloft on wings of
   the Spirit. But here we must not trust ourselves; lest, lost in
   reverie, we forget our theme.

   III. And now, thirdly, who are the comforted persons? I like, you know,
   at the end of my sermon to cry out, "Divide! divide!" There are two
   parties here--some who are comforted, and others who are the
   comfortless ones--some who have received the consolations of the Holy
   Ghost, and some who have not. Now let us try and sift you, and see
   which is the chaff and which is the wheat; and may God grant that some
   of the chaff may, this night, be transformed into his wheat!

   You may say, "How am I to know whether I am a recipient of the comfort
   of the Holy Ghost?" You may know it by one rule. If you have received
   one blessing from God, you will receive all other blessings too. Let me
   explain myself. If I could come here as an auctioneer, and sell the
   gospel off in lots, I should dispose of it all. If I could say, here is
   justification through the blood of Christ--free; giving away, gratis;
   many a one would say, "I will have justification; give it to me; I wish
   to be justified; I wish to be pardoned." Suppose I took sanctification,
   the giving up of all sin, a thorough change of heart, leaving off
   drunkenness and swearing; many would say, "I don't want that; I should
   like to go to heaven, but I do not want that holiness; I should like to
   be saved at last, but I should like to have my drink still; I should
   like to enter glory, but then I must have an oath or two on the road."
   Nay, but, sinner, if thou hast one blessing, thou shalt have all. God
   will never divide the gospel. He will not give justification to that
   man, and sanctification to another--pardon to one, and holiness to
   another. No, it all goes together. Whom he call, them he justifies;
   whom he justifies, them he sanctifies; and whom he sanctifies, them he
   also glorifies. Oh; if I could lay down nothing but the comforts of the
   gospel, ye would fly to them as flies do to honey. When ye come to be
   ill, ye send for the clergyman. Ah! you all want your minister then to
   come and give you consoling words. But, if he be an honest man, he will
   not give some of you a particle of consolation. He will not commence
   pouring oil, when the knife would be better. I want to make a man feel
   his sins before I dare tell him anything about Christ. I want to probe
   into his soul and make him feel that he is lost before I tell him
   anything about the purchased blessing. It is the ruin of many to tell
   them, "Now just believe on Christ, and that is all you have to do." If,
   instead of dying, they get better, they rise up white-washed
   hypocrites--that is all. I have heard of a city missionary who kept a
   record of two thousand persons who were supposed to be on their
   death-bed, but recovered, and whom he should have put down as converted
   persons had they died; and how many do you think lived a Christian life
   afterwards out of the two thousand? Not two. Positively he could only
   find one who was found to live afterwards in the fear of God. Is it not
   horrible that when men and women come to die, they should cry,
   "Comfort, comfort?" and that hence their friends conclude that they are
   children of God, while, after all, they have no right to consolation,
   but are intruders upon the enclosed grounds of the blessed God. O God,
   may these people ever be kept from having comfort when they have no
   right to it! Have you the other blessings? Have you had the conviction
   of sin? Have you ever felt your guilt before God? Have your souls been
   humbled at Jesus' feet? And have you been made to look to Calvary alone
   for your refuge? If not, you have no right to consolation. Do not take
   an atom of it. The Spirit is a convincer before he is a Comforter; and
   you must have the other operations of the Holy Spirit, before you can
   derive anything from this.

   And now I have done. You have heard what this babbler hath said once
   more. What has it been? Something about the Comforter. But let me ask
   you, before you go, what do you know about the Comforter? Each one of
   you, before descending the steps of this chapel, let this solemn
   question thrill through your souls--What do you know of the Comforter?
   O! poor souls, if ye know not the Comforter, I will tell you what you
   shall know--You shall know the Judge! If ye know not the Comforter on
   earth, ye shall know the Condemner in the next world, who shall cry,
   "Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire in hell." Well might
   Whitefield call out, "O earth, earth, earth, hear the word of the
   Lord!" If ye were to live here forever, ye might slight the gospel; if
   ye had a lease of your lives, ye might despise the Comforter. But,
   sirs, ye must die. Since last we met together, probably some have gone
   to their long last home; and ere we meet again in this sanctuary, some
   here will be amongst the glorified above, or amongst the damned below.
   Which will it be? Let you soul answer. If to-night you fell down dead
   in your pews, or where you are standing in the gallery, where would you
   be? in heaven or in hell? Ah! deceive not yourselves; let conscience
   have its perfect work; and if in the sight of God, you are obliged to
   say, "I tremble and fear lest my portion should be with unbelievers,"
   listen one moment, and then I have done with thee. "He that believeth
   and is baptized shall be saved, and he that believeth not shall be
   damned." Weary sinner, hellish sinner, thou who art the devil's
   castaway, reprobate, profligate, harlot, robber, thief, adulterer,
   fornicator, drunkard, swearer, Sabbath-breaker--list! I speak to thee
   as well as to the rest. I exempt no man. God hath said there is no
   exemption here. "Whosoever believeth on the name of Jesus Christ shall
   be saved." Sin is no barrier; thy guilt is no obstacle.
   Whosoever--though he were as black as Satan, though he were filthy as a
   fiend--whosoever this night believes, shall have every sin forgiven,
   shall have every crime effaced; shall have ever iniquity blotted out;
   shall be saved in the Lord Jesus Christ, and shall stand in heaven safe
   and secure. That is the glorious gospel. God apply it to your hearts,
   and give you faith in Jesus!

   "We have listened to the preacher--

   Truth by him has now been shown;

   But we want a GREATER TEACHER,

   From the everlasting throne;

   APPLICATION

   Is the work of God alone."
     __________________________________________________________________

                        Sweet Comfort for Feeble Saints

   A Sermon

   (No. 6)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 4, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "A bruised reed shall he not break, and smoking flax shall he not
   quench, till he send forth judgment unto victory"--Matthew 12:20.

   Babbling fame ever loves to talk of one man or another. Some there be
   whose glory it trumpets forth, and whose honor it extols above the
   heavens. Some are her favorites, and their names are carved on marble,
   and heard in every land, and every clime. Fame is not an impartial
   judge; she has her favorites. Some men she extols, exalts, and almost
   deifies; others, whose virtues are far greater, and whose characters
   are more deserving of commendation, she passes by unheeded, and puts
   the finger of silence on her lips. You will generally find that those
   persons beloved by fame are men made of brass or iron, and cast in a
   rough mould. Fame caresseth Caesar, because he ruled the earth with a
   rod of iron. Fame loves Luther, because he boldly and manfully defied
   the Pope of Rome, and with knit brow dared laugh at the thunders of the
   Vatican. Fame admires Knox; for he was stern, and proved himself the
   bravest of the brave. Generally, you will find her choosing out the men
   of fire and mettle, who stood before their fellow-creatures fearless of
   them; men who were made of courage; who were consolidated lumps of
   fearlessness, and never knew what timidity might be. But you know there
   is another class of persons equally virtuous, and equally to be
   esteemed--perhaps even more so--whom fame entirely forgets. You do not
   hear her talk of the gentle-minded Melancthon--she says but little of
   him--yet he did as much, perhaps, in the Reformation, as even the
   mighty Luther. You do not hear fame talk much of the sweet and blessed
   Rutherford, and of the heavenly words that distilled from his lips; or
   of Archbishop Leighton, of whom it was said, that he was never out of
   temper in his life. She loves the rough granite peaks that defy the
   storm-cloud: she does not care for the more humble stone in the valley,
   on which the weary traveller resteth; she wants something bold and
   prominent; something that courts popularity; something that stands out
   before the world. She does not care for those who retreat in shade.
   Hence it is, my brethren, that the blessed Jesus, our adorable Master,
   has escaped fame. No one says much about Jesus, except his followers.
   We do not find his name written amongst the great and mighty men;
   though, in truth, he is the greatest, mightiest, holiest, purest, and
   best of men that ever lived; but because he was "Gentle Jesus, meek and
   mild," and was emphatically the man whose kingdom is not of this world;
   because he had nothing of the rough about him, but was all love;
   because his words were softer than butter, his utterances more gentle
   in their flow than oil; because never man spake so gently as this man;
   therefore he is neglected and forgotten. He did not come to be a
   conqueror with his sword, nor a Mohammed with his fiery eloquence; but
   he came to speak with a "still small voice," that melteth the rocky
   heart; that bindeth up the broken in spirit, and that continually
   saith, "Come unto me all ye that are weary and heavy laden;" "Take my
   yoke upon you and learn of me, for I am meek and lowly of heart, and ye
   shall find rest unto your souls." Jesus Christ was all gentleness; and
   this is why he has not been extolled amongst men as otherwise he would
   have been. Beloved! our text is full of gentleness; it seems to have
   been steeped in love; and I hope I may be able to show you something of
   the immense sympathy and the mighty tenderness of Jesus, as I attempt
   to speak from it. There are three things to be noticed: first, mortal
   frailty; secondly, divine compassion; and thirdly, certain
   triumph--"till he send forth judgment unto victory."

I. First, we have before us a view of MORTAL FRAILTY

   --bruised reed and smoking flax--two very suggestive metaphors, and
   very full of meaning. If it were not too fanciful--and if it is I know
   you will excuse me--I should say that the bruised reed is an emblem of
   a sinner in the first stage of his conviction. The work of God's Holy
   Spirit begins with bruising. In order to be saved, the fallow ground
   must be ploughed up; the hard heart must be broken; the rock must be
   split in sunder. An old divine says there is no going to heaven without
   passing hard by the gates of hell--without a great deal of soul-trouble
   and heart-exercise. I take it then that the bruised reed is a picture
   of the poor sinner when first God commences his operation upon the
   soul; he is as a bruised reed, almost entirely broken and consumed;
   there is but little strength in him. The smoking flax I conceive to be
   a backsliding Christian; one who has been a burning and a shining light
   in his day, but by neglect of the means of grace, the withdrawal of
   God's Spirit, and falling into sin, his light is almost gone out--not
   quite--it never can go out, for Christ saith, "I will not quench it;"
   but it becomes like a lamp when ill supplied with oil--almost useless.
   It is not quite extinguished--it smokes--it was a useful lamp once, but
   now it has become as smoking flax. So I think these metaphors very
   likely describe the contrite sinner as a bruised reed, and the
   backsliding Christian as smoking flax. However, I shall not choose to
   make such a division as that, but I shall put both the metaphors
   together, and I hope we may fetch out a few thoughts from them.

   And first, the encouragement offered in our text applies to weak ones.
   What in the world is weaker than the bruised reed, or the smoking flax?
   A reed that groweth in the fen or marsh, let but the wild duck light
   upon it, and it snaps; let but the foot of man brush against it and it
   is bruised and broken; every wind that comes howling across the river
   makes it shake to and fro, and well nigh tears it up by the roots. You
   can conceive of nothing more frail or brittle, or whose existence
   depends more upon circumstances that a bruised reed. Then look at
   smoking flax--what is it? It has a spark within it, it is true, but it
   is almost smothered; an infant's breath might blow it out; or the tears
   of a maiden quench it in a moment; nothing has a more precarious
   existence than the little spark hidden in the smoking flax. Weak
   things, you see, are here described. Well, Christ says of them, "The
   smoking flax I will not quench; the bruised reed I will not break." Let
   me go in search of the weaklings. Ah! I shall not have to go far. There
   are many in this house of prayer this morning who are indeed weak. Some
   of God's children, blessed be his name, are made strong to do mighty
   works for him; God hath his Samsons here and there who can pull up
   Gaza's gates, and carry them to the top of the hill; he hath here and
   there his mighty Gideons, who can go to the camp of the Midianites, and
   overthrow their hosts; he hath his mighty men, who can go into the pit
   in winter, and slay the lions; but the majority of his people are a
   timid, weak race. They are like the starlings that are frightened at
   every passer by; a little fearful flock. If temptation comes, they fall
   before it; if trial comes, they are overwhelmed by it; their frail
   skiff is danced up and down by every wave; and when the wind comes,
   they are drifted along like a sea-bird on the crest of the billows;
   weak things, without strength, without force, without might, without
   power. Ah! dear friends, I know I have got hold of some of your hands
   now, and your hearts too; for you are saying, "Weak! Ah, that I am.
   Full often I am constrained to say, I would, but cannot sing; I would,
   but cannot pray; I would, but cannot believe." You are saying that you
   cannot do anything; your best resolves are weak and vain; and when you
   cry, "My strength renew," you feel weaker than before. You are weak,
   are you? Bruised reeds and smoking flax? Blessed be God, this text is
   for you then. I am glad you can come in under the denomination of weak
   ones, for here is a promise that he will never break nor quench them,
   but will sustain and hold them up. I know there are some very strong
   people here--I mean strong in their own ideas. I often meet with
   persons who would not confess any such weakness as this. They are
   strong minds. They say, "Do you think that we go into sin, sir? Do you
   tell us that our hearts are corrupt? We do not believe any such thing;
   we are good, and pure, and upright; we have strength and might." To you
   I am not preaching this morning; to you I am saying nothing; but take
   heed--your strength is vanity, your power is a delusion, your might is
   a lie--for however much you may boast in what you can do, it shall pass
   away; when you come to the real contest with death, you shall find that
   you have no strength to grapple with it: when one of these days of
   strong temptation shall come, it will take hold of you, moral man, and
   down you will go; and the glorious livery of your morality will be so
   stained, that though you wash your hands in snow water, and make
   yourselves never so clean, you shall be so polluted that your own
   clothes shall abhor you. I think it is a blessed thing to be weak. The
   weak one is a sacred thing; the Holy Ghost has made him such. Can you
   say, "No strength have I?" Then this text is for you.

   Secondly, the things mentioned in our text are not only weak, but
   worthless things. I have heard of a man who would pick up a pin as he
   walked along the street, on the principle of economy; but I never yet
   heard of a man who would stop to pick up bruised reeds. They are not
   worth having. Who would care to have a bruised reed--a piece of rush
   lying on the ground? We all despise it as worthless. And smoking flax,
   what is the worth of that? It is an offensive and noxious thing; but
   the worth of it is nothing. No one would give the snap of a finger
   either for the bruised reed or smoking flax. Well, then, beloved, in
   our estimation there are many of us who are worthless things. There are
   some here, who, if they could weigh themselves in the scales of the
   sanctuary, and put their own hearts into the balance of conscience,
   would appear to be good for nothing--worthless, useless. There was a
   time when you thought yourselves to be the very best people in the
   world--when if any one had said that you had more than you deserved,
   you would have kicked at it, and said, "I believe I am as good as other
   people." You thought yourselves something wonderful--extremely worthy
   of God's love and regard; but you now feel yourselves to be worthless.
   Sometimes you imagine God can hardly know where you are, you are such a
   despicable creature--so worthless--not worth his consideration. You can
   understand how he can look upon an animalcule in a drop of water, or
   upon a grain of dust in the sunbeam, or upon the insect of the summer
   evening; but you can hardly tell how he can think of you, you appear so
   worthless--a dead blank in the world, a useless thing. You say, "What
   good am I? I am doing nothing. As for a minister of the gospel, he is
   of some service; as for a deacon of the church, he is of some use; as
   for a Sabbath-school teacher, he is doing some good; but of what
   service am I?" But you might ask the same question here. What is the
   use of a bruised reed? Can a man lean upon it? Can a man strengthen
   himself therewith? Shall it be a pillar in my house? Can you bind it up
   into the pipes of Pan, and make music come from a bruised reed? Ah! no;
   it is of no service. And of what use is smoking flax? the midnight
   traveller cannot be lighted by it; the student cannot read by the flame
   of it. It is of no use; men throw it into the fire and consume it. Ah!
   that is how you talk of yourselves. You are good for nothing, so are
   these things. But Christ will not throw you away because you are of no
   value. You do not know of what use you may be, and you cannot tell how
   Jesus Christ values you after all. There is a good woman there, a
   mother, perhaps, she says, "Well, I do not often go out--I keep house
   with my children, and seem to be doing no good." Mother, do not say so,
   your position is a high, lofty, responsible one; and in training up
   children for the Lord, you are doing as much for his name as yon
   eloquent Apollos, who so valiantly preached the word. And you, poor
   man, all you can do is to toil from morning till night, and earn just
   enough to enable you to live day by day, you have nothing to give away,
   and when you go to the Sabbath-school, you can just read, you cannot
   teach much--well, but unto him to whom little is given of him little is
   required. Do you not know that there is such a thing as glorifying God
   by sweeping the street crossing? If two angels were sent down to earth,
   one to rule an empire, and the other to sweep a street, they would have
   no choice in the matter, so long as God ordered them. So God, in his
   providence, has called you to work hard for your daily bread; do it to
   his glory. "Whatsoever ye do, whether ye eat or drink, do all to his
   honor." But, ah! I know there are some of you here who seem useless to
   the Church. You do all you can; but when you have done it, it is
   nothing; you can neither help us with money, nor talents, nor time,
   and, therefore, you think God must cast you out. You think if you were
   like Paul or Peter you might be safe. Ah! beloved, talk not so; Jesus
   Christ saith he will not quench the useless flax, nor break the
   worthless bruised reed; he has something for the useless and for the
   worthless ones. But mark you, I do not say this to excuse laziness--to
   excuse those that can do, but do not; that is a very different thing.
   There is a whip for the ass, a scourge for idle men, and they must have
   it sometimes. I am speaking now of those who cannot do it; not of
   Issacher, who is like a strong ass, crouching down between two burdens,
   and too lazy to get up with them. I say nothing for the sluggard, who
   will not plough by reason of the cold, but of the men and women who
   really feel that they can be of little service--who cannot do more; and
   to such, the words of the text are applicable.

   Now we will make another remark. The two things here mentioned are
   offensive things. A bruised reed is offensive, for I believe there is
   an allusion here to the pipes of Pan, which you all know are reeds put
   together, along which a man moves his mouth, thus causing some kind of
   music. This is the organ, I believe which Jubal invented, and which
   David mentions, for it is certain that the organ we use was not then in
   use. The bruised reed, then, would of course spoil the melody of all
   the pipes; one unsound tube would so let the air out, as to produce a
   discordant sound, or no sound at all, so that one's impulse would be to
   take the pipe out and put in a fresh one. And, as for smoking flax, the
   wick of a candle or anything of that kind, I need not inform you that
   the smoke is offensive. To me no odour in all the world is so
   abominably offensive as smoking flax. But some say, "How can you speak
   in so low a style?" I have not gone lower than I could go myself, nor
   lower than you can go with me; for I am sure you are, if God the Holy
   Ghost has really humbled you, just as offensive to your own souls, and
   just as offensive to God as a bruised reed would be among the pipes, or
   as smoking flax to the eyes and nose. I often think of dear old John
   Bunyan, when he said he wished God had made him a toad, or a frog, or a
   snake, or anything rather than a man, for he felt he was so offensive.
   Oh! I can conceive a nest of vipers, and I think that they are
   obnoxious; I can imagine a pool of all kinds of loathsome creatures,
   breeding corruption, but there is nothing one half so worthy of
   abhorrence as the human heart. God spares from all eyes but his own
   that awful sight--a human heart; and could you and I but once see our
   heart, we should be driven mad, so horrible would be the sight. Do you
   feel like that? Do you feel that you must be offensive in God's
   sight--that you have so rebelled against him, so turned away from his
   commandments, that surely you must be obnoxious to him? If so, my text
   is yours.

   Now, I can imagine some woman here this morning who has departed from
   the paths of virtue; and, while she is standing in the throng up there,
   or sitting down, she feels as if she had no right to tread these
   hallowed courts, and stand among God's people. She thinks that God
   might almost make the chapel break down upon her to destroy her, she is
   so great a sinner. Never mind, broken reed and smoking flax! Though
   thou art the scorn of man, and loathsome to thyself, yet Jesus saith to
   thee, "Neither do I condemn thee; go, and sin no more, lest a worse
   thing come unto thee." There is some man here who hath something in his
   heart that I know not of--who may have committed crimes in secret, that
   we will not mention in public; his sins stick like a leech to him, and
   rob him of all comfort. Here you are young man, shaking and trembling,
   lest your crime should be divulged before high heaven; you are broken
   down, bruised like a reed, smoking like flax. Ah! I have a word for
   thee too. Comfort! comfort! comfort! Despair not; for Jesus saith he
   will not quench the smoking flax, he will not break the bruised reed.

   And yet, my dear friends, there is one thought before I turn away from
   this point. Both of these articles, however worthless they may be, may
   yet be of some service. When God puts his hand to a man, if he were
   worthless and useless before, he can make him very valuable. You know
   the price of an article does not depend so much upon the value of the
   raw material to begin with--bruised reeds and smoking flax; but by
   Divine workmanship both these things become of wondrous value. You tell
   me the bruised reed is good for nothing; I tell you that Christ will
   take that bruised reed and mend it up, and fit it in the pipes of
   heaven. Then when the grand orchestra shall send forth its music, when
   the organs of the skies shall peal forth their deep-toned sounds, we
   shall ask, "What was that sweet note heard there, mingling with the
   rest?" And some one shall say, "It was a bruised reed." Ah! Mary
   Magdalene's voice in heaven, I imagine, sounds more sweet and liquid
   than any other; and the voice of that poor thief, who said "Lord,
   remember me," if it is a deep bass voice, is more mellow and more sweet
   than the voice of any other, because he loved much, for he had much
   forgiven him. This reed may yet be of use. Do not say you are good for
   nothing; you shall sing up in heaven yet. Do not say you are worthless;
   at last you shall stand before the throne among the blood-washed
   company, and shall sing God's praise. Ay! and the smoking flax too,
   what good can that be? I will soon tell you. There is a spark in that
   flax somewhere; it is nearly out, but still a spark remaineth. Behold
   the prairie on fire! See you the flames come rolling on? See you stream
   after stream of hot fire deluging the plain till all the continent is
   burnt and scorched--till heaven is reddened with the flame? Old night's
   black face is scarred with the burning, and the stars appear affrighted
   at the conflagration. How was that mass ignited? By a piece of smoking
   flax dropped by some traveller, fanned by the soft wind, till the whole
   prairie caught the flame. So one poor man, one ignorant man, one weak
   man, even one backsliding man, may be the means of the conversion of a
   whole nation. Who knows but that you who are nothing now, may be of
   more use than those of us who appear to stand better before God,
   because we have more gifts and talents? God can make a spark set a
   world on fire--he can light up a whole nation with the spark of one
   poor praying soul. You may be useful yet; therefore be of good cheer.
   Moss groweth upon gravestones; the ivy clingeth to the mouldering pile;
   the mistletoe groweth on the dead branch; and even so shall grace, and
   piety, and virtue, and holiness, and goodness, come from smoking flax
   and bruised reeds.

   II. Thus, then, my dear friends, I have tried to find out the parties
   for whom this text is meant, and I have shown you somewhat of mortal
   frailty;

Now I mount a step higher--to DIVINE COMPASSION.

   "The bruised reed he will not break, the smoking flax he will not
   quench."

   Notice what is first of all stated, and then let me tell you that Jesus
   Christ means a great deal more than he says. First of all, what does he
   say? He says plainly enough that he will not break the bruised reed.
   There is a bruised reed before me--a poor child of God under a deep
   sense of sin. It seems as if the whip of the law would never stop. It
   keeps on, lash, lash, lash; and though you say, "Lord, stop it, and
   give me a little respite," still comes down the cruel thong, lash,
   lash, lash. You feel your sins. Ah! I know what you are saying this
   morning: "If God continues this a little longer my heart will break: I
   shall perish in despair; I am almost distracted by my sin; if I lie
   down at night I cannot sleep; it appears as if ghosts were in the
   room--ghosts of my sins--and when I awake at midnight, I see the black
   form of death staring at me, and saying, Thou art my prey, I shall have
   thee;' while hell behind seems to burn." Ah! poor bruised reed, he will
   not break you; conviction shall be too strong; it shall be great enough
   to melt thee, and to make thee go to Jesus' feet; but it shall not be
   strong enough to break thy heart altogether, so that thou shouldst die.
   Thou shalt never be driven to despair; but thou shalt be delivered;
   thou shalt come out of the fire, poor bruised reed, and shalt not be
   broken.

   So there is a backslider here this morning; he is like the smoking
   flax. Years gone by you found such happiness in the ways of the Lord,
   and such delight in his service, that you said, "There I would for ever
   stay.

   'What peaceful hours I then enjoyed;

   How sweet their memory still!

   But they have left an aching void,

   The world can never fill.'"

   You are smoking, and you think God will put you out. If I were an
   Arminian, I should tell you that he would; but being a believer in the
   Bible, and nothing else, I tell you that he will not quench you. Though
   you are smoking, you shall not die. Whatever your crime has been, the
   Lord says, "Return ye backsliding children of men, for I will have
   mercy upon you." He will not cast thee away, poor Ephraim; only come
   back to him--he will not despise thee, though thou hast plunged thyself
   in the mire and dirt, though thou art covered from head to foot with
   filthiness; come back, poor prodigal, come back, come back! Thy father
   calls thee. Hearken poor backslider! Come at once to him whose arms are
   ready to receive thee.

   It says he will not quench--he will not break. But there is more under
   cover than we see at first sight. When Jesus says he will not break, he
   means more than that; he means, "I will take that poor bruised reed; I
   will plant it hard by the rivers of waters, and (miracle of miracles) I
   will make it grow into a tree whose leaf shall not wither; I will water
   it every moment; I will watch it; there shall be heavenly fruits upon
   it; I will keep the birds of prey from it; but the birds of heaven, the
   sweet songsters of paradise shall make their dwellings in the
   branches." When he says that he will not break the bruised reed, he
   means more; he means that he will nourish, that he will help, and
   strengthen, and support and glorify--that he will execute his
   commission on it, and make it glorious for ever. And when he says to
   the backslider that he will not quench him, he means more than that--he
   means that he will fan him up to a flame. Some of you, I dare say, have
   gone home from chapel and found that your fire had gone nearly out; I
   know how you deal with it; you blow gently at the single spark, if
   there is one, and lest you should blow too hard, you hold your finger
   before it; and if you were alone and had but one match, or one spark in
   the tinder, how gently would you blow it. So, backslider, Jesus Christ
   deals with thee; he does not put thee out; he blows gently; he says, "I
   will not quench thee;" he means, "I will be very tender, very cautious,
   very careful;" he will put on dry material, so that by-and-by a little
   spark shall come to a flame, and blaze up towards heaven, and great
   shall be the fire thereof.

   Now I want to say one or two things to Little-Faiths this morning. The
   little children of God who are here mentioned as being bruised reeds or
   smoking flax are just as safe as the great saints of God. I wish for a
   moment to expand this thought, and then I will finish with the other
   head. These saints of God who are called bruised reeds and smoking flax
   are just as safe as those who are mighty for their Master, and great in
   strength, for several reasons. First of all, the little saint is just
   as much God's elect as the great saint. When God chose his people, he
   chose them all at once, and altogether; and he elected one just as much
   as the other. If I choose a certain number of things, one may be less
   than the rest, but one is as much chosen as the other; and so Mrs.
   Fearing and Miss Despondency are just as much elected as Great-Heart,
   or Old Father Honest. Again: the little ones are redeemed equally with
   the great ones! the feeble saints cost Christ as much suffering as the
   strong ones; the tiniest child of God could not have been purchased
   with less than Jesus' precious blood; and the greatest child of God did
   not cost him more. Paul did not cost any more than Benjamin--I am sure
   he did not--for I read in the Bible that "there is no difference."
   Besides, when of old they came to pay their redemption-money, every
   person brought a shekel. The poor shall bring no less, and the rich
   shall bring no more than just a shekel. The same price was paid for the
   one as the other. Now then little child of God, take that thought to
   thy soul. You see some men very prominent in Christ's cause--and it is
   very good that they should be--but they did not cost Jesus a farthing
   more than you did; he paid the same price for you that he paid for
   them. Recollect again, you are just as much a child of God as the
   greatest saint. Some of you have five or six children. There is one
   child of yours, perhaps, who is very tall and handsome, and has,
   moreover, gifts of mind; and you have another child who is the smallest
   of the family, perhaps has but little intellect and understanding. But
   which is the most your child? "The most!" you say; "both alike are my
   children, certainly, one as much as the other." And so, dear friends,
   you may have very little learning, you may be very dark about divine
   things, you may but "see men as trees walking," but you are as much the
   children of God as those who have grown to the stature of men in Christ
   Jesus. Then remember, poor tried saint, that you are just as much
   justified as any other child of God. I know that I am completely
   justified.

   His blood and righteousness

   My beauty are, my glorious dress.

   I want no other garments, save Jesus' doings, and his imputed
   righteousness.

   The boldest child of God wants no more; and I who am "less than the
   least of all saints," can be content with no less, and I shall have no
   less. O Ready-to-Halt, thou art as much justified as Paul, Peter, John
   the Baptist, or the loftiest saint in heaven. There is no difference in
   that matter. Oh! take courage and rejoice.

   Then one thing more. If you were lost, God's honor would be as much
   tarnished as if the greatest one were lost. A queer thing I once read
   in an old book about God's children and people being a part of Christ
   and in union with him. The writer says--"A father sitteth in his room,
   and there cometh in a stranger; the stranger taketh up a child on his
   knee, and the child hath a sore finger; so he saith, My child, you have
   a sore finger;' Yes!' Well, let me take it off, and give thee a golden
   one!' The child looketh at him and saith, I will not go to that man any
   more, for he talks of taking off my finger; I love my own finger, and I
   will not have a golden one instead of it.'" So the saint saith, "I am
   one of the members of Christ, but I am like a sore finger, and he will
   take me off and put a golden one on." "No," said Christ, "no, no; I
   cannot have any of my members taken away; if the finger be a sore one,
   I will bind it up; I will strengthen it." Christ cannot allow a word
   about cutting his members off. If Christ lose one of his people, he
   would not be a whole Christ any longer. If the meanest of his children
   could be cast away, Christ would lack a part of his fullness; yea,
   Christ would be incomplete without his Church. If one of his children
   must be lost, it would be better that it should be a great one, than a
   little one. If a little one were lost, Satan would say, "Ah! you save
   the great ones, because they had strength and could help themselves;
   but the little one that has no strength, you could not save him." You
   know what Satan would say; but God would shut Satan's mouth, by
   proclaiming, "They are all here, Satan, in spite of thy malice, they
   are all here; every one is safe; now lie down in thy den for ever, and
   be bound eternally in chains, and smoke in fire!" So shall he suffer
   eternal torment, but not one child of God ever shall.

   One thought more and I shall have done with this head. The salvation of
   great saints often depends upon the salvation of little ones. Do you
   understand that? You know that my salvation, or the salvation of any
   child of God, looking at second causes, very much depends upon the
   conversion of some one else. Suppose your mother is the means of your
   conversion, you would, speaking after the manner of men, say, that your
   conversion depended upon hers; for her being converted, made her the
   instrument of bringing you in. Suppose such-and-such a minister to be
   the means of your calling; then your conversion, in some sense, though
   not absolutely, depends upon his. So it often happens, that the
   salvation of God's mightiest servants depends upon the conversion of
   little ones. There is a poor mother; no one ever knows anything about
   her; she goes to the house of God, her name is not in the newspapers,
   or anywhere else; she teaches her child, and brings him up in the fear
   of God; she prays for that boy; she wrestles with God, and her tears
   and prayers mingle together. The boy grows up. What is he? A
   missionary--a William Knibb--a Moffat--a Williams. But you do not hear
   anything about the mother. Ah! but if the mother had not been saved,
   where would the boy have been? Let this cheer the little ones; and may
   you rejoice that he will nourish and cherish you, though you are like
   bruised reeds and smoking flax.

Now, to finish up, there is a CERTAIN VICTORY.

   "Till he send forth judgment unto victory."

   Victory! There is something beautiful in that word. The death of Sir
   John Moore, in the Peninsular war, was very touching; he fell in the
   arms of triumph; and sad as was his fate, I doubt not that his eye was
   lit up with lustre by the shout of victory. So also, I suppose, that
   Wolfe spoke a truth when he said, "I die happy," having just before
   heard the shout, "they run, they run." I know victory even in that bad
   sense--for I look not upon earthly victories as of any value--must have
   cheered the warrior. But oh! how cheered the saint when he knows that
   victory is his! I shall fight during all my life, but I shall write
   "vici" on my shield. I shall be "more than conqueror through him that
   loved me." Each feeble saint shall win the day; each man upon his
   crutches; each lame one; each one full of infirmity, sorrow, sickness,
   and weakness, shall gain the victory. "They shall come with singing
   unto Zion; as well the blind, and lame, and halt, and the woman with
   child, together." So saith the Scripture. Not one shall be left out;
   but he shall "send forth judgment unto victory." Victory! victory!
   victory! This is the lot of each Christian; he shall triumph through
   his dear Redeemer's name.

   Now a word about this victory. I speak first to aged men and women.
   Dear brethren and sisters, you are often, I know, like the bruised
   reed. Coming events cast their shadows before them; and death casts the
   shadow of old age on you. You feel the grasshopper to be a burden; you
   feel full of weakness and decay; your frame can hardly hold together.
   Ah! you have here a special promise. "The bruised reed I will not
   break." "I will strengthen thee." "When thy heart and thy flesh
   faileth, I will be the strength of thy heart and thy portion for ever."

   Even down to old age, all my people shall prove

   My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love;

   And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn,

   Like lambs they shall still in my bosom be borne.

   Tottering on thy staff, leaning, feeble, weak, and wan; fear not the
   last hour; that last hour shall be thy best; thy last day shall be a
   consummation devoutly to be wished. Weak as thou art, God will temper
   the trial to thy weakness; he will make thy pain less, if thy strength
   be less; but thou shalt sing in heaven, Victory! victory! victory!
   There are some of us who could wish to change places with you, to be so
   near heaven--to be so near home. With all your infirmities, your grey
   hairs are a crown of glory to you; for you are near the end as well as
   in the way of righteousness.

   A word with you middle-aged men, battling in this life's rough storm.
   You are often bruised reeds, your religion is so encumbered by your
   worldly callings, so covered up by the daily din of business, business,
   business, that you seem like smoking flax; it is as much as you can do
   to serve your God, and you cannot say that you are "fervent in spirit"
   as well as "diligent in business." Man of business, toiling and
   striving in this world, he will not quench thee when thou art like
   smoking flax; he will not break thee when thou art like the bruised
   reed, but will deliver thee from thy troubles, thou shalt swim across
   the sea of life, and shalt stand on the happy shore of heaven, and
   shalt sing, "Victory" through him that loved thee.

   Ye youths and maidens! I speak to you, and have a right to do so. You
   and I ofttimes know what the bruised reed is, when the hand of God
   blights our fair hopes. We are full of giddiness and waywardness, it is
   only the rod of affliction that can bring folly out of us, for we have
   much of it in us. Slippery paths are the paths of youths, and dangerous
   ways are the ways of the young, but God will not break or destroy us.
   Men, by their over caution, bid us never tread a step lest we fall; but
   God bids us go, and makes our feet like hind's feet that we may tread
   upon high places. Serve God in early days; give your hearts to him, and
   then he will never cast you out, but will nourish and cherish you.

   Let me not finish without saying a word to little children. You who
   have never heard of Jesus, he says to you, "The bruised reed I will not
   break; the smoking flax I will not quench." I believe there is many a
   little prattler, not six years old, who knows the Saviour. I never
   despise infantile piety; I love it. I have heard little children talk
   of mysteries that grey-headed men knew not. Ah! little children who
   have been brought up in the Sabbath-schools, and love the Saviour's
   name, if others say you are too forward, do not fear, love Christ
   still.

   Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,

   Still will look upon a child;

   Pity thy simplicity,

   And suffer thee to come to him.

   He will not cast thee away; for smoking flax he will not quench, and
   the bruised reed he will not break.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                Christ Crucified

   A Sermon

   (No. 7-8)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 11, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "But we preach Christ crucified, unto the Jews a stumblingblock, and
   unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto them which are called, both Jews
   and Greeks, Christ the power of God, and the wisdom of God."--1
   Corinthians 1:23-24.

   What contempt hath God poured upon the wisdom of this world! How hath
   he brought it to nought, and made it appear as nothing. He has allowed
   it to word out its own conclusions, and prove its own folly. Men
   boasted that they were wise; they said that they could find out God to
   perfection; and in order that their folly might be refuted once and
   forever, God gave them the opportunity of so doing. He said, "Worldly
   wisdom, I will try thee. Thou sayest that thou art mighty, that thine
   intellect is vast and comprehensive, that thine eye is keen, and thou
   canst find all secrets; now, behold, I try thee; I give thee one great
   problem to solve. Here is the universe; stars make its canopy, fields
   and flowers adorn it, and the floods roll o'er its surface; my name is
   written therein; the invisible things of God may be clearly seen in the
   things which are made. Philosophy, I give thee this problem--find me
   out. Here are my works--find me out. Discover in the wondrous world
   which I have made, the way to worship me acceptably. I give thee space
   enough to do it--there are data enough. Behold the clouds, the earth,
   and the stars. I give thee time enough; I will give thee four thousand
   years, and I will not interfere; but thou shalt do as thou wilt with
   thine own world. I will give thee men enough; for I will make great
   minds and vast, whom thou shalt call lords of earth; thou shalt have
   orators, thou shalt have philosophers. Find me out, O reason; find me
   out, O wisdom; find me out, if thou canst; find me out unto perfection;
   and if thou canst not, then shut thy mouth forever, and then will I
   teach thee that the wisdom of God is wiser than the wisdom of man; yea,
   that the foolishness of God is wiser than men." And how did the wisdom
   of man work out the problem? How did wisdom perform her feat? Look upon
   the heathen nations; there you see the result of wisdom's researches.
   In the time of Jesus Christ, you might have beheld the earth covered
   with the slime of pollution, a Sodom on a large scale--corrupt, filthy,
   depraved; indulging in vices which we dare not mention; revelling in
   lust too abominable even for our imagination to dwell upon for a
   moment. We find the men prostrating themselves before blocks of wood
   and stone, adoring ten thousand gods more vicious than themselves. We
   find, in fact, that reason wrote out her lines with a finger covered
   with blood and filth, and that she forever cut herself out from all her
   glory by the vile deeds she did. She would not worship God. She would
   not bow down to him who is "clearly seen," but she worshipped any
   creature--the reptile that crawled, the viper-- everything might be a
   god; but not, forsooth, the God of heaven. Vice might be made into a
   ceremony, the greatest crime might be exalted into a religion; but true
   worship she knew nothing of. Poor reason! poor wisdom! how art thou
   fallen from heaven; like Lucifer--thou son of the morning--thou art
   lost; thou hast written out thy conclusion, but a conclusion of
   consummate folly. "After that in the wisdom of God, the world by wisdom
   knew not God, it pleased God by the foolishness of preaching to save
   them that believe."

   Wisdom had had its time, and time enough; it had done its all, and that
   was little enough; it had made the world worse than it was before it
   stepped upon it, and "now," says God, "Foolishness shall overcome
   wisdom; now ignorance, as ye call it, shall sweep away science; now,
   humble, child-like faith shall crumble to the dust all the colossal
   systems your hands have piled." He calls his armies. Christ puts his
   trumpet to his mouth, and up come the warriors, clad in fishermen's
   garb, with the brogue of the lake of Galilee--poor humble mariners.
   Here are the warriors, O wisdom, that are to confound thee; these are
   the heroes who shall overcome thy proud philosophers; these men are to
   plant their standard upon thy ruined walls, and bid them to fall
   forever; these men and their successors are to exalt a gospel in the
   world which ye may laugh at as absurd, which ye may sneer at as folly,
   but which shall be exalted above the hills, and shall be glorious even
   to the highest heavens. Since that day, God has always raised up
   successors of the apostles; not by any lineal descent, but because I
   have the same roll and charter as any apostle, and am as much called to
   preach the gospel as Paul himself; if not as much owned by the
   conversion of sinners, yet, in a measure, blessed of God; and,
   therefore, here I stand, foolish as Paul might be, foolish as Peter, or
   any of those fishermen; but still with the might of God I grasp the
   sword of truth, coming here to "preach Christ and him crucified, unto
   the Jews a stumblingblock, and unto the Greeks foolishness; but unto
   them which are called, both Jews and Greeks, Christ the power of God,
   and the wisdom of God."

   Before I enter upon our text, let me very briefly tell you what I
   believe preaching Christ and him crucified is. My friends, I do not
   believe it is preaching Christ and him crucified, to give people a
   batch of philosophy every Sunday morning and evening, and neglect the
   truths of this Holy Book. I do not believe it is preaching Christ and
   him crucified, to leave out the main cardinal doctrines of the Word of
   God, and preach a religion which is all a mist and a haze, without any
   definite truths whatever. I take it that man does not preach Christ and
   him crucified, who can get through a sermon without mentioning Christ's
   name once; nor does that man preach Christ and him crucified, who
   leaves out the Holy Spirit's work, who never says a word about the Holy
   Ghost, so that indeed the hearers might say, "We do not so much as know
   whether there be a Holy Ghost." And I have my own private opinion, that
   there is no such thing as preaching Christ and him crucified, unless
   you preach what now-a-days is called Calvinism. I have my own ideas,
   and those I always state boldly. It is a nickname to call it Calvinism.
   Calvinism is the gospel, and nothing else. I do not believe we can
   preach the gospel, if we do not preach justification by faith without
   works; not unless we preach the sovereignty of God in his dispensation
   of grace; nor unless we exalt the electing, unchangeable, eternal,
   immutable, conquering love of Jehovah; nor, I think, can we preach the
   gospel, unless we base it upon the peculiar redemption which Christ
   made for his elect and chosen people; nor can I comprehend a gospel
   which lets saints fall away after they are called, and suffers the
   children of God to be burned in the fires of damnation, after having
   believed. Such a gospel I abhor. The gospel of the Bible is not such a
   gospel as that. We preach Christ and him crucified in a different
   fashion, and to all gainsayers we reply, "We have not so learned
   Christ."

   There are three things in the text: first, a gospel rejected, "Christ
   crucified, to the Jews a stumblingblock, and to the Greeks
   foolishness"; secondly, a gospel triumphant, "unto those who are
   called, both Jews and Greeks"; and thirdly, a gospel admired; it is to
   them who are called "the power of God and the wisdom of God."

   I. First, we have here A GOSPEL REJECTED. One would have imagined that,
   when God sent his gospel to men, all men would meekly listen, and
   humbly receive its truths. We should have thought that God's ministers
   had but to proclaim that life is brought to light by the gospel, and
   that Christ is come to save sinners, and every ear would be attentive,
   every eye would be fixed, and every heart would be wide open to receive
   the truth. We should have said, judging favorably of our
   fellow-creatures, that there would not exist in the world a monster so
   vile, so depraved, so polluted, as to put so much as a stone in the way
   of the progress of truth; we could not have conceived such a thing; yet
   that conception is the truth. When the gospel was preached, instead of
   being accepted and admired, one universal hiss went up to heaven; men
   could not bear it; its first preacher they dragged to the brow of the
   hill, and would have sent him down headlong; yea, they did more--they
   nailed him to the cross, and there they let him languish out his dying
   life in agony such as no man hath borne since. All his chosen ministers
   have been hated and abhorred by worldlings; instead of being listened
   to they have been scoffed at; treated as if they were the offscouring
   of all things, and the very scum of mankind. Look at the holy men in
   the old times, how they were driven from city to city, persecuted,
   afflicted, tormented, stoned to death, wherever the enemy had power to
   do so. Those friends of men, those real philanthropists, who came with
   hearts big with love, and hands full of mercy, and lips pregnant with
   celestial fire, and souls that burned with holy influence; those men
   were treated as if they were spies in the camp, as if they were
   deserters from the common cause of mankind; as if they were enemies,
   and not, as they truly were, the best of friends. Do not suppose, my
   friends, that men like the gospel any better now than they did then.
   There is an idea that you are growing better. I do not believe it. You
   are growing worse. In many respects men may be better--outwardly
   better; the heart within is still the same. The human heart of today
   dissected, would be like the human heart a thousand years ago; the gall
   of bitterness within that breast of yours, is just as bitter as the
   gall of bitterness in that of Simon of old. We have in our hearts the
   same latent opposition to the truth of God; and hence we find men, even
   as of old, who scorn the gospel.

   I shall, in speaking of the gospel rejected, endeavour to point out the
   two classes of persons who equally despise truth. The Jews make it a
   stumblingblock, and the Greeks account it foolishness. Now these two
   very respectable gentlemen--the Jew and the Greek--I am not going to
   make these ancient individuals the object of my condemnation, but I
   look upon them as members of a great parliament, representatives of a
   great constituency, and I shall attempt to show that, if all the race
   of Jews were cut off, there would be still a great number in the world
   who would answer to the name of Jews, to whom Christ is a
   stumblingblock; and that if Greece were swallowed up by some
   earthquake, and ceased to be a nation, there would still be the Greek
   unto whom the gospel would be foolishness. I shall simply introduce the
   Jew and the Greek, and let them speak a moment to you, in order that
   you may see the gentlemen who represent you; the representative men;
   the persons who stand for many of you, who as yet are not called by
   divine grace.

   The first is a Jew; to him the gospel is a stumblingblock. A
   respectable man the Jew was in his day; all formal religion was
   concentrated in his person; he went up to the temple very devoutly; he
   tithed all he had, even to the mint and the cummin. You would see him
   fast twice in the week, with a face all marked with sadness and sorrow.
   If you looked at him, he had the law between his eyes; there was the
   phylactery, and the borders of his garments of amazing width, that he
   might never be supposed to be a Gentile dog; that no one might ever
   conceive that he was not an Hebrew of pure descent. He had a holy
   ancestry; he came of a pious family; a right good man was he. He could
   not like those Sadducees at all, who had no religion. He was thoroughly
   a religious man; he stood up for his synagogue; he would not have that
   temple on Mount Gerizim; he could not bear the Samaritans, he had no
   dealings with them; he was a religionist of the first order, a man of
   the very finest kind; a specimen of a man who is a moralist, and who
   loves the ceremonies of the law. Accordingly, when he heard about
   Christ, he asked who Christ was. "The Son of a Carpenter." Ah! "The son
   of a carpenter, and his mothers's name was Mary, and his father's name
   was Joseph." "That of itself is presumption enough," said he; "positive
   proof, in fact, that he cannot be the Messiah." And what does he say?
   Why, he says, "Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites." "That
   won't do." Moreover, he says, "It is not by the works of the flesh that
   any man can enter into the kingdom of heaven." The Jew tied a double
   knot in his phylactery at once; he thought he would have the borders of
   his garment made twice as broad. He bow to the Nazarene! No, no; and if
   so much as a disciple crossed the street, he thought the place
   polluted, and would not tread in his steps. Do you think he would give
   up his old father's religion, the religion which came from Mount Sinai,
   that old religion that lay in the ark and the overshadowing cherubim?
   He give that up! not he. A vile imposter--that is all Christ was in his
   eyes. He thought so. "A stumblingblock to me; I cannot hear about it; I
   will not listen to it." Accordingly, he turned a deaf ear to all the
   preacher's eloquence, and listened not at all. Farewell, old Jew! Thou
   sleepest with thy fathers, and thy generation is a wandering race,
   still walking the earth. Farewell! I have done with thee. Alas! poor
   wretch, that Christ, who was thy stumbling-block, shall be thy judge,
   and on thy head shall be that loud curse. "His blood be on us and on
   our children." But I am going to find out Mr. Jew here in Exeter
   Hall--persons who answer to his description--to whom Jesus Christ is a
   stumblingblock. Let me introduce you to yourselves, some of you. You
   were of a pious family too, were you not? Yes. And you have a religion
   which you love; you love it so far as the chrysalis of it goes, the
   outside, the covering, the husk. You would not have one rubric altered,
   nor one of those dear old arches taken down, nor the stained glass
   removed, for all the world; and any man who should say a word against
   such things, you would set down as a heretic at once. Or, perhaps, you
   do not go to such a place of worship, but you love some plain old
   meeting-house, where your forefathers worshipped, called a dissenting
   chapel. Ah! it is a beautiful plain place; you love it, you love its
   ordinances, you love its exterior; and if any one spoke against the
   place, how vexed you would feel. You think that what they do there,
   they ought to do everywhere; in fact, your church is a model one; the
   place where you go is exactly the sort of place for everybody; and if I
   were to ask you why you hope to go to heaven, you would perhaps say,
   "Because I am a Baptist," or, "Because I am an Episcopalian," or
   whatever other sect you belong to. There is yourself; I know Jesus
   Christ will be to you a stumblingblock. If I come and tell you, that
   all your going to the house of God is good for nothing; if I tell you
   that all those many times you have been singing and praying, all pass
   for nothing in the sight of God, because you are a hypocrite and a
   formalist. If I tell you that your heart is not right with God, and
   that unless it is so, all the external is good for nothing, I know what
   you will say,--"I shan't hear that young man again." It is a
   stumblingblock. If you had stepped in anywhere where you had heard
   formalism exalted: if you had been told "this must you do, and this
   other must you do, and then you will be saved," you would highly
   approve of it. But how many are there externally religious, with whose
   characters you could find no fault, but who have never had the
   regenerating influence of the Holy Ghost; who never were made to lie
   prostrate on their face before Calvary's cross; who never turned a
   wistful eye to yonder Saviour crucified; who never put their trust in
   him that was slain for the sons of men. They love a superficial
   religion, but when a man talks deeper than that, they set it down for
   cant. You may love all that is external about religion, just as you may
   love a man for his clothes--caring nothing for the man himself. If so,
   I know you are one of those who reject the gospel. You will hear me
   preach; and while I speak about the externals, you will hear me with
   attention; whilst I plead for morality, and argue against drunkenness,
   or show the heinousness of Sabbath-breaking, but if once I say, "Except
   ye be converted, and become as little children, ye can in no wise enter
   into the kingdom of God"; if once I tell you that you must be elected
   of God: that you must be purchased with the Saviour's blood--that you
   must be converted by the Holy Ghost--you say, "He is a fanatic! Away
   with him, away with him! We do not want to hear that any more." Christ
   crucified, is to the Jew--the ceremonialist--a stumblingblock.

   But there is another specimen of this Jew to be found. He is thoroughly
   orthodox in his sentiments. As for forms and ceremonies, he thinks
   nothing about them. He goes to a place of worship where he learns sound
   doctrine. He will hear nothing but what is true. He likes that we
   should have good works and morality. He is a good man, and no one can
   find fault with him. Here he is, regular in his Sunday pew. In the
   market he walks before men in all honesty--so you would imagine. Ask
   him about any doctrine, and he can give you a disquisition upon it. In
   fact, he could write a treatise upon anything in the Bible, and a great
   many things besides. He knows almost everything: and here, up in this
   dark attic of the head, his religion has taken up its abode; he has a
   best parlor down in his heart, but his religion never goes there--that
   is shut against it. He has money in there--Mammon, worldliness; or he
   has something else--self-love, pride. Perhaps he loves to hear
   experimental preaching; he admires it all; in fact, he loves anything
   that is sound. But then, he has not any sound in himself; or rather, it
   is all sound and there is no substance. He likes to hear true doctrine;
   but it never penetrates his inner man. You never see him weep. Preach
   to him about Christ crucified, a glorious subject, and you never see a
   tear roll down his cheek; tell him of the mighty influence of the Holy
   Ghost--he admires you for it, but he never had the hand of the Holy
   Spirit on his soul; tell him about communion with God, plunging in
   Godhead's deepest sea, and being lost in its immensity--the man loves
   to hear, but he never experiences, he has never communed with Christ;
   and accordingly, when you once begin to strike home; when you lay him
   on the table, take out your dissecting knife, begin to cut him up, and
   show him his own heart, let him see what it is by nature, and what it
   must become by grace--the man starts, he cannot stand that; he wants
   none of that--Christ received in the heart, and accepted. Albeit that
   he loves it enough in the head, tis to him a stumblingblock, and he
   casts it away. Do you see yourselves here, my friends? See yourselves
   as God sees you? For so it is, here be many to whom Christ is as much a
   stumblingblock now as ever he was. O ye formalists! I speak to you; O
   ye who have the nutshell, but abhor the kernel; O ye who like the
   trappings and the dress, but care not for that fair virgin who is
   clothed therewith; O ye who like the paint and the tinsel, but abhor
   the solid gold, I speak to you; I ask you, does your religion give you
   solid comfort? Can you stare death in the face with it, and say, "I
   know that my Redeemer liveth?" Can you close your eyes at night,
   singing as your vesper song--

   "I to the end must endure

   As sure as the earnest is given"?

   Can you bless God for affliction? Can you plunge in, accounted as ye
   are, and swim through all the floods of trial? Can you march triumphant
   through the lion's den, laugh at affliction, and bid defiance to hell?
   Can you? No! Your gospel is an effeminate thing--a thing of words and
   sounds, and not of power. Cast it from you, I beseech you; it is not
   worth your keeping; and when you come before the throne of God, you
   will find it will fail you, and fail you so that you shall never find
   another; for lost, ruined, destroyed, ye shall find that Christ, who is
   now "a stumblingblock," will be your Judge.

   I have found out the Jew, and I have now to discover the Greek. He is a
   person of quite a different exterior to the Jew. As to the phylactery,
   to him it is all rubbish; and as to the broad hemmed garment, he
   despises it. He does not care for the forms of religion; he has an
   intense aversion, in fact, to broad-brimmed hats, or to everything
   which looks like outward show. He likes eloquence; he admires a smart
   saying; he loves a quaint expression; he likes to read the last new
   book; he is a Greek, and to him the gospel is foolishness. The Greek is
   a gentleman found everywhere, now-a-days; manufactured sometimes in
   colleges, constantly made in schools, produced everywhere. He is on the
   exchange, in the market; he keeps a shop, rides in a carriage; he is
   noble, a gentleman; he is everywhere, even in court. He is thoroughly
   wise. Ask him anything, and he knows it. Ask for a quotation from any
   of the old poets, or any one else, and he can give it you. If you are a
   Mohammedan, and plead the claims of your religion, he will hear you
   very patiently. But if you are a Christian, and talk to him of Jesus
   Christ, "Stop your cant," he says, "I don't want to hear anything about
   that." This Grecian gentleman believes all philosophy except the true
   one; he studies all wisdom except the wisdom of God; he likes all
   learning except spiritual learning; he loves everything except that
   which God approves; he likes everything which man makes, and nothing
   which comes from God; it is foolishness to him, confounded foolishness.
   You have only to discourse about one doctrine in the Bible, and he
   shuts his ears; he wishes no longer for your company--it is
   foolishness. I have met this gentleman a great many times. Once, when I
   saw him, he told me he did not believe in any religion at all; and when
   I said I did, and had a hope that when I died I should go to heaven, he
   said he dared say it was very comfortable, but he did not believe in
   religion, and that he was sure it was best to live as nature dictated.
   Another time he spoke well of all religions, and believed they were
   very good in their place, and all true; and he had no doubt that, if a
   man were sincere in any kind of religion, he would be alright at last.
   I told him I did not think so, and that I believed there was but one
   religion revealed of God--the religion of God's elect, the religion
   which is the gift of Jesus. He then said I was a begot, and wished me
   good morning. It was to him foolishness. He had nothing to do with me
   at all. He either liked no religion, or every religion. Another time I
   held him by the coat button, and I discussed with him a little about
   faith. He said, "It is all very well, I believe that is true Protestant
   doctrine." But presently I said something about election, and he said,
   "I don't like that; many people have preached that and turned it to bad
   account." I then hinted something about free grace; but that he could
   not endure, it was to him foolishness. He was a polished Greek, and
   thought that if he were not chosen, he ought to be. He never liked that
   passage, "God hath chosen the foolish things of this world to confound
   the wise, and the things which are not, to bring to nought things that
   are." He thought it was very discreditable to the Bible and when the
   book was revised, he had no doubt it would be cut out. To such a
   man--for he is here this morning, very likely come to hear this reed
   shaken of the wind--I have to say this: Ah! thou wise man, full of
   worldly wisdom; thy wisdom will stand thee here, but what wilt thou do
   in the swellings of Jordan? Philosophy may do well for thee to learn
   upon whilst thou walkest through this world; but the river is deep, and
   thou wilt want something more than that. If thou hast not the arm of
   the Most High to hold thee up in the flood and cheer thee with
   promises, thou wilt sink, man; with all thy philosophy, thou wilt sink;
   with all thy learning, thou shalt sink, and be washed into that awful
   ocean of eternal torment, where thou shalt be forever. Ah! Greeks, it
   may be foolishness to you, but ye shall see the man your judge, and
   then shall ye rue the day that e'er ye said that God's gospel was
   foolishness.

   II. Having spoken thus far upon the gospel rejected, I shall now
   briefly speak upon the GOSPEL TRIUMPHANT. "Unto us who are called, both
   Jews and Greeks, it is the power of God, and the wisdom of God." Yonder
   man rejects the gospel, despises grace, and laughs at it as a delusion.
   Here is another man who laughed at it, too; but God will fetch him down
   upon his knees. Christ shall not die for nothing. The Holy Ghost shall
   not strive in vain. God hath said, "My word shall not return unto me
   void, but it shall accomplish that which I please, and it shall prosper
   in the thing whereto I sent it." "He shall see of the travail of his
   soul, and shall be abundantly satisfied." If one sinner is not saved,
   another shall be. The Jew and the Greek shall never depopulate heaven.
   The choirs of glory shall not lose a single songster by all the
   opposition of Jews and Greeks; for God hath said it; some shall be
   called; some shall be saved; some shall be rescued.

   "Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorred,

   And the fool with it, who insults his Lord.

   The atonement a Redeemer's love has wrought

   Is not for you--the righteous need it not.

   See'st thou yon harlot wooing all she meets,

   The worn-out nuisance of the public streets

   Herself from morn till night, from night to morn,

   Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn:

   The gracious shower, unlimited and free,

   Shall fall on her, when heaven denies it thee.

   Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift,

   That man is dead in sin, and life a gift."

   If the righteous and good are not saved, if they reject the gospel,
   there are others who are to be called, others who shall be rescued; for
   Christ will not lose the merits of his agonies, or the purchase of his
   blood.

   "Unto us who are called." I received a note this week asking me to
   explain that word "called"; because in one passage it says, "Many are
   called but few are chosen," while in another it appears that all who
   are called must be chosen. Now, let me observe that there are two
   calls. As my old friend, John Bunyan, says, the hen has two calls, the
   common cluck, which she gives daily and hourly, and the special one,
   which she means for her little chickens. So there is a general call, a
   call made to every man; every man hears it. Many are called by it; all
   you are called this morning in that sense, but very few are chosen. The
   other is a special call, the children's call. You know how the bell
   sounds over the workshop, to call the men to work--that is a general
   call. A father goes to the door and calls out, "John, it is dinner
   time"--that is the special call. Many are called with the general call,
   but they are not chosen; the special call is for the children only, and
   that is what is meant in the text, "Unto us who are called, both Jews
   and Greeks, the power of God and the wisdom of God." That call is
   always a special one. While I stand here and call men, nobody comes;
   while I preach to sinners universally, no good is done; it is like the
   sheet lightning you sometimes see on the summer's evening, beautiful,
   grand; but whoever heard of anything being struck by it? But the
   special call is the forked flash from heaven; it strikes somewhere; it
   is the arrow sent in between the joints of the harness. The call which
   saves is like that of Jesus, when he said "Mary," and she said unto him
   "Rabonni." Do you know anything about that special call, my beloved?
   Did Jesus ever call you by name? Canst thou recollect the hour when he
   whispered thy name in thine ear, when he said, "Come to me"? If so, you
   will grant the truth of what I am going to say next about it--that it
   is an effectual call; there is no resisting it. When God calls with his
   special call, there is no standing out. Ah! I know I laughed at
   religion; I despised, I abhorred it; but that call! Oh, I would not
   come. But God said, "Thou shalt come. All that the Father giveth to me
   shall come." "Lord, I will not." "But thou shalt," said God. And I have
   gone up to God's house sometimes almost with a resolution that I would
   not listen, but listen I must. Oh, how the word came into my soul! Was
   there a power of resistance? No; I was thrown down; each bone seemed to
   be broken; I was saved by effectual grace. I appeal to your experience,
   my friends. When God took you in hand, could you withstand him? You
   stood against your minister times enough. Sickness did not break you
   down; disease did not bring you to God's feet; eloquence did not
   convince you; but when God puts his hand to the work, ah! then what a
   change. Like Saul, with his horses going to Damascus, that voice from
   heaven said, "I am Jesus whom thou persecutest." "Saul, Saul, why
   persecutest thou me?" There was no going further then. That was an
   effectual call. Like that, again, which Jesus gave to Zaccheus, when he
   was up in the tree; stepping under the tree, he said, "Zaccheus, come
   down, today I must abide in thy house." Zaccheus was taken in the net;
   he heard his own name; the call sank into his soul; he could not stop
   up in the tree, for an almighty impulse drew him down. And I could tell
   you some singular instances of persons going to the house of God and
   having their characters described, limned out to perfection, so that
   they have said, "He is painting me, he is painting me." Just as I might
   say to that young man here, who stole his master's gloves yesterday,
   that Jesus calls him to repentance. It may be that there is such a
   person here; and when the call comes to a peculiar character, it
   generally comes with a special power. God gives his ministers a brush,
   and shows them how to use it in painting life-like portraits, and thus
   the sinner hears the special call. I cannot give the special call; God
   alone can give it, and I leave it with him. Some must be called. Jew
   and Greek may laugh, but still there are some who are called, both Jews
   and Greeks.

   Then, to close up this second point, it is a great mercy that many a
   Jew has been made to drop his self righteousness; many a legalist has
   been made to drop his legalism, and come to Christ; and many a Greek
   has bowed his genius at the throne of God's gospel. We have a few such.
   As Cowper says:

   "We boast some rich ones whom the gospel sways,

   And one who wears a coronet, and prays;

   Like gleanings of an olive tree they show,

   Here and there one upon the topmost bough."

   III. Now we come to our third point, A GOSPEL ADMIRED; unto us who are
   called of God, it is the power of God, and the wisdom of God. Now,
   beloved, this must be a matter of pure experience between your souls
   and God. If you are called of God this morning, you will know it. I
   know there are times when a Christian has to say,

   "Tis a point I long to know,

   Oft it causes anxious thought;

   Do I love the Lord or no?

   Am I his, or am I not?"

   But if a man never in his life knew himself to be a Christian, he never
   was a Christian. If he never had a moment of confidence, when he could
   say, "Now I know in whom I have believed," I think I do not utter a
   harsh thing when I say, that that man could not have been born again;
   for I do not understand how a man can be killed and then made alive
   again, and not know it; how a man can pass from death unto life, and
   not know it; how a man can be brought out of darkness into marvellous
   liberty without knowing it. I am sure I know it when I shout out my old
   verse,

   "Now free from sin, I walk at large,

   My Saviour's blood's my full discharge;

   At his dear feet content I lay,

   A sinner saved, and homage pay."

   There are moments when the eyes glisten with joy and we can say, "We
   are persuaded, confident, certain." I do not wish to distress any one
   who is under doubt. Often gloomy doubts will prevail; there are seasons
   when you fear you have not been called, when you doubt your interest in
   Christ. Ah! what a mercy it is that it is not your hold of Christ that
   saves you, but his hold of you! What a sweet fact that it is not how
   you grasp his hand, but his grasp of yours, that saves you. Yet I think
   you ought to know, sometime or other, whether you are called of God. If
   so, you will follow me in the next part of my discourse, which is a
   matter of pure experience; unto us who are saved, it is "Christ the
   power of God, and the wisdom of God."

   The gospel is to the true believer a thing of power. It is Christ the
   power of God. Ay, there is a power in God's gospel beyond all
   description. Once, I, like Mazeppa, bound on the wild horse of my lust,
   bound hand and foot, incapable of resistance, was galloping on with
   hell's wolves behind me, howling for my body and my soul, as their just
   and lawful prey. There came a mighty hand which stopped that wild
   horse, cut my bands, set me down, and brought me into liberty. Is there
   power, sir? Ay, there is power, and he who has felt it must acknowledge
   it. There was a time when I lived in the strong old castle of my sins,
   and rested in my works. There came a trumpeter to the door, and bade me
   open it. I with anger chide him from the porch, and said he ne'er
   should enter. There came a goodly personage, with loving countenance;
   his hands were marked with scars, where nails were driven, and his feet
   had nail-prints too; he lifted up his cross, using it as a hammer; at
   the first blow the gate of my prejudice shook; at the second it
   trembled more; at the third down it fell, and in he came; and he said,
   "Arise, and stand upon thy feet, for I have loved thee with an
   everlasting love." A thing of power! Ah! it is a thing of power. I have
   felt it here, in this heart; I have the witness of the Spirit within,
   and know it is a thing of might, because it has conquered me; it has
   bowed me down.

   "His free grace alone, from the first to the last,

   Hath won my affection, and held my soul fast."

   The gospel to the Christian is a thing of power. What is it that makes
   the young man devote himself as a missionary to the cause of God, to
   leave father and mother, and go into distant lands? It is a thing of
   power that does it--it is the gospel. What is it that constrains yonder
   minister, in the midst of the cholera, to climb up that creaking
   staircase, and stand by the bed of some dying creature who has that
   dire disease? It must be a thing of power which leads him to venture
   his life; it is love of the cross of Christ which bids him do it. What
   is that which enables one man to stand up before a multitude of his
   fellows, all unprepared it may be, but determined that he will speak
   nothing but Christ and him crucified? What is it that enables him to
   cry, like the war-horse of Job in battle, Aha! and move glorious in
   might? It is a thing of power that does it--it is Christ crucified. And
   what emboldens that timid female to walk down that dark lane in the wet
   evening, that she may go and sit beside the victim of a contagious
   fever? What strengthens her to go through that den of thieves, and pass
   by the profligate and profane? What influences her to enter into that
   charnel-house of death, and there sit down and whisper words of
   comfort? Does gold make her do it? They are too poor to give her gold.
   Does fame make her do it? She shall never be known, nor written among
   the mighty women of this earth. What makes her do it? Is it love of
   merit? No; she knows she has no desert before high heaven. What impels
   her to it? It is the power of the gospel on her heart; it is the cross
   of Christ; she loves it, and she therefore says--

   "Were the whole realm of nature mine.

   That were a present far too small;

   Love so amazing, so divine,

   Demands my soul, my life, my all."

   But I behold another scene. A martyr is going to the stake; the halberd
   men are around him; the crowds are mocking, but he is marching steadily
   on. See, they bind him, with a chain around his middle, to the stake;
   they heap faggots all about him; the flame is lighted up; listen to his
   words: "Bless the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within me, bless his
   holy name." The flames are kindling round his legs; the fire is burning
   him even to the bone; see him lift up his hands and say, "I know that
   my Redeemer liveth, and though the fire devour this body, yet in my
   flesh shall I see the Lord." Behold him clutch the stake and kiss it,
   as if he loved it, and hear him say, "For every chain of iron that man
   girdeth me with, God shall give me a chain of gold; for all these
   faggots, and this ignominy and shame, he shall increase the weight of
   my eternal glory." See all the under parts of his body are consumed;
   still he lives in the torture; at last he bows himself, and the upper
   part of his body falls over; and as he falls you hear him say, "Into
   thy hands I commend my Spirit." What wondrous magic was on him, sirs?
   What made that man strong? What helped him to bear that cruelty? What
   made him stand unmoved in the flames? It was the thing of power; it was
   the cross of Jesus crucified. For "unto us who are saved it is the
   power of God."

   But behold another scene far different. There is no crowd there; it is
   a silent room. There is a poor pallet, a lonely bed: a physician
   standing by. There is a young girl: her face is blanched by
   consumption; long hath the worm eaten her cheek, and though sometimes
   the flush came, it was the death flush of the deceitful consumption.
   There she lieth, weak, pale, wan, worn, dying, yet behold a smile upon
   her face, as if she had seen an angel. She speaketh, and there is music
   in her voice. Joan of Arc of old was not half so mighty as that girl.
   She is wrestling with dragons on her death-bed; but see her composure,
   and hear her dying sonnet:

   "Jesus, lover of my soul,

   Let me to thy bosom fly,

   While the nearer waters roll,

   While the tempest still is high!

   Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,

   Till the storm of life is past,

   Safe into the haven guide,

   O receive my soul at last!"

   And with a smile she shuts her eye on earth, and opens it in heaven.
   What enables her to die like that? It is the thing of power; it is the
   cross; it is Jesus crucified.

   I have little time to discourse upon the other point, and it be far
   from me to weary you by a lengthened and prosy sermon, but we must
   glance at the other statement: Christ is, to the called ones, the
   wisdom of God as well as the power of God. To a believer, the gospel is
   the perfection of wisdom, and if it appear not so to the ungodly, it is
   because of the perversion of judgement consequent on their depravity.

   An idea has long possessed the public mind, that a religious man can
   scarcely be a wise man. It has been the custom to talk of infidels,
   atheists, and deists, as men of deep thought and comprehensive
   intellect; and to tremble for the Christian controversialist, as if he
   must surely fall by the hand of his enemy. But this is purely a
   mistake; for the gospel is the sum of wisdom; an epitome of knowledge;
   a treasure-house of truth; and a revelation of mysterious secrets. In
   it we see how justice and mercy may be married; here we behold
   inexorable law entirely satisfied, and sovereign love bearing away the
   sinner in triumph. Our meditation upon it enlarges the mind; and as it
   opens to our soul in successive flashes of glory, we stand astonished
   at the profound wisdom manifest in it. Ah, dear friends! if ye seek
   wisdom, ye shall see it displayed in all its greatness; not in the
   balancing of the clouds, nor the firmness of earth's foundations; not
   in the measured march of the armies of the sky, nor in the perpetual
   motions of the waves of the sea; not in vegetation with all its fairy
   forms of beauty; nor in the animal with its marvellous tissue of nerve,
   and vein, and sinew: nor even in man, that last and loftiest work of
   the Creator. But turn aside and see this great sight!--an incarnate God
   upon the cross; a substitute atoning for mortal guilt; a sacrifice
   satisfying the vengeance of Heaven, and delivering the rebellious
   sinner. Here is essential wisdom; enthroned, crowned, glorified.
   Admire, ye men of earth, if ye be not blind; and ye who glory in your
   learning bend your heads in reverence, and own that all your skill
   could not have devised a gospel at once so just to God, so safe to man.

   Remember, my friends, that while the gospel is in itself wisdom, it
   also confers wisdom on its students; she teaches young men wisdom and
   discretion, and gives understanding to the simple. A man who is a
   believing admirer and a hearty lover of the truth as it is in Jesus, is
   in a right place to follow with advantage any other branch of science.
   I confess I have a shelf in my head for everything now. Whatever I read
   I know where to put it; whatever I learn I know where to stow it away.
   Once when I read books, I put all my knowledge together in glorious
   confusion; but ever since I have known Christ, I have put Christ in the
   centre as my sun, and each science revolves round it like a planet,
   while minor sciences are satellites to these planets. Christ is to me
   the wisdom of God. I can learn everything now. The science of Christ
   crucified is the most excellent of sciences, she is to me the wisdom of
   God. O, young man, build thy studio on Calvary! there raise thine
   observatory, and scan by faith the lofty things of nature. Take thee a
   hermit's cell in the garden of Gethsemane, and lave thy brow with the
   waters of Silo. Let the Bible be thy standard classic--thy last appeal
   in matters of contention. Let its light be thine illumination, and thou
   shalt become more wise than Plato, more truly learned than the seven
   sages of antiquity.

   And now, my dear friends, solemnly and earnestly, as in the sight of
   God, I appeal to you. You are gathered here this morning, I know, from
   different motives; some of you have come from curiosity; others of you
   are my regular hearers; some have come from one place and some from
   another. What have you heard me say this morning? I have told you of
   two classes of persons who reject Christ; the religionist, who has a
   religion of form and nothing else; and the man of the world, who calls
   our gospel foolishness. Now, put your hand upon your heart, and ask
   yourself this morning, "Am I one of these?" If you are, then walk the
   earth in all your pride; then go as you came in: but know that for all
   this the Lord shall bring thee unto judgement; know thou that thy joys
   and delights shall vanish like a dream, "and, like the baseless fabric
   of a vision," be swept away forever. Know thou this, moreover, O man,
   that one day in the halls of Satan, down in hell, I perhaps may see
   thee amongst those myriad spirits who revolve forever in a perpetual
   circle with their hands upon their hearts. If thine hand be
   transparent, and thy flesh transparent, I shall look through thy hand
   and flesh, and see thy heart within. And how shall I see it? Set in a
   case of fire--in a case of fire! And there thou shalt revolve forever
   with the worm gnawing within thy heart, which ne'er shall die--a case
   of fire around thy never-dying, ever-tortured heart. Good God! let not
   these men still reject and despise Christ; but let this be the time
   when they shall be called.

   To the rest of you who are called, I need say nothing. The longer you
   live, the more powerful will you find the gospel to be; the more deeply
   Christ-taught you are, the more you live under the constant influence
   of the Holy Spirit, the more you will know the gospel to be a thing of
   power, and the more also will you understand it to be a thing of
   wisdom. May every blessing rest upon you; and may God come up with us
   in the evening!

   "Let men or angels dig the mines

   Where nature's golden treasure shines;

   Brought near the doctrine of the cross,

   All nature's gold appears but dross.

   Should vile blasphemers with disdain

   Pronounce the truths of Jesus vain,

   We'll meet the scandal and the shame,

   And sing and triumph in his name."
     __________________________________________________________________

                               Spiritual Liberty

   A Sermon

   (No. 9)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 18th, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."--2 Corinthians
   3:17.

   LIBERTY is the birthright of every man. He may be born a pauper; he may
   be a foundling; his parentage may be altogether unknown; but liberty is
   his inalienable birthright. Black may be his skin; he may live
   uneducated and untaught; he may be poor as poverty itself; he may never
   have a foot of land to call his own; he may scarce have a particle of
   clothing, save a few rags to cover him; but, poor as he is, nature has
   fashioned him for freedom--he has a right to be free, and if he has not
   liberty, it is his birthright, and he ought not to be content until he
   wins it.

   Liberty is the heirloom of all the sons and daughters of Adam. But
   where do you find liberty unaccompanied by religion? True it is that
   all men have a right to liberty, but it is equally true that you do not
   meet it in any country save where you find the Spirit of the Lord.
   "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty." Thank God, this is
   a free country. This is a land where I can breathe the air and say it
   is untainted by the groan of a single slave; my lungs receive it, and I
   know there has never been mingled with its vapours the tear of a single
   slave woman shed over her child which has been sold from her. This land
   is the home of liberty. But why is it so? I take it, it is not so much
   because of our institutions as because the Spirit of the Lord is here
   --the spirit of true and hearty religion. There was a time, remember,
   when England was no more free than any other country, when men could
   not speak their sentiments freely, when kings were despots, when
   Parliaments were but a name. Who won our liberties for us? Who have
   loosed our chains? Under the hand of God, I say, the men of
   religion--men like the great and glorious Cromwell, who would have
   liberty of conscience, or die--men who, if they could not reach kings'
   hearts, because they were unsearchable in cunning, would strike kings
   low, rather than they would be slaves. We owe our liberty to men of
   religion, to men of the stern Puritanical school--men who scorned to
   play the craven and yield their principles at the command of man. And
   if we ever are to maintain our liberty (as God grant we may) it shall
   be kept in England by religious liberty--by religion. This Bible is the
   Magna Charta of old Britain. its truths, its doctrines have snapped our
   fetters, and they never can be riveted on again, whilst men, with God's
   Spirit in their hearts, go forth to speak its truths. In no other land,
   save where the Bible is unclasped--in no other realm, save where the
   gospel is preached, can you find liberty. Roam through other countries,
   and you speak with bated breath; you are afraid; you feel you are under
   an iron hand; the sword is above you; you are not free. Why? Because
   you are under the tyranny engendered by a false religion: you have not
   free Protestantism there; and it is not till Protestantism comes that
   there can be freedom. It is where the Spirit of the Lord is that there
   is liberty, and nowhere else. Men talk about being free: they describe
   model governments, Platonic republics, or Owenite paradises; but they
   are dreamy theorists; for there can be no freedom in the world, save,
   "where the spirit of the Lord is."

   I have commenced with this idea, because I think worldly men ought to
   be told that if religion does not save them, yet it has done much for
   them--that the influence of religion has won them their liberties.

   But the liberty of the text is no such freedom as this: it is an
   infinitely greater and better one. Great as civil or religious liberty
   may be, the liberty of my text transcendently exceeds. There is a
   liberty, dear friends, which Christian men alone enjoy; for even in
   Great Britain there are men who taste not the sweet air of liberty.
   There are some who are afraid to speak as men, who have to cringe and
   fawn, and bow, and stoop, to any one; who have no will of their own, no
   principles, no voice, no courage, and who cannot stand erect in
   conscious independence. But he is the free man, whom the truth makes
   free. He who has grace in his heart is free; he cares for no one; he
   has the right upon his side; he has God within him--the indwelling
   Spirit of the Holy Ghost; he is a prince of the blood royal of heaven;
   he is a noble, having the true patent of nobility; he is one of God's
   elect, distinguished, chosen children, and he is not the man to bend,
   or meanly cringe. No!--sooner would he walk the burning furnace with
   Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego--sooner would he be cast into the
   lion's den with Daniel, than yield a point of principle. He is a free
   man. "Where the Spirit of the Lord is there is liberty" in its fullest,
   highest, and widest sense. God give you friends, to have that "Spirit
   of the Lord;" for without it, in a free country, ye may still be
   bondsmen; and where there are no serfs in body, ye may be slaves in
   soul. The text speaks of Spiritual liberty; and now I address the
   children of God. Spiritual liberty, brethren, you and I enjoy if we
   have "the Spirit of the Lord" within us. What does this imply? It
   implies that there was a time when we had not that Spiritual
   liberty--when we were slaves. But a little while ago all of us who now
   are free in Christ Jesus, were slaves of the devil: we were led
   captives at his will. We talked of free-will, but free will is a slave.
   We boasted that we could do what we pleased; but oh! what a slavish and
   dreamy liberty we had. It was a fancied freedom. We were slaves to our
   lusts and passions--slaves to sin; but now we are freed from sin; we
   are delivered from our tyrant; a stronger than he has cast out the
   strong man armed, and we are free.

   Let us now examine a little more closely, in what our liberty consists.

   I. And first, my friends, "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is
   liberty" from the Bondage of Sin. Ah! I know I shall speak feelingly to
   some of you when I talk about the bondage of sin. You know what that
   misery means. Of all bondage and slavery in this world, there is none
   more horrible than the bondage of sin. Tell me of Israel in Egypt
   preparing their tale of bricks unsupplied with straw; tell me of the
   negro beneath the lash of his cruel task-master, and I confess it is a
   bondage fearful to be borne; but there is one far worse--the bondage of
   a convinced sinner when he is brought to feel the burden of his guilt;
   the bondage of a man when once his sins are baying him, like hounds
   about a weary stag; the bondage of a man when the burden of sin is on
   his shoulder--a burden too heavy for his soul to bear--a burden which
   will sink him for ever in the depths of everlasting torment, unless he
   doth escape from it. Methinks I see such a person. He hath ne'er a
   smile upon his face; dark clouds hath gathered on his brow; solemn and
   serious he stands; his very words are sighs; his songs are groans; his
   smiles are tears; and when he seems most happy, hot drops of grief roll
   in burning showers, scalding furrows on his cheek. Ask him what he is,
   and he tells you he is "a wretch undone." Ask him how he is, and he
   confesses that he is "misery incarnate." Ask him what he shall be, and
   he says, "he shall be lost in flames for ever, and there is no hope."
   Behold him alone in his retirement: when he lays his head on his
   pillow, up he starts again: at night he dreams of torment, and by day
   he almost feels that of which he dreamed. Such is the poor convinced
   sinner under bondage. Such have I been in my days, and such have you
   been, friends. I speak to those who understand it. You have passed
   through that gloomy Slough of Despond; you have gone through that dark
   vale of penitence: you have been made to drink the bitter cup of
   repentance: and I know you will say, "Amen" when I declare that of all
   bondage this is the most painful--the bondage of the law, the bondage
   of corruption. "O wretched man that I am, who shall deliver me" from
   it? But the Christian is free; he can smile now, though he wept before;
   he can rejoice now, whereas he lamented. "There is," he says, "no sin
   upon my conscience now; there is no crime upon my breast; I need not
   walk through the earth fearful of every shadow, and afraid of every man
   I meet, for sin is washed away; my spirit is no more guilty; it is
   pure, it is holy; there no longer resteth the frown of God upon me; but
   my Father smiles: I see his eyes--they are glancing love: I hear his
   voice--it is full of sweetness. I am forgiven, I am forgiven, I am
   forgiven! All hail, thou breaker of fetters! glorious Jesus! Ah! that
   moment when first the bondage passed away I Methinks I recollect it
   now. I saw Jesus on his cross before me; I thought on him, and as I
   mused upon his death and sufferings, methought I saw him cast a look on
   me; and when he gazed on me, I looked at him, and

   said,

   "Jesus, lover of my soul,

   Let me to thy bosom fly."

   He said "come," and I flew to him and clasped him; and when he let me
   go again, I wondered where my burden was. It was gone! There, in the
   sepulchre, it lay, and I felt light as air; like a winged sylph, I
   could fly over mountains of trouble and despair; and oh! what liberty
   and joy I had! I could leap with ecstasy for I had much forgiven, and
   now I was freed from sin." Beloved, this is the first liberty of the
   children of God. "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty"
   from the bondage of sin.

   2. Liberty from the Penalty of Sin.--What is it? Eternal death--torment
   for ever--that is the sad penalty of sin. It is no sweet thing to fear
   that if I died now I might be in hell. It is no pleasant thought for me
   to stand here and believe that if I dropped down I must sink into the
   arms of Satan and have him for my tormentor. Why, sirs, it is a thought
   that would plague me; it is a thought that would be the bitterest curse
   of my existence. I would fain be dead and rotting in the tomb rather
   than walk the earth with the thought that I might suffer such a penalty
   as this. There are some of you here who know right well that if you die
   hell is your portion. You don't attempt to deny it; you believe the
   Bible, and there you read your doom, "He that believeth not shall be
   damned." You cannot put yourselves among believers. You are still
   without Christ. Have any of you been brought into such a condition that
   you believe yourself so full of sin that God could not be just if he
   did not punish you? Have you not felt that you have so rebelled against
   God by secret crimes, ay, I say, by secret crimes, and by open
   transgression, that if he did not punish you he must cease to be God
   and lay aside his sceptre? And then you have trembled, and groaned, and
   cried out under the fear of the penalty of sin. You thought when you
   dreamed, that you saw that burning lake whose waves are fire, and whose
   billows are ever blazing brimstone; and each day you walked the earth
   it was with fear and dread lest the next step should let you into the
   pit which is without a bottom. But Christian, Christian, you are free
   from the penalty of sin. Do you know it? Can you recognize the fact?
   You are free at this moment from the penalty of sin. Not only are you
   forgiven, but you never can be punished on account of your sins however
   great and enormous they may have been.

   "The moment a sinner believes,

   And trusts in his crucified God;

   His pardon at once he receives,

   Salvation in full through his blood,"

   and he never can be punished on account of sin. Talk of the punishment
   of a believer! there is not such a thing. The afflictions of this
   mortal life are not punishments for sin to Christians; they are
   fatherly chastisements, and not the punishments of a judge. For me
   there is no hell; let it smoke and burn, if I am a believer I shall
   never have my portion there. For me there are no eternal racks, no
   torments, for if I am justified, I cannot be condemned. Jesus hath
   suffered the punishment in my stead, and God would be unjust if he were
   to punish me again; for Christ has suffered once, and satisfied justice
   for ever. When conscience tells me I am a sinner, I tell conscience I
   stand in Christ's place, and Christ stands in mine. True, I am a
   sinner; but Christ died for sinners. True, I deserve punishment; but if
   my ransom died, will God ask for the debt twice? Impossible! He has
   cancelled it. There never was, and never shall be one believer in hell.
   We are free from punishment, and we never need quake on account of it.
   However horrible it may be--If it is eternal, as we know it is--it is
   nothing to us, for we never can suffer it. Heaven shall open its pearly
   portals to admit us; but hell's iron gates are barred for ever against
   every believer. Glorious liberty of the children of God!

   3. But there is one fact more startling than both of these things, and
   I dare say some of you will demur to it; nevertheless it is God's
   truth, and if you don't like it, you must leave it! There is liberty
   from the guilt of sin. This is the wonder of wonders. The Christian is
   positively not guilty any longer the moment he believes. Now, if Her
   Majesty in her goodness spares a murderer by giving him a free pardon,
   that man cannot be punished: but still he will be a guilty man; she may
   give him a thousand pardons, and the law cannot touch him, but still he
   will guilty; the crime will always be on his head, and he will be
   branded as a murderer as long as he lives. But the Christian is not
   only delivered from the bondage and from the punishment, but he is
   positively absolved from the guilt. Now this is something at which you
   will stand amazed. You say, "What? is a Christian no more a sinner in
   God's sight ?" I answer, he is a sinner as considered in himself; but
   in the person of Christ he is no more a sinner than the angel Gabriel;
   for snowy as are angelic wings, and spotless as are cherubic robes, an
   angel cannot be more pure than the poor blood-washed sinner when he is
   made whiter than snow. Do you understand how it is that the very guilt
   of the sinner is taken away? Here I stand to-day a guilty and condemned
   traitor; Christ comes for my salvation, he bids me heave my cell, "I
   will stand where you are; I will be your substitute; I will be the
   sinner; all your guilt is to be imputed to me; I will die for it, I
   will suffer for it; 1 will have your sins." Then stripping himself of
   his robes, he says, "There, put them on; you shall be considered as if
   you were Christ; you shall be the righteous one. I will take your
   place, you take mine." Then he casts around me a glorious robe of
   perfect righteousness; and when I behold it, I exclaim, "Strangely, my
   soul, art thou arrayed, with my elder brother's garments on." Jesus
   Christ's crown is on my head, his spotless robes are round my loins,
   and his golden sandals are the shoes of my feet. And now is there any
   sin? The sin is on Christ; the righteousness is on me. Ask for the
   sinner, Justice! Let the voice of Justice cry, "Bring forth the
   sinner!" The sinner is brought. Who doth the executioner lead forth? It
   is the incarnate Son of God. True, he did not commit the sin; he was
   without fault; but it is imputed to him: be stands in the sinner's
   place. Now Justice cries, "Bring forth the righteous, the perfectly
   righteous." Whom do I see? Lo, the Church is brought; each believer is
   brought. Justice says, "Are these perfectly righteous?" "Yes they are.
   What Christ did is theirs; what they did is laid on Christ; his
   righteousness is theirs; their sins are his." I appeal to you, ye
   ungodly. This seems strange and startling, does it not? You have set it
   down to hyper-calvinism, and you laugh at it. Set it down for what you
   please, sirs. God has set it up as his truth; he has made us righteous
   through the imputed righteousness of Jesus Christ. And now, if I am a
   true believer, I stand here freed from every sin. There is not a crime
   against me in the book of God; it is blotted out for ever; it is
   cancelled; and not only can I never be punished, but I have nothing to
   be punished for. Christ has atoned for my sins, and I have received his
   righteousness. "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty."

   4. Furthermore, the Christian man, whilst delivered from the guilt and
   punishment of sin, is likewise delivered from the dominion of it. Every
   living man before he is converted, is a slave to lust. Profane men
   glory in free living and free thinking. They call this free living--a
   full glass, a Bacchanalian revel, shouting, wantonness,
   chambering.--Free living, sir! Let the slave hold up his fetters and
   jingle them in my ears, and say, "This is music, and I am free." The
   man is a poor maniac. Let the man chained in his cell, the madman of
   Bethlehem, tell me he is a king, and grin a horrible smile; I say, "Ah,
   poor wretch, I know wherefore he counteth that he is a king; he is
   demented, and is mad." So it is with the worldling who says he is free.
   Free sir! you are a slave. You think you are happy; but at night, when
   you lay yourself upon your bed, how many times have you tossed from
   side to side sleepless and ill at ease; and when you awaked have you
   not said, "Ah! that yesterday--that yesterday !" And though you plunged
   into another day of sin, that "yesterday," like a hell-dog, barked at
   you, and followed at your heels. You know it, sir,--sin is a bondage
   and a slavery. And have you ever tried to get rid of that slavery?
   "Yes," you say, "I have." But I will tell you what has been the end of
   it. When you have tried, you have bound your fetters firmer than ever;
   you have riveted your chains. A sinner without grace attempting to
   reform him self is like Sisyphus rolling the stone up hill, which
   always comes down with greater force. A man without grace attempting to
   save himself, is engaged in as hopeless a task as the daughters of
   Danaus, when they attempted to fill a vast vessel with bottomless
   buckets. He has a bow without a string, a sword without a blade, a gun
   without powder. He needs strength. I grant you, he may produce a hollow
   reformation; he may earth up the volcano, and sow flowers around its
   crater; but when it once begins to stir again, it shall move the earth
   away, and the hot lava shall roll over all the fair flowers which he
   had planted, and devastate both his works and his righteousness. A
   sinner without grace is a slave: he cannot deliver himself from his
   sins. But not so the Christian! Is he a slave to his sin? Is a
   true-born heir of God a slave? Oh, no. He does not sin, because he is
   born of God; he does not live in uncleanness, because he is an heir of
   immortality. Ye beggars of the earth may stoop to deeds of wrong, but
   princes of heaven's blood must follow acts of right. Ye poor
   worldlings, mean and pitiful wretches in God's sight---ye may live in
   dishonesty and unrighteousness, but the heir of heaven cannot; he loves
   his Lord; he is free from the power of sin; his work is righteousness,
   and his end his everlasting life. We are free from the dominion of sin.

   5. Once more: "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty" in
   all holy acts of love--liberty from a slavish fear of law. Many people
   are honest because they are afraid of the policeman. Many are sober
   because they are afraid of the eye of the public. Many persons are
   seemingly religious because of their neighbours. There is much virtue
   which is like the juice of the grape--it has to be squeezed before you
   get it; it is not like the generous drop of the honeycomb, distilling
   willingly and freely. I am bold to say, that if a man be destitute of
   the grace of God, his works are only works of slavery; he feels forced
   to do them. I know before I came into the liberty of the children of
   God, if I went to God's house, I went because I thought I must do it;
   if I prayed, it was because I feared some misfortune would happen in
   the day if I did not; if I ever thanked God for a mercy, it was because
   I thought I should not get another if I were not thankful; if I
   performed a righteous deed, it was with the hope that very likely God
   would reward me at last, and I should be winning some crown in heaven.
   A poor slave, a mere Gibeonite, hewing wood and drawing water. If I
   could have left off doing it, I should have loved to do so. If I could
   have had my will, there would have been no chapel-going for me, no
   religion for me--I would have lived in the world and followed the ways
   of Satan, if I could have done as I pleased. As for righteousness, it
   was slavery; sin would have been my liberty. But now, Christian, what
   is your liberty? What makes you come to the house of God to day?

   "Love made your willing feet

   In swift obedience move."

   What makes you bend your knee in prayer? It is because you like to talk
   with your Father who seeth in secret. What is it that opens your
   purses, and makes you give liberally? It is because you love the poor
   children of God, and you feel, so much being given to you, that it is a
   privilege to give something back to Christ. What is it that constrains
   you to live honestly, righteously, and soberly ? Is it the rear of the
   jail? No; you might pull the jail down; you might annihilate the
   convict settlements; you might hurl all chains into the sea; and we
   should be just as holy as we are now. Some people say, "Then, sir, you
   mean to say that Christians may live as they like." I wish they could,
   sir. If I could live as I liked, I would, always live holily. If a
   Christian could live as he liked, he would always live as he ought. It
   is a slavery to him to sin; righteousness is his delight. Oh! if I
   could but live as I list, I would list to live as I ought. If I could
   but live as I would I would live as God commands me. The greatest
   happiness of a Christian is to be holy. It is no slavery to him. Put
   him where you will, he will not sin, Expose him to any temptation, if
   it were not for that evil heart still remaining, you would never find
   him sinning. Holiness is his pleasure; sin is his slavery. Ah! ye poor
   bondsmen who come to church and chapel because ye must; ah! ye poor
   slavish moralists that are honest because of the gyves, and sober
   because of the prison; ah! ye poor slaves! We are not so; we are not
   under the law, but under grace. Call us Antinomians if you will; we
   will even glory in the scandalous title; we are freed from the law, but
   we are freed from it that we may obey it more than ever we did. The
   true-born child of God serves his Master more than ever he did. As old
   Erskine says:--

   "Slight now his loving presence if they can;

   No, no; his conquering kindness leads the van.

   When everlasting love exerts the sway,

   They judge themselves most kindly bound to obey;

   Bound by redeeming love in stricter sense,

   Than ever Adam was in innocence."

   6. But to conclude. "Where the Spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty"
   from the Fear of Death. O death! how many a sweet cup hast thou made
   bitter. O death! how many a revel hast thou broken up. O death! how
   many a gluttonous banquet hast thou spoiled. O death! how many a sinful
   pleasure hast thou turned into pain. Take ye, my friends, the telescope
   this morning, and look through the vista of a few years, and what see
   you ? Grim death in the distance grasping his scythe. He is coming,
   coming, coming; and what is behind him? Ay, that depends upon your own
   character. If ye are the sons of God, there is the palm-branch; if ye
   are not, ye know what followeth death--Hell follows him. O death! thy
   spectre hath haunted many a house where sin otherwise would have
   rioted. O death! thy chilly hand hath touched many a heart that was big
   with lust, and made it start affrighted from its crime. Oh! how many
   men are slaves to the fear of death. Half the people in the world are
   afraid to die. There are some madmen who can march up to the cannon's
   mouth; there are some fools who rush with bloody hands before their
   Maker's tribunal; but most men fear to die. Who is the man that does
   not fear to die? I will tell you. The man that is a believer. Fear to
   die! Thank God, I do not. The cholera may come again next summer--I
   pray God it may not; but if it does, it matters not to me: I will toil
   and visit the sick by night and by day, until I drop; and if it takes
   me, sudden death is sudden glory. And so with the weakest saint in this
   hall; the prospect of dissolution does not make you tremble. Sometimes
   you fear, but oftener you rejoice. You sit down calmly and think of
   dying. What is death ? It is a low porch through which you stoop to
   enter heaven. What is life ? It is a narrow screen that separates us
   from glory, and death kindly removes it! I recollect a saying of a good
   old woman, who said, "Afraid to die, sir! I have dipped my foot in
   Jordan every morning before break fast for the last fifty years, and do
   you think I am afraid to die now ?" Die! beloved: why we die hundred of
   times; we "die daily ;" we die every morning; we die each night when we
   sleep; by faith we die; and so dying will be old work when we come to
   it. We shall say, "Ah, death! you and I have been old acquaintances; I
   have had thee in my bedroom every night; I have talked with thee each
   day; I have had the skull upon my dressing table; and I have ofttimes
   thought of thee. Death! thou art come at last, but thou art a welcome
   guest; thou art an angel of light, and the best friend I have had."
   Why, then, dread death; since there is no fear of God's leaving you
   when you come to die! Here I must tell you that anecdote of the good
   Welch lady, who, when she lay a-dying, was visited by her minister. He
   said to her, "Sister, are you sinking?" She answered him not a word,
   but looked at him with an incredulous eye. He repeated the question,
   "Sister, are you sinking ?" She looked at him again, as if she could
   not believe that he would ask such a question. At last, rising a little
   in the bed, she said, "Sinking! Sinking! Did you ever know a sinner
   sink through a rock? If I had been standing on the sand, I might sink;
   but, thank God I am on the Rock of Ages, and there is no sinking
   there." How glorious to die! Oh, angels, come! Oh, cohorts of the Lord
   of hosts, stretch, stretch your broad wings and lift us up from earth;
   O, winged seraphs, bear us far above the reach of these

   inferior things; but till ye come, I'll sing,

   "Since Jesus is mine, I'll not fear undressing--

   But gladly put off these garments of clay,

   To die in the Lord is a covenant blessing;

   Since Jesus to glory, though death lead the way."

   And now, dear friends, I have shown you as briefly as I can the
   negative side of this liberty. I have tried to tell you, as well as I
   could put it in a few words, what we are freed from. But there are two
   sides to such questions as this. There are some glorious things that we
   are free to. Not only are we freed from sin in every sense from the
   law, and from the fear of death; but we are free to do something. I
   shall not occupy many moments, but shall just run over a few things we
   are free to; for, my brother Christians, "Where the Spirit of the Lord
   is, there is liberty;" and that liberty gives us certain rights and
   privileges.

   In the first place, we are free to heaven's charter. There is heaven's
   charter--the Magna Charta--the Bible; and, my brother, you are free to
   it. There is a choice passage here: "When thou passest through the
   river I will be with thee, and the floods shall not overflow thee ;"
   thou art free to that. Here is another: "Mountains may depart, and
   hills may be removed; but my lovingkindness shall not depart:" you are
   free to that. Here is another: "Having loved his own, he loved them
   unto the end." you are free to that. "Where the Spirit of the Lord is,
   there is liberty." Here is a chapter touching election: you are free to
   that if you are elect. Here is another, speaking of the
   non-condemnation of the righteous, and their justification; you are
   free to that. You are free to all that is in the Bible. Here is a
   never-failing treasure filled with boundless stores of grace. It is the
   bank of heaven: you may draw from it as much as you please without let
   or hindrance. Bring nothing with you, except faith. Bring as much faith
   as you can get, and you are welcome to all that is in the Bible. There
   is not a promise, not a word in it, that is not yours. In the depths of
   tribulation let it comfort you. Mid waves of distress let it cheer you.
   When sorrows surround thee, let it be thy helper. This is thy father's
   love-token: let it never be shut up and covered with dust. Thou art
   free to it--use, then, thy freedom.

   Next, recollect that thou art free to the throne of grace. It is the
   privilege of Englishmen, that they can always send a petition to
   Parliament; and it is the privilege of a believer, that he can always
   send a petition to the throne of God. I am free to God's throne. If I
   want to talk to God to-morrow morning, I can. If to-night I wish to
   have conversation with my Master, I can go to him. I have a right to go
   to his throne. It matters not how much I may have sinned. I go and ask
   for pardon. It signifies nothing how poor I am--I go and plead his
   promise that he will provide all things needful. I have a right to go
   to his throne at all times--in midnight's darkest hour, or in
   noontide's heat. Where'er I am; if fate command me to the utmost verge
   of the wide earth, I have still constant admission to his throne. Use
   that right, beloved--use that right. There is not one of you that lives
   up to his privilege. Many a gentleman will live beyond his income,
   spending more than he has coming in; but there is not a Christian that
   does that--I mean that lives up to his spiritual income. Oh, no! you
   have an infinite income--an in come of promises--an income of grace;
   and no Christian ever lived up to his income. Some people say, "If I
   had more money I should have a larger house, and horses, and carriage,
   and so on." Very well and good; but I wish the Christian would do the
   same. I wish they would set up a larger house, and do greater things
   for God; look more happy, and take those tears away from their eyes.

   "Religion never was designed

   To make our pleasures less."

   With such stores in the bank, and so much in hand, that God gives you,
   you have no right to be poor. Up! rejoice! rejoice! The Christian ought
   to live up to his income, and not below it.

   Then, if you have the "Spirit of the Lord," dear friends, you have a
   right to enter into the city. There are many of the freemen of the City
   of London here, I dare say, and that is a great privilege, very likely.
   I am not a freeman of London, but I am a freeman of a better city.

   "Saviour, if of Zion's city,

   I, by grace, a member am,

   Let the world revile or pity,

   I will glory in thy name."

   You have a right to the freedom of Zion's city, and you do not exercise
   it. I want to have a word with some of you. You are very good Christian
   people. but you have never joined the church yet. You know it is quite
   right, that he that believeth should be baptized; but I suppose you are
   afraid of being drowned, for you never come. Then the Lord's table is
   spread once every month, and it is free to all God's children, but you
   never approach it. Why is that? It is your banquet. I do not think if I
   were an alderman I should omit the city banquet; and being a Christian,
   I cannot omit the Christian banquet, it is the banquet of the saints.

   "Ne'er did angels taste above

   Redeeming grace and dying love."

   Some of you never come to the Lord's table; you neglect his ordinances.
   He says, "This do in remembrance of me." You have obtained the freedom
   of the city, but you won't take it up. You have a right to enter in
   through the gates into the city, but you stand outside. Come in
   brother; I will give you my hand. Don't remain outside the church any
   longer, for you have a right to come in.

   Then, to conclude, you have the freedom of Jerusalem, the mother of us
   all. That is the best gift. We are free to heaven. When a Christian
   dies, he knows the open sesame that can open the gates of heaven, he
   knows the pass-word that can make the gates wide open fly; he has the
   white stone whereby he shall be known as a ransomed one, and that shall
   pass him at the barrier; he has the passport that shall let him into
   the dominions of Jehovah; he has liberty to enter into heaven. Methinks
   I see you, ye unconverted, in the land of shades, wandering up and down
   to find your portion. Ye come to the porch of heaven. It is great and
   lofty. The gate hath written o'er it, "The righteous only are admitted
   here." As ye stand, ye look for the porter. A tall archangel appeareth
   from above the gate, and ye say, "Angel, let me in." "Where is thy
   robe?" Thou searchest, and thou hast none; thou hast only some few rags
   of thine own spinning, but no wedding garment. "Let me in," sayest
   thou, "for the fiends are after me to drag me to yonder pit. Oh, let me
   in." But with a quiet glance the angel lifteth up his finger and saith,
   "Read up there;" and thou readest, "None but the righteous enter here."
   Then thou tremblest; thy knees knock together; thy hands shake. Were
   thy bones of brass they might melt; and were thy ribs of iron they
   might be dissolved Ah! there thou standest, shivering, quaking,
   trembling; but not long, for a voice which frights thee from thy feet
   and lays thee prostrate, cries, "Depart ye cursed into everlasting fire
   prepared for the devil and his angels." O dear hearers, shall that be
   your portion? My friends, as I love you,--I do this morning, and hope I
   ever shall,--shall this be your lot? Will you not have freedom to enter
   into the city? Will you not seek that Spirit which giveth liberty? Ah!
   I know ye will not have it if left to yourselves; some of you perhaps
   never will. O God, grant that that number may be but few, but may the
   number of the saved be great indeed!

   "Turn, then my soul unto thy rest,

   The ransom of thy great High Priest,

   Hath set the captive free.

   Trust to his efficacious blood,

   Nor fear thy banishment from God,

   Since Jesus died for thee."
     __________________________________________________________________

                      The Kingly Priesthood of the Saints

   A Sermon

   (No. 10)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 28th, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "And hast made us unto our God kings and priests; and we shall reign on
   the earth."--Revelation 5:10.

   MUSIC HATH Charms." I am sure sacred music has; for I have felt
   something of its charms whilst we have been singing that glorious hymn
   just now. There is a potency in harmony; there is a magic power in
   melody, which either melts the soul to pity, or lifts it up to joy
   unspeakable. I do not know how it may be with some minds; they possibly
   may resist the influence of singing; but I cannot. When the saints of
   God, in full chorus, "chaunt the solemn lay," and when I hear sweet
   syllables fall from their lips, keeping measure and time, then I feel
   elevated; and, forgetting for a time everything terrestrial, I soar
   aloft towards heaven. If such be the sweetness of the music of the
   saints below, where there is much of discord and sin to mar the
   harmony, how sweet must it be to sing above, with cherubim and
   seraphim. Oh, what songs must those be which the Eternal ever hears
   upon his throne! What seraphic sonnets must those be which are thrilled
   from the lips of pure immortals, untainted by a sin, unmingled with a
   groan: where they warble ever hymns of joy and gladness, never
   intermingled with one sigh, or groan, or worldly care. Happy songsters!
   When shall I your chorus join? There is one of your hymns that runs--

   "Hark! how they sing before the throne!"

   and I have sometimes thought I could "hark! how they sing before the
   throne." I have imagined that I could hear the full burst of the swell
   of the chorus, when it pealed from heaven like mighty thunders, and the
   sound of many waters, and have almost heard those full-toned strains,
   when the harpers harped with their harps be fore the throne of God;
   alas, it was but imagination. We cannot hear it now; these ears are not
   fitted for such music; these souls could not be contained in the body,
   if we were once to hear some stray note from the harps of angels. We
   must wait till we get up yonder. Then, purified, like silver seven
   times, from the defilement of earth, washed in our Saviour's precious
   blood, sanctified by the purifying influence of the Holy Spirit--

   "We shall, unblemished and complete,

   Appear before our Father's throne,

   With joys divinely great."

   "Then loudest of the crowd we'll sing,

   Whilst heaven's resounding mansions ring

   With shouts of sovereign grace."

   Our friend John, the highly favoured apostle of the Apocalypse, has
   given us just one note from heaven's song; we shall strike that note,
   and sound it again and again. I shall strike this tuning-fork of
   heaven, and let you hear one of the key notes. "And hast made us unto
   our God kings and priests; and we shall reign on the earth." May the
   great and gracious Spirit, who is the only illumination of darkness,
   light up my mind whilst I attempt, in a brief and hurried manner, to
   speak from this text. There are three things in it: first, the
   Redeemer's doings--" and hast made us; secondly, the saints' honors--"
   and hast made us kings and priests unto our God;" and, thirdly, the
   world's future--" and we shall reign upon the earth."

   I. First, then, we have THE REDEEMER'S DOINGS. They who stand before
   the throne sing of the Lamb--the Lion of the tribe of Judah, who took
   the book and broke the seals thereof--" Thou hast made us kings and
   priests unto our God." In heaven they do not sing

   "Glory, honor, praise, and power

   Be unto ourselves for ever;

   We have been our own Redeemers;--Hallelujah!"

   They never sing praise to themselves; they glorify not their own
   strength; they do not talk of their own free-will and their own might;
   but they ascribe their salvation, from beginning to end, to God. Ask
   them how they were saved, and they reply, "The Lamb hath made us what
   we are." Ask them whence their glories came, and they tell you, "They
   were bequeathed to us by the dying Lamb." Ask whence they obtained the
   gold of their harps, and they say, "It was dug in mines of agony and
   bitterness by Jesus," Inquire who stringed their harps, and they will
   tell you that Jesus took each sinew of his body to make them. Ask them
   where they washed their robes and made them white, and they will say--

   "In yonder fountain filled with blood,

   Drawn from Immanuel's veins.'"

   Some persons on earth do not know where to put the crown; but those in
   heaven do. They place the diadem on the right head; and they ever
   sing--" And he hath made us what we are."

   Well, then, beloved, would not this note well become us here? For "
   what have we that we have not received?" Who hath made us to differ? I
   know, this morning, that I am a justified man; I have the full
   assurance that

   "The terrors of law and of God,

   With me can have nothing to do;

   My Saviour's obedience and blood

   Hide all my transgressions from view."

   There is not a sin against me in God's book they have all been for ever
   obliterated by the blood of Christ. and cancelled by his own right
   hand. I have nothing to fear; I cannot be condemned. "Who shall lay
   anything to the charge of God's elect?" Not God, for he hath justified;
   not Christ. for he hath died. But if I am justified, who made me so? I
   say--"And hath made me what I am." Justification from first to last. is
   of God. Salvation is of the Lord alone.

   Many of you are sanctified persons, but you are not perfectly
   sanctified, you are not redeemed altogether from the dross of earth;
   you have still another law in your members, warring against the law of
   your mind; and you always will have that law while you tabernacle in
   faith; you never will be perfect in your sanctification until you get
   up yonder before the solemn throne of God, where even this imperfection
   of your soul will be taken away, and your carnal depravity rooted out.
   But yet, beloved, there is an inward principle imparted; you are
   growing in grace--you are making progress in holiness. Well, but who
   made you have that progress? Who redeemed you from that lust? Who
   ransomed you from that vice? Who bade you say farewell to that practice
   in which you indulged? Cannot you say of Jesus, "And hath made us!" It
   is Christ who hath done it all, and to his name be honor, and glory,
   and praise, and dominion.

   Let us dwell one moment on this thought, and show you how it is that it
   can be said that Christ hath made us this. When did Christ make his
   people kings and priests? When could it be said, "And hath made us
   kings and priests unto our God?"

   1. First of all, he made us kings and priests, virtually, when he
   signed the covenant of grace. Far, far back in eternity, the Magna
   Charta of the saints was written by the hand of God, and it needed one
   signature to make it valid. There was a stipulation in that covenant
   that the Mediator should become incarnate should live a suffering life,
   and at last endure a death of ignominy; and it needed but one
   signature, the signature of the Son of God, to make that covenant
   valid, eternal, and "ordered in all things and sure." Methinks I see
   him now, as my imagination pictures the lofty Son of God grasping the
   pen. See how his fingers write the name; and there it stands in
   everlasting letters--" THE SON!" O sacred ratification of the treaty;
   it is stamped and sealed with the great seal of our father in heaven. O
   glorious covenant, then for ever made secure! At the moment of the
   signature of this wondrous document, the spirits before the throne--I
   mean the angels--might have taken up the song, and said of the whole
   body of the elect, "And hast made you kings and priests unto your God;"
   and could all the chosen company have started into existence, they
   could have clapped their hands and sung, "Here we are by that very
   signature constituted kings and priests unto our God."

   2. But he did not stop there. It was not simply agreeing to the terms
   of the treaty; but in due time he filled it all--yes, to its utmost jot
   and tittle. Jesus said, "I will take the cup of salvation;" and he did
   take it--the cup of our deliverance. Bitter were its drops;gall lay in
   its depths;there were groans, and sighs, and tears, within the red
   mixture but he took it all, and drank it to its dregs, and swallowed
   all the awful draught. All was gone. He drank the cup of salvation, and
   he ate the bread of affliction. See him, as he drinks the cup in
   Gethsemane, when the fluid of that cup did mingle with his blood, and
   make each drop a scalding poison. Mark how the hot feet of pain did
   travel down his veins. See how each nerve is twisted and contorted with
   his agony. Behold his brow covered with sweat; witness the agonies as
   they follow each other into the very depths of his soul. Speak, ye
   lost, and tell what hell's torment means; but ye cannot tell what the
   torments of Gethsemane were. Oh! the deep unutterable! There was a
   depth which couched beneath, when our Redeemer bowed his head, when he
   placed himself betwixt the upper and nether millstones of his Father's
   vengeance, and when his whole soul was ground to powder. Ah! that
   wrestling man-God--that suffering man of Gethsemane! Weep o'er him,
   saints--weep o'er him; when ye see him rising from that prayer in the
   garden, marching forth to his cross; when ye picture him hanging on his
   cross four long hours in the scorching sun, overwhelmed by his Father's
   passing wrath--when ye see his side streaming with gore--when ye hear
   his death-shriek, "It is finished,"--and see his lips all parched, and
   moistened by nothing save the vinegar and the gall,--ah! then prostrate
   yourselves before that cross, bow down before that sufferer, and say,
   "Thou hast made us--thou hast made us what we are; we are nothing
   without thee." The cross of Jesus is the foundation of the glory of the
   saints; Calvary is the birth-place of heaven; heaven was born in
   Bethlehem's manger; had it not been for the sufferings and agonies of
   Golgotha we should have had no blessing. Oh, saint! in every mercy see
   the Saviour's blood; look on this Book--it is sprinkled with his blood;
   look on this house of prayer--it is sanctified by his sufferings; look
   on your daily food--it is purchased with his groans. Let every mercy
   come to you as a blood-bought treasure; value it because it comes from
   him; and ever more say, "Thou hast made us what we are."

   3. Beloved, our Saviour Jesus Christ finished the great work of making
   us what we are, by his ascension into heaven. If he had not risen up on
   high and led captivity captive, his death would have been insufficient.
   He "died for our sins," but he "rose again for our justification." The
   resurrection of our Saviour, in his majesty, when he burst the bonds of
   death, was to us the assurance that God had accepted his sacrifice; and
   his ascension up on high, was but as a type and a figure of the real
   and actual ascension of all his saints, when he shall come in the
   clouds of judgment, and shall call all his people to him. Mark the
   man-God, as he goes upward towards heaven; behold his triumphal march
   through the skies, whilst stars sing his praises, and planets dance in
   solemn order; behold him traverse the unknown fields of ether till he
   arrives at the throne of God in the seventh heaven, Then hear him say
   to his Father, "I have finished the work which thou gavest me to do;
   behold me and the children thou hast given me; I have fought a good
   fight, I have finished my course; I have done all; I have accomplished
   every type; I have finished every part of the covenant; there is not
   one iota I have left unfulfilled, or one tittle that is left out; all
   is done." And hark, how they sing before the throne of God when thus he
   speaks: "Thou hast made us unto our God kings and priests: and we shall
   reign on the earth."

   Thus have I briefly spoken upon the dear Redeemer's doings. Poor lips
   cannot speak better; faint heart will not rise up to the height of this
   great argument. Oh! that these lips had language eloquent and lofty,
   that they might speak more of the wondrous doings of our Redeemer!

   " Crown him! crown him!

   Crowns become the Saviour's brow."

   II. Now, secondly, THE SAINT'S HONORS: "and hast made us unto our God
   kings and priests." The most honorable of all monarchs have ever been
   esteemed to be those who had a right not only to royal, but to
   sacerdotal supremacy--those kings who could wear at one time the crown
   of loyalty, and at another the mitre of the priesthood, who could both
   use the censer and hold the sceptre--who could offer intercession for
   the people, and then govern the nations. Those who are kings and
   priests are great indeed; and here you behold the saint honored, not
   with one title, or one office, but with two. He is made not a king
   merely, but a king and a priest; not a priest merely, but a priest and
   a king. The saint has two offices conferred upon him at once, he is
   made a priestly monarch, and a regal priest.

   I shall take, first of all, the royal office of the saints. They are
   KINGS. They are not merely to be kings in heaven, but they are also
   kings on earth; for if my text does not say so, the Bible declares it
   in another passage: "Ye are a chosen generation, a royal priesthood."
   We are kings even now. I want you to understand that, before I explain
   the idea. Every saint of the living God, not merely has the prospect of
   being a king in heaven, but positively, in the sight of God, he is a
   king now; and he must say, with regard to his brethren and himself,
   "And hast made us," even now, "unto our God kings and priests; and we
   shall reign upon the earth." A Christian is a king. He is not simply
   like a king, but he is a king, actually and truly. However, I shall try
   and show you how he is like a king.

   Remember his royal ancestry. What a fuss some people make about their
   grand fathers and grandmothers, and distant ancestors. I remember
   seeing in Trinity College, the pedigree of some great lord that went
   back just as far as Adam, and Adam was there digging the ground--the
   first man. It was traced all the way up. Of course I did not believe
   it. I have heard of some pedigrees that go back further. I leave that
   to your own common sense, to believe it or not. A pedigree in which
   shall be found dukes, marquises, and kings, and princes. Oh! what would
   some give for such a pedigree? I believe, however, that it is not what
   our ancestors were, but what we are, that will make us shine before
   God; that it is not so much in knowing that we have royal or priestly
   blood in our veins, as knowing that we are an honor to our race--that
   we are walking in the ways of the Lord, and reflecting credit upon the
   church, and upon the grace that makes us honorable. But since some men
   will glory in their descent, I will glory that the saints have the
   proudest ancestry in all the world. Talk of Caesars, or of Alexanders,
   or tell me even of our own good Queen: I say that I am of as high
   descent as her majesty, or the proudest monarch in the world. I am
   descended from the King of kings. The saint may well speak of his
   ancestry--he may exult in it, he may glory in it--for he is the son of
   God, positively and actually. His mother, the Church, is the Bride of
   Jesus; he is a twice-born child of heaven: one of the blood royal of
   the universe. The poorest woman or man on earth, loving Christ, is of a
   royal line. Give a man the grace of God in his heart, and his ancestry
   is noble. I can turn back the roll of my pedigree, and I can tell you
   that it is so ancient, that it has no beginning; it is more ancient
   than all the rolls of mighty men put together; for, from all eternity
   my Father existed: and, therefore, I have indeed a right royal and
   ancient ancestry.

   And then, again, the saints, like monarchs, have a splendid retinue.
   Kings and monarchs cannot travel without a deal of state. In olden
   times, they had far more magnificence than they have now; but even in
   these days we see much of it when royalty is abroad. There must be a
   peculiar kind of horse, and a splendid chariot, and outriders; with all
   the etceteras of gorgeous pomp. Ay! and the kings of God, whom Jesus
   Christ has made kings and priests unto their God, have also a royal
   retinue. "Oh!" say you, "but I see some of them in rags; they are
   walking through the earth alone, sometimes without a helper or a
   friend." Ah! but there is a fault in your eyes. If you had eyes to see,
   you would perceive a body-guard of angels always attending every one of
   the blood-bought family. You remember Elijah's servant could not see
   anything around Elijah, till his master opened his eyes; then he could
   see that there were horses and chariots round about Elijah. Lo! there
   are horses and chariots about me. And thou, saint of the Lord: where'er
   thou art, there are horses and chariots. In that bed-chamber, where I
   was born, angels stood to announce my birth on high. In seas of
   trouble, when wave after wave seems to go over me, angels are there to
   lift up my head; when I come to die, when sorrowing friends shall,
   weeping, carry me to the grave, angels shall stand by my bier; and,
   when put into the grave, some mighty angel shall stand and guard my
   dust, and contend for its possession with the devil. Why should I fear?
   I have a company of angels about me; and whenever I walk abroad, the
   glorious cherubim march in front. Men see them not, but I see them; for
   "faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not
   seen." We have a royal retinue: we are kings, not merely by ancestry,
   but by our retinue.

   Now, notice the insignia and regalia of the saints. Kings and princes
   have certain things that are theirs by perspective right. For instance,
   Her Majesty has her Buckingham Palace, and her other palaces, her crown
   royal, her sceptre, and so on. But, has a saint a palace? Yes. I have a
   palace! and its walls are not made of marble, but of gold; its borders
   are carbuncles and precious gems; its windows are of agates; its stones
   are laid with fair colours; around it there is a profusion of every
   costly thing; rubies sparkle here and there; yea, pearls are but common
   stones within it. Some call it a mansion; but I have a right to call it
   a palace too, for I am a king. It is a mansion when I look at God, it
   is a palace when I look at men; because it is the habitation of a
   prince. Mark where this palace is. I am not a prince of Inde--I have no
   inheritance in any far-off hand that men dream of--I have no El Dorado,
   or Home of Prester John; but yet I have a substantial palace. Yonder,
   on the hills of heaven it stands; I know not its position among the
   other mansions of heaven, but there it stands; and "I know that if the
   earthly house of this tabernacle be dissolved, I have a building of
   God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens."

   Have Christians a crown too? O yes; but they do not wear it every day.
   They have a crown, but their coronation day is not yet arrived. They
   have been anointed monarchs, they have some of the authority and
   dignity of monarchs; but they are not crowned monarchs yet. But the
   crown is made. God will not have to order heaven's goldsmiths to
   fashion it in after-time; it is made already hanging up in glory. God
   bath "laid up for me a crown of righteousness." Oh, saint, if thou
   didst just open some secret door in heaven, and go into the treasure
   chamber, thou wouldst see it filled with crowns. When Cortes entered
   the palace of Montezuma, he found a secret chamber bricked up, and he
   thought the wealth of all the world was there, so many different things
   were there stowed away. Could you enter God's secret treasure-house,
   what wealth would you see!" " Are there so many monarchs," you would
   say, "so many crowns, so many princes?" Yes, and some bright angel
   would say, "Mark you that crown? It is yours;" and if you were to look
   within, you would read, "Made for a sinner saved by grace, whose name
   was--;" and then you would hardly believe your eyes, as you saw your
   own name engraved upon it. You are indeed a king before God; for you
   have a crown laid up in heaven. What ever other insignia belong to
   monarchs, saints shall have. They shall have robes of whiteness; they
   shall have harps of glory; they shall have all things that become their
   regal state; so that we are indeed monarchs, you see; not
   mock-monarchs, clothed in purple garments of derision, and scoffed at
   with "Hail, king of the Jews;" but we are real monarchs. "He hath made
   us kings and priests unto our God."

   There is another thought here. Kings are considered the most honorable
   amongst men. They are always looked up to and respected. If you should
   say, "a monarch is here!" a crowd would give way. I should not command
   much respect if I were to attempt to move about in a crowd; but if any
   one should shout, "here is the Queen!" every one would step aside and
   make room for her. A monarch generally commands respect. Ah! beloved,
   we think that worldly princes are the most honorable of the earth; but
   if you were to ask God, he would reply, "my saints, in whom I delight,
   these are the honorable ones." Tell me not of tinsel and gewgaw; tell
   me not of gold and silver; tell me not of diamonds and pearls; tell me
   not of ancestry and rank; preach to me not of pomp and power; but oh!
   tell me that a man is a saint of the Lord, for then he is an honorable
   man. God respects him, angels respect him, and the universe one day
   shall respect him, when Christ shall come to call him to his account,
   and say, "Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy
   of thy Lord." You may despise a child of God now, sinner; you may laugh
   at him; you may say he is a hypocrite; you may call him a saint, a
   methodist, a cant, and everything you like; but know that those titles
   will not mar his dignity--he is the honorable of the earth, and God
   estimates him as such.

   But some persons will say, "I wish you would prove what you affirm,
   when you say that saints are kings; for, if we were kings, we should
   never have any sorrows; kings are never poor as we are, and never
   suffer as we do." Who told you so? You say if you are kings, you would
   live at ease. Do not kings ever suffer? Was not David an anointed king?
   and was lie not hunted like a partridge on the mountains? Did not the
   king himself pass over the brook Kedron, and all his people weeping as
   he went, when his son Absalom pursued him? And was he not a monarch
   when he slept on the cold ground, with no couch save the damp heather?
   O yes, kings have their sorrows--crowned heads have their afflictions.
   Full oft

   "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."

   Do not expect that because you are a king, you are to have no sorrows.
   "It is not for kings, O Lemuel, it is not for kings to drink wine; nor
   for princes strong drink." And it is often so. The saints get but
   little wine here. It is not for kings to drink the wine of pleasure; it
   is not for kings to have much of the intoxicating drink and the
   surfeits of this world's delight. They shall have joy enough up yonder,
   when they shall drink it new in their Father's kingdom. Poor saint! do
   dwell on this. Thou art a king! I beseech thee, let it not go away from
   thy mind; but in the midst of thy tribulation, still rejoice in it. If
   thou hast to go through the dark tunnel of infamy, for Christ's name;
   if thou art ridiculed and reviled, still rejoice in the fact, "I am a
   king, and all the dominions of the earth shall be mine!"

   That last idea, and I have done with this part of the subject. Kings
   have dominion. Do you know I am a fifth monarchy man? In Cromwell's
   time some said there had been four monarchies, and the fifth would come
   and overturn every other. Well, I never wish to do as they did; but I
   believe with them, that a fifth monarchy shall come. There have now
   existed four great empires, arrogating universal dominion, and there
   never shall be another world-wide monarchy until Christ shall come.
   Jesus, our Lord, is to be King of all the earth, and rule all nations
   in a glorious spiritual, or personal reign. The saints, as being kings
   in Christ, have a right to the whole world. Here am I this morning, and
   my congregation before me. Some persons say, "Keep to your own place
   and preach," and I have heard the advice, "Do not go out of your
   parish." But Rowland Hill used to say he never went out of his parish
   in his life; his parish was England, Scotland, and Wales, and he never
   went out of it. I suppose that is my parish, and the parish of every
   gospel minister. When we see a city full of sin and iniquity, what
   should we say? That is ours, we will go and storm it. When we see a
   street or some crowded area, where the people are very bad and wicked,
   we should say, "That is our alley, we will go and take it." When we see
   a house where people will not receive the gospel, we should say, "That
   is our house, we will go and attack it." We will not go with the strong
   arm of the law; we will not ask the policeman, or government to help
   us; but take with us "the weapons of our warfare." which "are not
   carnal, but spiritual, and mighty through God, to the pulling down of
   strongholds." We will go, and by God's Spirit we shall overcome. There
   is a town where the children are running about the street, uneducated;
   we will go and take those children--kidnap them for Christ. We will
   have a Sabbath school. If they are ragged urchins who cannot come to a
   Sabbath school, we will have a ragged school. There is a part of the
   world where the inhabitants are sunk in ignorance and superstition: we
   will send a missionary to them. Ah! those who do not like missionary
   enterprise, do not know the dignity of the saint. Talk of India; talk
   of China.; "it is mine," saith the saint. All the kingdoms of the earth
   are ours. "Africa is my washpot--I will triumph over Asia. They are
   mine! they are mine!" "Who shall bring me into the strong city?" Is it
   not thou, O Lord? God shall give us the kingdom of Christ. The whole
   earth is ours; and by the power of the Holy Ghost, Bel shall bow, Nebo
   shall stoop, the gods of the heathen, Budha and Brahma, shall be cast
   down, and all nations bow before the sceptre of Christ. "He has made us
   kings."

   Our second point, upon which I shall be very brief, is, "He hath made
   us kings and PRIESTS." Saints are not only kings, but priests. I shall
   go to it at once, without any preface.

   We are priests, because priests are divinely chosen persons, and so are
   we. "No man taketh this honour unto himself, but he that is called of
   God, as was Aaron." But we have that calling and election; we were all
   ordained to it from the foundations of the world. We were predestinated
   to be priests, and in process of time we had a special effectual call,
   which we could not and did not resist, and which at last so overcame
   us, that we became at once the priests of God. We are priests, divinely
   constituted. When we say we are priests, we do not talk as certain
   parties do, who say they are priests, wishing thereby to arrogate to
   themselves a distinction. I always have an objection--I must state it
   strongly--to calling a clergyman, or any man that preaches, a priest.
   We are no more so than you are. All saints are priests. But, for a man
   to stand up and say he is a priest, any more than those he preaches to,
   is a falsehood. I detest the distinction of clergy and laity. I like
   scriptural priestcraft; for that is the craft or work of the people,
   who are all priests; but all other priestcraft I abhor. Every saint of
   the Lord is a priest at God's altar, and is bound to worship God with
   the holy incense of prayer and praise. We are priests, each one of us,
   if we are called by divine grace; for thus we are priests by divine
   constitution.

   Then, next, we are priests, because we enjoy divine honors. None but a
   priest might enter within the vail; there was a court of the priests
   into which none might ever go, except the called ones. Priests had
   certain rights and privileges which others had not. Saint of Jesus!
   heir of heaven! thou hast high and honorable privileges, which the
   world wots not of! Hast thou ever been within the vail in communion
   with Christ? Hast thou ever been in the court of the Lord's house, the
   court of the priests, where he has taught thee, and manifested himself
   to thee? Hast thou? Yes, thou knowest thou hast; thou enjoyest constant
   access to God's throne; thou hast a right to come and tell thy griefs
   and sorrows into the ear of Jehovah. The poor worldling must not come
   there; the poor child of wrath has no God to tell his troubles to. He
   must not go within the veil; he has no wish to go: but thou mayest;
   thou mayest come to God's ear, swing the censer before the throne, and
   offer thy petition in the name of Jesus. Others have not these divine
   honors. Thou art divinely honored, and divinely blessed.

   Then another remark, to finish up with, shall be, we have a divine
   service to perform; and as I want you all, this morning, to turn this
   chapel into one great altar--as I want to make you all working priests,
   and this the temple for sacrifice--hook earnestly at your service. You
   are all priests, because you love his dear name and have a great
   sacrifice to perform; not a propitiation for your sins, for that has
   been once offered, but a sacrifice this day of holy thanksgiving. Oh!
   how sweet in God's ear is the prayer of his people! That is the
   sacrifice that he accepts; and when their holy hymn swells upwards
   towards the sky, how pleasant it is in his ears; because then he can
   say, "My hosts of priests are sacrificing praise." And do you know,
   beloved, there is one point in which most of us fail in our oblations
   before God? We offer our prayer, we present our praise; but how little
   do we sacrifice of our substance unto the Lord! I had thought this
   morning, seeing I desire to make you amazingly liberal, to have made
   this my text, "Honor the Lord with thy substance, and with the
   first-fruits of all thine increase: so shall thy barns be filled with
   plenty, and thy presses shall burst out with new wine;" and I had
   thought of showing that our substance was the Lord's, that we were
   bound to devote no small portion of it to him, and that if we did do so
   we might expect prosperity even in worldly business, for he would make
   our barns full and our presses burst with new wine. However, I conceive
   it to be needless to preach a collection sermon--I thought I would
   rather tell your about your honor and dignity, and then you shall just
   give what you like, for the only free-will I like, is a free-will
   offering. Suffer, ye beloved, a few words. God has said in his Word
   that you are to honor him with your substance. As a priest of the Lord,
   will you not sacrifice something to the Lord this day? Here we have a
   great object before us; we want more room for the crowds who come to
   hear the gospel. It seems important, when such a throng is gathered,
   that none should go away. Ought we not to bless God that they come?
   There was a time you were few indeed, and the cry was," Who hath
   believed our report?" But God has given us great success, the ministry
   here has been blessed to the conversion of not a few souls; I have many
   cases, now in this chapel, of broken hearts and contrite spirits;
   doubtless, there are many more than I know of, and I believe the
   blessed Spirit will bring them out in due time. Oh! do you not grieve
   that any should have to turn away from the voice of the ministry--that
   any who come here should have to go away, perhaps to spend the Sabbath
   in sin. You know not where they have to go, when they cannot get within
   these walls. The thing is, we have come to the resolution that this
   chapel should be enlarged, so that there should be accommodation for a
   larger number. Now, ye priests, sacrifice to the Lord. Let the priests
   build the house of Lord; let those who worship in the sanctuary take up
   the trowel today; let the mortar and the brick be laid, and let this
   house be once more filled with the glory of the Lord, and an abundant
   congregation.

   III. Now, I have to close up with THE WORLD'S FUTURE. "We shall reign
   on the earth." I have not much time for this, and I dare say it is
   expected that I shall tell you about the millennium and the personal
   reign of Christ. I shall not at all, because I don't know anything
   about it. I have heard a great many people talk of it; and, if anybody
   shows me a book on the millennium, I say, "I cannot read it just yet."
   A good man has lately written a book on it, and a gentleman recommended
   it to me so strongly, that I could not but buy it out of courtesy; but
   I elevated it to the aristocratic region of library, in the higher
   ranks, and there it rests in quiet repose. I do not think myself
   capable of threading the labyrinths of the subject, and I do not
   believe the very respectable author can do it. It is a subject so dark,
   and I have read so many different views upon it, that it is all a
   phantasmagoria with me. I believe all the Bible says of a glorious
   future, but I cannot pretend to be a maker of charts for all time. Only
   this I gather as a positive fact, that the saints will one day reign on
   the earth. This truth appears to me clear enough, whatever may be the
   different views on the millennium. Now, the saints do not reign
   visibly; they are despised. They were driven, in old times, into dens
   and caves of the earth: but the time is coming when kings will be
   saints, and princes the called ones of God--when queens shall be the
   nursing mothers, and kings the nursing fathers of Christ's church. The
   hour is coming when the saint, instead of being dishonored, shall be
   honored; and monarchs, once the foes of truth, shall become its
   friends. The saints shall reign. They shall have the majority; the
   kingdom of Christ shall have the upper hand; it shall not be cast
   down--this shall not be Satan's world any longer--it shall again sing
   with all its sister stars, the never ceasing song of praise. Oh! I
   believe there is a day coming when Sabbath bells shall sprinkle music
   over the plains of Africa--when the deep thick jungle of India shall
   see the saints of God going up to the sanctuary; and, I am assured that
   the teeming multitudes of China shall gather together in temples built
   for prayer, and, as you and I have done, shall sing, to the ever
   glorious Jehovah,

   "Praise God from whom all blessings flow."

   Happy day! happy day! May it speedily come!

   Now, to close up, one very practical inference. Ye are kings and
   priests unto your God. Then how much ought kings to give to the
   collection this morning? Thus speak ye to yourselves. "I am a king; I
   will give as a king giveth unto a king." Now, mark you, no paltry
   subscriptions! We don't expect kings to put down their names for
   trifles. Then, again: you are a priest. Well, priest, do you mean to
   sacrifice? "Yes." But you would not sacrifice a broken-legged lamb, or
   a blemished bullock, would you? Would you not select the best of the
   flock? Very right, then select the very best of the Queen's coins, and
   offer, if you can, sheep with golden fleece. Excuse my pressing this
   subject. I want to get this chapel enlarged; so do you; we are all
   agreed about it; we are all rowing in one boat. I have set my mind on
   -L-50, and I must, and will, have it to-day, if possible. I hope you
   won't disappoint me. It is not my own cause, but my Master's--at other
   times you have given liberally--I am not afraid of you--but hope to
   come forward, next Sabbath morning, with the cheering announcement that
   the -L-50 is all raised, and then I think my spirits will be so
   elevated, that, by the help of God, I will venture to promise you one
   of the best sermons I am capable of delivering.

   The Christian reader will be pleased to learn, that after this appeal,
   the sum of -L-50 0s. 11 1/2d. was collected at the doors, towards
   defraying the expenses of the enlargement. Should any reader of the New
   Park Street Pulpit desire to contribute to this excellent object, any
   sum will be thankfully received by MR. WILLIAM OLNEY, Secretary, at the
   Chapel.
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The People's Christ

   A Sermon

   (No. 11)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 25, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "I have exalted one chosen out of the people."--Psalm 89:19.

   ORIGINALLY, I have no doubt, these words referred to David. He was
   chosen out of the people. His lineage was respectable, but not
   illustrious; his family were holy, but not exalted: the names of Jesse,
   Obed, Boaz, and Ruth, awoke no royal recollections, and stirred up no
   remembrances of ancient nobility or glorious pedigree. As for himself,
   his only occupation had been that of a shepherd-boy, carrying lambs in
   his bosom, or gently leading the ewes great with young--a simple youth
   of a right royal soul, and undaunted courage, but yet a plebeian--one
   of the people. But this was no disqualification for the crown of Judah.
   In God's eye the extraction of the young hero was no barrier to his
   mounting the throne of the holy nation, nor shall the proudest admirer
   of descent and lineage dare to insinuate a word against the valour,
   wisdom, and the justice of the government of this monarch of the
   people.

   We do not believe that Israel or Judah ever had a better ruler than
   David; and we are bold to affirm that the reign of the man "chosen out
   of the people" outshines in glory the reigns of high-bred emperors, and
   princes with the blood of a score of kings running in their veins. Yea,
   more, we will assert that the humility of his birth and education, so
   far from making him incompetent to rule, rendered him, in a great
   degree, more fit for his office, and able to discharge its mighty
   duties. He could legislate for the many, for he was one of
   themselves--he could rule the people, as the people should be ruled,
   for he was "bone of their bone, and flesh of their flesh "--their
   friend, their brother, as well as their king.

   However, in this sermon we shall not speak of David, but of the Lord
   Jesus Christ; for David, as referred to in the text, is an eminent type
   of Jesus Christ, our Lord and Saviour, who was chosen out of the
   people; and of whom his Father can say "I have exalted one chosen out
   of the people."

   Before I enter into the illustration of this truth I wish to make one
   statement, so that all objections may be avoided as to the doctrine of
   my sermon. Our Saviour Jesus Christ, I say, was chosen out of the
   people; but this merely respects his manhood. As "very God of very God"
   he was not chosen out of the people; for there was none save him. He
   was his Father's only-begotten Son, "begotten of the Father before all
   worlds." He was God's fellow, co-equal, and co-eternal; consequently
   when we speak of Jesus as being chosen out of the people, we must speak
   of him as a man. We are, I conceive, too forgetful of the real manhood
   of our Redeemer, for a man he was to all intents and purposes, and I
   love to sing,

   "A Man there was, a real Man,

   Who once on Calvary died."

   He was not man and God amalgamated--the two natures suffered no
   confusion--he was very God, without the diminution of his essence or
   attributes; and he was equally, verily, and truly, man. It is as a man
   I speak of Jesus this morning; and it rejoices my heart when I can view
   the human side of that glorious miracle of incarnation, and can deal
   with Jesus Christ as my brother--inhabitant of the same mortality,
   wrestler with the same pains and ills, companion in the march of life,
   and,for a little while, a fellow-sleeper in the cold chamber of death.

   There are three things spoken of in the text: first of all, Christ's
   extraction--he was one of the people; secondly, his election--he was
   chosen out of the people; and thirdly, Christ's exaltation--he was
   exalted. You see I have chosen three words, all commencing with the
   letter E, to ease your memories that you may be able to remember them
   the better--extraction, election, exaltation.

   I. We will commence with our Saviour's EXTRACTION. We have had many
   complaints this week, and for some weeks past, in the newspapers,
   concerning the families. We are governed--and, according to the firm
   belief of a great many of us, very badly governed,--by certain
   aristocratic families. We are not governed by men chosen out of the
   people, as we ought to be; and this is a fundamental wrong in our
   government,--that our rulers, even when elected by us, can scarcely
   ever be elected from us. Families, where certainly there is not a
   monopoly of intelligence or prudence, seems to have a patent for
   promotion; while a man, a commoner, a tradesman, of however good sense,
   cannot rise to the government. I am no politician, and I am about to
   preach no political sermon; but I must express my sympathy with the
   people, and my joy that we, as Christians, are governed by one chosen
   out of the people." Jesus Christ is the people's man; he is the
   people's friend--ay, one of themselves. Though he sits high on his
   Father's throne, he was "one chosen out of the people. Christ is not to
   be called the aristocrat's Christ, he is not the noble's Christ, he is
   not the king's Christ; but he is "one chosen out of the people." It is
   this thought which cheers the hearts of the people, and ought to bind
   their souls in unity to Christ, and the holy religion of which he is
   the Author and Finisher. Let us now beat out this wedge of gold into
   leaf, and narrowly inspect its truthfulness.

   Christ, by his very birth, was one of the people. True, he was born of
   a royal ancestry. Mary and Joseph were both of them descendants of a
   kingly race, but the glory had departed; a stranger sat on the throne
   of Judah; while the lawful heir grasped the hammer and the adze. Mark
   ye well the place of his nativity. Born in a stable--cradled in a
   manger where the horned oxen fed--his only bed was their fodder, and
   his slumbers were often broken by their lowings. He might be a prince
   by birth; but certainly he had not a princely retinue to wait upon him.
   He was not clad in purple garments, neither wrapped in embroidered
   clothing; the halls of kings were not trodden by his feet, the marble
   palaces of monarchs were not honored by his infant smiles. Take notice
   of the visitors who came around his cradle. The shepherds came first of
   all. We never find that they lost their way. No, God guides the
   shepherds, and he did direct the wise men too, but they lost their way.
   It often happens, that while shepherds find Christ wise men miss him.
   But, however, both of them came, the magi and the shepherds; both knelt
   round that manger, to show us that Christ was the Christ of all men;
   that he was not merely the Christ of the magi, but that he was the
   Christ of the shepherds--that he was not merely the Saviour of the
   peasant shepherd, but also the Saviour of the learned, for

   "None are excluded hence, but those

   Who do themselves exclude;

   Welcome the learned and polite,

   The ignorant and rude,"

   In his very birth he was one of the people. He was not born in a
   populous city; but in the obscure village of Bethlehem, "the house of
   bread," the Son of Man made his advent, unushered by pompous
   preparations, and unheralded by the blast of courtly trumpets.

   His education, too, demands our attention. He was not taken as Moses
   was, from his mother's breast, to be educated in the halls of a
   monarch; he was not brought up with all those affected airs which are
   given to persons who have golden spoons in their mouths, at their
   births. He was not brought up as the lordling, to look with disdain on
   every one; but his father being a carpenter, doubtless he toiled in his
   father's workshop. "Fit place," a quaint author says, "for Jesus; for
   he had to make a ladder that should reach from earth to heaven. And why
   should he not be the son of a carpenter ?" Full well he knew the curse
   of Adam: "in the sweat of thy face shalt thou eat bread." Had you seen
   the holy child Jesus, you would have beheld nothing to distinguish him
   from other children, save that unsullied purity which rested in his
   very countenance. When our Lord entered into public life, still he was
   the same. What was his rank? Did he array himself in scarlet and
   purple? Oh! no: he wore the simple garb of a peasant--that robe
   "without seam from the top to the bottom," one simple piece of stuff,
   without ornament or embroidery. Did he dwell in state, and make a
   magnificent show in his journey through Judea? No; he toiled his weary
   way, and sat down on the curb-stone of the well of Sychar. He was like
   others, a poor man; he had not courtiers around him; he had fishermen
   for his companions; and when he spoke, did he speak with smooth and
   oily words? Did he walk with dainty footsteps, like the king of Amalek?
   No, he often spoke like the rough Elijah; he spoke what he meant, and
   he meant what he said. He spoke to the people as the people's man. He
   never cringed before great men; he knew not what it was to bow or
   stoop; but he stood and cried, "Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees,
   hypocrites! Woe unto you, whitewashed sepulchres." He spared no class
   of sinners: rank and fortune made no difference to him. He uttered the
   same truths to the rich men of the Sanhedrim, as to the toiling
   peasants of Galilee. He was "one of the people."

   Notice his doctrine. Jesus Christ was one of the people in his
   doctrine. His gospel was never the philosopher's gospel, for it is not
   abstruse enough. It will not consent to be buried in hard words and
   technical phrases: it is so simple that he who can spell over, "He that
   believeth and is baptized shall be saved," may have a saving knowledge
   of it. Hence, worldly-wise men scorn the science of truth, and
   sneeringly say, why, even a blacksmith can preach now-a-day, and men
   who were at the plough tail may turn preachers,' while priestcraft
   demands, What right have they to do any such thing, unauthorized by
   us?' Oh! sad case, that gospel truth should be slighted because of its
   plainness, and that my Master should be despised because he will not be
   exclusive--will not be monopolised by men of talent and erudition.
   Jesus is the ignorant man's Christ as much as the learned man's Christ;
   for he hath chosen "the base things of the world and the things that
   are despised." Ah! much as I love true science and real education, I
   mourn and grieve that our ministers are so much diluting the Word of
   God with philosophy, desiring to be intellectual preachers, delivering
   model sermons, well fitted for a room full of college students and
   professors of theology, but of no use to the masses, being destitute of
   simplicity, warmth, earnestness, or even solid gospel matter. I fear
   our college training is but a poor gain to our churches, since it often
   serves to wean the young man's sympathies from the people, and wed them
   to the few, the intellectual, and wealthy of the church. It is good to
   be a fellow-citizen in the republic of letters, but better far to be an
   able minister of the kingdom of heaven. It is good to be able like some
   great minds, to attract the mighty; but the more useful man will still
   be he, who, like Whitfield, uses "market language," for it is a sad
   fact that high places and the gospel seldom well agree; and, moreover,
   be it known that the doctrine of Christ is the doctrine of the people.
   It was not meant to be the gospel of a caste, a clique, or any one
   class of the community. The covenant of grace is not ordered for men of
   one peculiar grade, but some of all sorts are included. A few there
   were of the rich followed Jesus in his own day, and it is so now. Mary,
   and Martha, and Lazarus were well to do, and there was the wife of
   Herod's steward, with some more of the nobility. These, however, were
   but a few: his congregation was made up of the lower orders--the
   masses--the multitude. "The common people heard him gladly;" and his
   doctrine was one which did not allow of distinction, but put all men as
   sinners naturally, on an equality in the sight of God. One is your
   father, "one is your Master, even Christ, and all ye are brethren."
   These were words which he taught to his disciples, while in his own
   person he was the mirror of humility, and proved himself the friend of
   earth's poor sons, and the lover of mankind. O ye purse proud! O ye who
   cannot touch the poor even with your white gloves! Ah! ye with your
   mitres and your croizers! Ah! ye with your cathedrals and splendid
   ornaments! This is the man whom ye call Master--the people's
   Christ--one of the people! And yet ye look down with scorn upon the
   people;ye despise them. What are they in your opinion? The common
   herd--the multitude. Out on ye! Call yourselves no more the ministers
   of Christ. How can ye be, unless, descending from your pomp and your
   dignity, ye come amongst the poor and visit them--ye walk amongst our
   teeming population and preach to them the gospel of Christ Jesus. WE
   believe you to be the descendants of the fishermen? Ah! no, until ye
   doff your grandeur, and, like the fishermen, come out, the people's
   men, and preach to the people, speak to the people, instead of lolling
   on your splendid seats, and making yourselves rich at the expense of
   your pluralites! Christ's ministers should be the friends of manhood at
   large, remembering that their Master was the people's Christ. Rejoice!
   O rejoice! ye multitudes. Rejoice! rejoice! for Christ was one of the
   people.

   II.Our second point was ELECTION. God says, "I have exalted one chosen
   out of the people." Jesus Christ was elected--chosen. Somehow or other,
   that ugly doctrine of election will come out. Oh! there be some, the
   moment they hear that word, election, put their hands upon their
   foreheads, and mutter, "I will wait till that sentence is over; there
   will be something I shall like better, perhaps." Some others say, "I
   shall not go to that place again; the man is a hyper-Calvinist." But
   the man is not a hyper-Calvinist; the man said what was in his
   Bible--that is all. He is a Christian, and you have no right to call
   him by those ill-names, if indeed an ill-name it be, for we never blush
   at whatever men do call us. Here it is: "One chosen out of the people."
   Now, what does that mean, but that Jesus Christ is chosen? Those who do
   not like to believe that the heirs of heaven were elect, cannot deny
   the truth proclaimed in this verse,--that Jesus Christ is the subject
   of election--that his Father chose him, and that he chose him out of
   the people. As a man, he was chosen out of the people, to be the
   people's Saviour, and the people's Christ. And now let us gather up our
   thoughts, and try to discover the transcendent wisdom of God's choice.
   Election is no blind thing. God chooses sovereignly, but he always
   chooses wisely. There is always some secret reason for his choice of
   any particular individual; though that motive does not lie in
   ourselves, or in our own merits, yet there always is some secret cause
   far more remote than the doings of the creature; some mighty reason
   unknown to all but himself. In the case of Jesus, the motives are
   apparent; and without pretending to enter the cabinet council of
   Jehovah, we may discover them.

   1. First, we see that justice is thereby fully satisfied by the choice
   of one out of the people. Suppose God had chosen an angel to make
   satisfaction for our sins--imagine that an angel were capable of
   bearing that vast amount of suffering and agony which was necessary to
   our atonement; yet after the angel had done it all, justice would never
   have been satisfied, for this one simple reason, that the law
   declares,--" The soul that sinneth IT shall die." Now, man sins, and
   therefore man must die. Justice required, that as by man came death, by
   man also should come the resurrection and the life. The law required,
   that as man was the sinner, man should be the victim--that as in Adam
   all died, even so in another Adam should all be made alive.
   Consequently, it was necessary that Jesus Christ should be chosen out
   of the people; for had yon blazing angel near the throne, that lofty
   Gabriel, laid aside his splendours, descended to our earth, endured
   pain, suffered agonies, entered the vault of death, and groaned out a
   miserable existence in an extremity of woe, after all that, he would
   not have satisfied inflexible justice, because it is said, a man must
   die, and otherwise the sentence is not executed.

   2. But there is another reason why Jesus Christ was chosen out of the
   people. It is because thereby the whole race receives honor. Do you
   know I would not be an angel, if Gabriel would ask me. If he would
   beseech me to exchange places with him, I would not, I should lose so
   much by the exchange, and he would gain so much. Poor, weak, and
   worthless, though I am, yet I am a man, and being a man, there is a
   dignity about manhood--a dignity lost one day in the garden of the fall
   but regained in the garden of resurrection. It is a fact, that a man is
   greater than an angel--that in heaven humanity stands nearer the throne
   than angelic existence. You will read in the Book of the Revelation, of
   the four-and-twenty elders who stood around the throne, and in the
   outer circle stood the angels. The elders, who are the representatives
   of the whole church, were honored with a greater nearness to God than
   the ministering spirits. Why man--elect man--is the greatest being in
   the universe, except God. Man sits up there--look! at God's right hand,
   radiant with glory, there sits a man! Ask me who governs Providence,
   and directs its awfully mysterious machinery; I tell you it is a
   man--the man Christ Jesus. Ask me who has during the past month bound
   up the rivers in chains of ice, and who now has loosed them from the
   shackles of winter, I tell you a man did it--Christ. Ask me who shall
   come to judge the earth in rigteousness, and I say a man. A real,
   veritable man is to hold the scales of judgment, and to call all
   nations around him. And who is the channel of grace? Who is the
   emporium of all the Father's mercy? Who is the great gathering up of
   all the love of the covenant? I reply a man--the man Christ Jesus. And
   Christ, being a man, has exalted you, and exalted me, and put us into
   the highest ranks. He made us, originally, a little lower than the
   angels, and now despite our fall in Adam, he bath crowned us, his
   elect, with glory and honor, and hath set us at his right hand in
   heavenly places, in Christ Jesus, that in the ages to come he might
   shew the exceeding riches of his grace in his kindness towards us
   through Christ Jesus.

   3. But, my brethren, let us take a sweeter view than that. Why was he
   chosen out of the people? Speak, my heart! What is the first reason
   that rushes up to thyself? for heart thoughts are best thoughts.
   Thoughts from the head are often good for nothing; but thoughts of the
   heart, deep musings of the soul, these are priceless as pearls of
   Ormuz. If it be a humbler poet, provided that his songs gush from his
   heart, they shall better strike the cords of my soul than the lifeless
   emanations of mere brain. Here, Christian: what dost thou think is the
   sweet reason for the election of thy Lord, he being one of the people?
   was it not this--that he might be able to be thy brother, in the blest
   tie of kindred blood? Oh! what relationship there is between Christ and
   the believer? The believer can say

   "One there is above all others

   Well deserves the name of friend;

   His is love beyond a brother's,

   Faithful, free, and knows no end."

   I have a great brother in heaven. I have heard boys say sometimes in
   the street that they would tell their brother; and I have often said so
   when the enemy has attacked me--" I will tell my brother in heaven." I
   may be poor, but I have a brother who is rich; I have a brother who is
   a king; I am brother to the prince of the kings of the earth; and will
   he suffer me to starve, or want, or lack, while he is on his throne?
   Oh! no; he loves me; he has fraternal feelings towards me; he is my
   brother. But, more than that: think, O believer! Christ is not merely
   thy brother, but he is thy husband. "Thy maker is thy husband; the Lord
   of hosts is his name." It rejoices the wife to lean her head on the
   broad breast of her husband, in full assurance that his arms will be
   strong to labor for her, or defend her; that his heart ever throbs with
   love to her, and that all he has, and is, belongs to her, as the sharer
   of his existence. Oh! to know by the influence of the Holy Ghost, that
   the sweet alliance is made between my soul and the ever precious Jesus;
   sure, tis enough to quicken all my soul to music, and make each atom of
   my frame a grateful songster to the praise of Christ. Come, let me
   remember when I lay like an infant in my blood, cast out in the open
   field; let me recollect the notable moment when he said, "Live!" and
   let me never forget that he has educated me, trained me up, and one day
   will espouse me to himself in righteousness, crowning me with a nuptial
   crown in the palace of his father. Oh! it is bliss unspeakable! I
   wonder not that the thought doth stagger my words to utter it!--that
   Christ is one of the people, that he might be nearly related to you and
   to me, that he might be the goel, or kinsman, next of kin.

   "In ties of blood with sinners one,

   Our Jesus is to glory gone;

   Hath all his foes to ruin hurled--

   Sin, satan, earth, death, hell, the world."

   Saint, was this blessed thought, like a necklace of diamonds, around
   the neck of thy memory; put it, as a golden ring, on the finger of
   recollection; and use it as the king's own seal, stamping the petitions
   of thy faith with confidence of success.

   4. But now another idea suggests itself. Christ was chosen out of the
   people--that he might know our wants and sympathize with us. You know
   the old tale, that one half the world does not know how the other half
   lives; and that is very true. I believe some of the rich have no notion
   whatever of what the distress of the poor is. They have no idea of what
   it is to labor for their daily food. They have a very faint conception
   of what a rise in the price of bread means. They do not know anything
   about it; and when we put men in power who never were of the people,
   they do not understand the art of governing us. But our great and
   glorious Jesus Christ is one chosen out of the people; and therefore he
   knows our wants. Temptation and pain he suffered before us; sickness he
   endured, for when hanging upon the cross, the scorching of that
   broiling sun brought on a burning fever; weariness--he has endured it,
   for weary he sat by the well; poverty--he knows it, for sometimes he
   had not bread to eat, save that bread of which the world knows nothing;
   to be houseless--he knew it, for the foxes had holes, and the birds of
   the air had nests, but he had not where to lay his head. My brother
   Christian, there is no place where thou canst go, where Christ has not
   been before thee, sinful places alone excepted. In the dark valley of
   the shadow of death thou mayest see his bloody footsteps--footprints
   marked with gore; ay, and even at the deep waters of the swelling
   Jordan, thou shalt, when thou comest hard by the side, say, "There are
   the footprints of a man: whose are they?" Stooping down, thou shalt
   discern a nail-mark, and shalt say. "Those are the footsteps of the
   blessed Jesus." He hath been before thee; he hath smoothed the way; he
   hath entered the grave, that he might make the tomb the royal
   bedchamber of the ransomed race, the closet where they lay aside the
   garments of labor, to put on the vestments of eternal rest. In all
   places whithersoever we go, the angel of the covenant has been our
   forerunner; each burden we have to carry, has once been laid on the
   shoulders of Immanuel.

   "His way was much rougher and darker than mine;

   Did Christ my Lord suffer, and shall I repine ?"

   I am speaking to those in great trial. Dear fellow-traveller! take
   courage: Christ has consecrated the road, and made the narrow way the
   King's own road to life.

   One thought more, and then I will pass on to my third point. There is a
   poor soul over there, who is desirous of coming to Jesus, but he is in
   very great trouble, lest he should not come right; and I know many
   Christians who say, "Well, I hope I have come to Christ; but I am
   afraid I have not come right." There is a little foot-note to one of
   the hymns in dear Mr. Denham's collection, in which he says, "Some
   people are afraid they do not come right. Now, no man can come except
   the Father draw him; so I apprehend, if they come at all, they cannot
   come wrong." So do I apprehend, if men come at all, they must come
   right. Here is a thought for thee, poor coming sinner. Why art thou
   afraid to come ?" "Oh!" sayest thou, "I am so great a sinner, Christ
   will not have mercy upon me." Oh! you do not know my blessed Master; he
   is more loving than you think him to be. I was once wicked enough to
   think the same; but I have found him ten thousand times more kind than
   I thought, I tell you, he is so loving, so gracious, so kind, there
   ne'er was one half so good as he. He is kinder than ever you can think;
   his love is greater than your fears, and his merits are more prevalent
   than your sins. But still you say, "I am afraid I shall not come
   aright; I think I shall not use acceptable words." I tell you why that
   is: because you do not remember that Christ was taken out of the
   people. If Her Majesty were to send for me to-morrow morning, I dare
   say I should feel very anxious about what kind of dress I should wear,
   and how I should walk in, and how I should observe court etiquette, and
   so on; but if one of my friends here were to send for me, I should go
   straight off and see him, because he is one of the people, and I like
   him. Some of you say, "How can I go to Christ? What shall I say? What
   words shall I use ?" If thou wert going to one above thee, thou
   mightest say so: but he is one of the people. Go as thou art, poor
   sinner--just in thy rags, just in thy filth--in all thy wickedness,
   just as thou art. O conscience-stricken sinner, come to Jesus! He is
   one of the people. If the Spirit has given thee a sense of sin, do not
   study how thou art to come; come anyhow; come with a groan, come with a
   sigh, come with a tear,--any come, if thou dost but come, will do, for
   he is one of the people. "The Spirit and the Bride say, Come; let him
   that heareth say, Come." Here I cannot resist giving an illustration. I
   have heard, that in the deserts, when the caravans are in want of
   water, and they are afraid they shall not find any, they are accustomed
   to send on a camel, with its rider, some distance in advance, then
   after a little space follows another; and then, at a short interval,
   another: as soon as the first man finds water, almost before he stoops
   down to drink, he shouts aloud, "Come!" The next one, hearing the
   voice, repeats the word, "Come!" while the nearest again takes up the
   cry, "Come!" until the whole wilderness echoes with the word "Come!" So
   in that verse, "the Spirit and the Bride say, first of all, Come: then
   let him that heareth say, Come: and whosoever is athirst, let him come,
   and take of the water of life freely." With this picture I leave our
   survey of the reasons for the election of Christ Jesus.

   III. And now I am to close up with his EXALTATION. "I have exalted one
   chosen out of the people." You will recollect, whilst I am speaking
   upon this exaltation, that it is really the exaltation of all the elect
   in the person of Christ; for all that Christ is, and all that Christ
   has, is mine. If I am a believer, whatever he is in his exalted person,
   that I am, for I am made to sit together with Christ in heavenly
   places.

   1. First, dear friends, it was exaltation enough for the body of Christ
   to be exalted into union with the divinity. That was honor which none
   of us can ever receive. We never hope to have this body united with a
   God. It cannot be. Once has incarnation been done--never but once. Of
   no other man can it be said, "He was one with the Father, and the
   Father was one with him." Of no other man shall it be said, that the
   Deity tabernacled in him, and that God was manifest in his flesh, seen
   of angels, justified of the spirit, and carried up to glory.

   2. Again: Christ was exalted by his resurrection. Oh! I should have
   liked to have stolen into that tomb of our Saviour, I suppose it was a
   large chamber; within it lay a massive marble sarcophagus, and very
   likely a ponderous lid was laid upon it. Then outside the door there
   lay a mighty stone, and guards kept watch before it. Three days did
   that sleeper slumber there! Oh! I could have wished to lift the lid of
   that sarcophagus, and look upon him. Pale he lay; blood-streaks there
   were upon him, not all quite washed away by those careful women who had
   buried him. Death exulting cries, I have slain him: the seed of the
   woman who is to destroy me is now my captive!' Ah! how grim death
   laughed! Ah! how he stared through his bony eye-lids, as he said, I
   have the boasted victor in my grasp.' Ah!' said Christ, but I have
   thee!' And up he sprang, the lid of the sarcophagus started up; and he,
   who has the keys of death and hell, seized death, ground his iron limbs
   to powder, dashed him to the ground and said, "O death, I will be thy
   plague; O hell, I will be thy destruction." Out he came, and in turn
   the watchmen fled away. Startling with glory, radiant with light,
   effulgent with divinity, he stood before them. Christ was then exalted
   in his resurrection.

   3. But how exalted was he in his ascension! He went out from the city
   to the top of the hill, his disciples attending him while he waited the
   appointed moment. Mark his ascension! Bidding farewell to the whole
   circle, up he went gradually ascending, like the exaltation of a mist
   from the lake, or the cloud from the steaming river. Aloft he soared:
   by his own mighty buoyancy and elasticity he ascended up on high--not
   like Elijah, carried up by fiery horses; nor like Enoch of old, it
   could not be said he was not, for God took him. He went himself; and as
   he went, I think I see the angels looking down from heaven's
   battlements, and crying, See the conquering hero comes!' while at his
   nearer approach again they shouted, See the conquering hero comes!' So
   his journey through the plains of ether is complete--he nears the gates
   of heaven--attending angels shout, "Lift up your heads, ye everlasting
   gates; and be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors!" The glorious hosts
   within scarce ask the question, "Who is the king of glory;" when from
   ten thousand thousand tongues there rolls an ocean of harmony, beating
   in mighty waves of music on the pearly gates and opening them at once,
   "The Lord strong and mighty, the Lord mighty in battle." Lo! heaven's
   barriers are thrown wide open and cherubim are hastening to meet their
   monarch.

   "They brought his chariot from afar,

   To bear him to his throne;

   Clapp'd their triumphant wings and said,

   'The Saviour's work is done.'"

   Behold he marches through the streets. See how kingdoms and powers fall
   down before him! Crowns are laid at his feet, and his Father says, Well
   done, my Son, well done!' while heaven echoes with the shout, Well
   done! well done!' Up he climbs to that high throne, side by side with
   the Paternal Deity. "I have exalted one chosen out of the people."

   4. The last exaltation of Christ which I shall mention is that which is
   to come, when he shall sit upon the throne of his Father David, and
   shall judge all nations. You will observe I have omitted that
   exaltation which Christ is to have as the king of this world during the
   millennium. I do not profess to understand it, and therefore I leave
   that alone. But I believe Jesus Christ is to come upon the throne of
   judgment, "and before him shall be gathered all nations; and he shall
   separate them one from another, as a shepherd divideth his sheep from
   the goats." Sinner! thou belevest that there is a judgment; thou
   knowest that the tares and wheat cannot always grow together--that the
   sheep and the goats shall not always feed in one pasture; but dost thou
   know of that man who is to judge thee--that he who is to judge thee is
   a man? I say a man--a man once despised and rejected.

   "The Lord shall come, but not the same

   As once in lowliness he came:

   A humble man before his foes;

   A weary man, and full of woes."

   Ah! no. Rainbows shall be about his head; he shall hold the sun in his
   right hand as the token of his government; he shall put the moon and
   stars beneath his feet, as the dust of the pedestal of his throne,
   which shall be of solid clouds of light. The books shall be
   opened--those massive books, which contain the deeds of both quick and
   dead. Ah! how shall the despised Nazarene sit triumphant over all his
   foes. No more the taunt, the jeer, the scoff; but one hideous cry of
   misery, "Hide us from the face of him that sitteth on the throne." Oh,
   ye, my hearers, who now look with contempt on Jesus and his cross, I
   tremble for you. Oh, fiercer than a lion on his prey, is love when once
   incensed. Oh, despisers! I warn ye of that day when the placid brow of
   the Man of Sorrows shall be knit with frowns; when the eye which once
   was moistened by dew-drops of pity, shall flash lightning on its
   enemies; and the hand, which once was nailed to the cross for our
   redemption, shall grasp the thunderbolt for your damnation; while the
   mouth which once said, "Come unto me, ye weary," shall pronounce in
   words louder and more terrible than the voice of the thunder, "Depart
   ye cursed!" Sinners! ye may think it a trifle to sin against the Man of
   Nazareth, but ye shall find that in so doing ye have offended the Man
   who shall judge the earth in righteousness; and for your rebellion ye
   shall endure waves of torment in the eternal ocean of wrath. From that
   doom may God deliver you! But I warn you of it. You have all read the
   story of the lady, who, on her marriage-day stepped up stairs, and
   seeing an old chest, in her fun and frolic stepped inside, thinking to
   hide herself an hour, that her friends might hunt for her; but a spring
   lock lay in ambush there, and fastened her down for ever; nor did they
   ever find her, until years had passed, when moving that old lumbering
   chest, they found the bones of a skeleton, with here and there a
   jewelled ring and some fair thing. She had sprung in there in
   pleasantry and mirth, but was locked down for ever. Young man! take
   heed that you are not locked down for ever by your sins. One jovial
   glass--it is all. "One moment's step." So said she. But there's a
   secret lock lays in ambush. One turn into that house of ill-fame--one
   wandering from the paths of rectitude--that is all. Oh, sinner! it is
   all. But dost thou know what that all is? To be fastened down for ever.
   Oh! if thou wouldst shun this, list to me, whilst--for I have but one
   moment more--I tell thee yet again of the Man who was "chosen out of
   the people."

   Ye proud ones! I have a word for you. Ye delicate ones, whose footsteps
   must not touch the ground! ye who look down in scorn upon your fellow
   mortals--proud worms despising your fellow worms, because ye are
   somewhat more showily dressed! What think ye of this? The man of the
   people is to save you, if you are saved at all. The Christ of the
   crowd--the Christ of the mass--the Christ of the people--he is to be
   your Saviour! Thou must stoop, proud man! Thou must bow, proud lady!
   Thou must lay aside thy pomp, or else thou wilt ne'er be saved; for the
   Saviour of the people must be thy Saviour.

   But to the poor trembling sinner, whose pride is gone, I repeat the
   comforting assurance. Wouldst thou shun sin? Wouldst thou avoid the
   curse? My Master tells me to say this morning,--"Come unto me all ye
   that are weary and heavy laden, and I will give you rest." I remember
   the saying of a good old saint. Some one was talking about the mercy
   and love of Jesus, and concluded by saying, "Ah, is it not
   astonishing?" She said, "No, not at all." But they said it was. "Why,"
   she said, "it is just like him: it is just like him!" You say, can you
   believe such a thing of a person? "Oh yes!" it may be said, "that is
   just his nature." So you, perhaps, cannot believe that Christ would
   save you, guilty creature as you are. I tell you it is just like him.
   He saved Saul--he saved me--he may save you. Yea, what is more, he will
   save you. For whosoever cometh unto him, he will in no wise cast out.
     __________________________________________________________________

                       The Peculiar Sleep of the Beloved

   A Sermon

   (No. 12)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 4, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "For so he giveth his beloved sleep."--Psalm 127:2.

   The sleep of the body is the gift of God. So said Homer of old, when he
   described it as descending from the clouds and resting on the tents of
   the warriors around old Troy. And so sang Virgil, when he spoke of
   Palinurus falling asleep upon the prow of his ship. Sleep is the gift
   of God. We think that we lay our heads upon our pillows, and compose
   our bodies in a peaceful posture, and that, therefore we naturally and
   necessarily sleep. But it is not so. Sleep is the gift of God; and not
   a man would close his eyes, did not God put his fingers on his eyelids;
   did not the Almighty send a soft and balmy influence over his frame
   which lulled his thoughts into quiescence, making him enter into that
   blissful state of rest which we call sleep. True, there be some drugs
   and narcotics whereby men can poison themselves well nigh to death, and
   then call it sleep; but the sleep of the healthy body is the gift of
   God. He bestows it; he rocks the cradle for us every night; he draws
   the curtain of darkness; he bids the sun shut up his burning eyes; and
   then he comes and says, "Sleep, sleep, my child; I give thee sleep."
   Have you not known what it is at times to lie upon your bed and strive
   to slumber? and as it is said of Darius, so might it be said of you:
   "The king sent for his musicians, but his sleep went from him." You
   have attempted it, but you could not do it; it is beyond your power to
   procure a healthy repose. You imagine if you fix your mind upon a
   certain subject until it shall engross your attention, you will then
   sleep; but you find yourself unable to do so. Ten thousand things drive
   through your brain as if the whole earth were agitated before you. You
   see all things you ever beheld dancing in a wild phantasmagoria before
   your eyes. You close your eyes, but still you see; and there be things
   in your ear, and head, and brain, which will not let you sleep. It is
   God alone, who alike seals up the sea boy's eyes upon the giddy mast,
   and gives the monarch rest: for with all appliances and means to boot,
   he could not rest without the aid of God. It is God who steeps the mind
   in lethe, and bids us slumber, that our bodies may be refreshed, so
   that for tomorrow's toil we may rise recruited and strengthened. O my
   friends, how thankful should we be for sleep. Sleep is the best
   physician that I know of. Sleep hath healed more pains of wearied bones
   than the most eminent physicians upon earth. It is the best medicine;
   the choicest thing of all the names which are written in all the lists
   of pharmacy. There is nothing like to sleep! What a mercy it is that it
   belongs alike to all! God does not make sleep the boon of the rich man,
   he does not give it merely to the noble, or the rich, so that they can
   keep it as a peculiar luxury for themselves; but he bestows it upon
   all. Yea, if there be a difference, the sleep of the labouring man is
   sweet, whether he eat little or much. He who toils, sleeps all the
   sounder for his toil. While luxurious effeminacy cannot rest, tossing
   itself from side to side upon a bed of eider down, the hard-working
   labourer, with his strong and powerful limbs, worn out and tired,
   throws himself upon his hard couch and sleeps: and waking, thanks God
   that he has been refreshed. Ye know not, my friends, how much ye owe to
   God, that he gives you rest at night. If ye had sleepless nights, ye
   would then value the blessing. If for weeks ye lay tossing on your
   weary bed, ye then would thank God for this favour. But as it is the
   gift of God, it is a gift most precious, one that cannot be valued
   until it is taken away; yea, even then we cannot appreciate it as we
   ought.

   The Psalmist says there are some men who deny themselves sleep. For
   purposes of gain, or ambition, they rise up early and sit up late. Some
   of us who are here present may have been guilty of the same thing. We
   have risen early in the morning that we might turn over the ponderous
   volume, in order to acquire knowledge; we have sat at night until our
   burned-out lamp has chidden us, and told us that the sun was rising;
   while our eyes have ached, our brain has throbbed, our heart has
   palpitated. We have been weary and worn out; we have risen up early,
   and sat up late, and have in that way come to eat the bread of sorrow.
   Many of you business men are toiling in that style. We do not condemn
   you for it; we do not forbid rising up early and sitting up late; but
   we remind you of this text:--"It is vain for you to rise up early, to
   sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved
   sleep." And it is of this sleep, that God gives to his beloved, that we
   mean to speak this morning, as God shall help us--a sleep peculiar to
   the children of God--a sleep which he gives to "his beloved."

   Sleep is sometimes used in a bad sense in the Word of God, to express
   the condition of carnal and worldly men. Some men have the sleep of
   carnal ease and sloth: of whom Solomon tells us, they are unwise sons
   that slumber in the harvest, causing shame; so that when the harvest is
   spent, and the summer is ended, they are not saved. Sleep often
   expresses a state of sloth, of deadness, of indifference, in which all
   ungodly men are found, according to the words, "It is time for us to
   awake out of sleep.--"Let us not sleep as do others, but let us who are
   of the day be sober." There be many who are sleeping the sluggard's
   sleep, who are resting upon the bed of sloth; but an awful waking shall
   it be to them, when they shall find that the time of their probation
   has been wasted; that the golden sands of their life have dropped
   unheeded from the hourglass; and that they have come into that world
   where there are no acts of pardon passed, no hope, no refuge, no
   salvation.

   In other places you find sleep used as the figure of carnal security,
   in which so many are found. Look at Saul, lying asleep in fleshly
   security--not like David, when he said, "I will lay me down and sleep,
   for thou Lord makest me to dwell in safety." Abner lay there, and all
   the troops lay around him, but Abner slept. Sleep on, Saul, sleep on.
   But there is an Abishai standing at thy pillow, and with a spear in his
   hand he says, "Let me smite him even to the earth at once." Still he
   sleeps; he knows it not. Such are many of you, sleeping in jeopardy of
   your soul; Satan is standing, the law is ready, vengeance is eager, and
   all saying, "Shall I smite him? I will smite him this once, and he
   shall never wake again." Christ says, "Stay, vengeance, stay." Lo, the
   spear is even now quivering--"Stay, spare it yet another year, in the
   hope that he may yet wake from the long sleep of his sin." Like Sisera,
   I tell thee, sinner, thou art sleeping in the tent of the destroyer;
   thou mayest have eaten butter and honey out of lordly dish; but thou
   art sleeping on the doorstep of hell; even now the enemy is lifting up
   the hammer and the nail, to smite thee through thy temples, and fasten
   thee to the earth, that there thou mayest lie for ever in the death of
   everlasting torment--if it may be called a death.

   Then there is also mentioned in the Scripture, a sleep of lust, like
   that which Samson had when he lost his locks, and such sleep as many
   have when they indulge in sin, and wake to find themselves stripped,
   lost, and ruined. There is also the sleep of negligence, such as the
   virgins had, when it is said, "they all slumbered and slept;" and the
   sleep of sorrow, which overcame Peter, James, and John. But none of
   these are the gifts of God. They are incident to the frailty of our
   nature; they come upon us because we are fallen men; they creep over us
   because we are the sons of a lost and ruined parent. These sleeps are
   not the benisons of God; nor does he bestow them on his beloved. We now
   come to tell you what those sleeps are, which he does bestow.

   I. First, there is a miraculous sleep which God has sometimes given to
   his beloved--which he does not now vouchsafe. Into that kind of
   miraculous sleep, or rather trance, fell Adam, when he slept
   sorrowfully and alone; but when he awoke he was no more so, for God had
   given him that best gift which he had then bestowed on man. The same
   sleep Abram had, when it is said that a deep sleep came on him, and he
   laid him down, and saw a smoking furnace and a burning lamp, while a
   voice said to him, "Fear not, Abram; I am thy shield, and thy exceeding
   great reward." Such a hallowed sleep also was that of Jacob, when, with
   a stone for his pillow, the hedges for his curtains, he laid him down
   and slumbered. Dreaming, he saw a ladder set upon the earth, the top of
   which reached to heaven, the angels of God ascending and descending
   upon it. Such a sleep had Joseph, when he dreamed that the other
   sheaves made obeisance to his sheaf, and that the sun, moon, and seven
   stars were subject unto him. So ofttimes did David rest, when his sleep
   was sweet unto him, as we have just read. And such a sleep was that of
   Daniel, when he said, "I was asleep upon my face, and behold the Lord
   said unto me, Arise, and stand upon thy feet." And such, moreover, was
   the sleep of the reputed father of our blessed Lord, when in a vision
   of the night, an angel said to him, "Arise, Joseph, and take the young
   child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, for Herod will seek the
   young child to destroy him." These are miraculous slumbers. God's angel
   hath touched his servants with the magic wand of sleep, and they have
   slept, not simply as we do, but slept a wondrous sleep; they have dived
   into the tenfold depths of slumber; they have plunged into a sea of
   sleep, where they have seen the invisible, talked with the unknown, and
   heard mystic and wondrous sounds: and when they awoke, they have said,
   "What a sleep! Surely, my sleep was sweet unto me." "So he giveth his
   beloved sleep."

   But, now-a-days, we do not have such sleeps as these. Many persons
   dream very wonderful things, but most people dream nonsense. Some
   persons put faith in dreams: and, certainly God doth warn us in dreams
   and visions even now. I am sure he does. There is not a man but can
   mention one or more instances of a warning, or a benefit, he has
   received in a dream. But we never trust dreams. We remember what
   Rowland Hill said to a lady, who knew she was a child of God, because
   she dreamed such- and-such a thing: "Never mind, ma'am, what you did
   when you were asleep; let us see what you will do when you are awake."
   That is my opinion of dreams. I never will believe a man to be a
   Christian merely because he has dreamed himself one; for a dreamy
   religion will make a man a dreamer all his life--and such dreamers will
   have an awful waking at last, if that is all they have to trust in.

   II. He gives his beloved, in the second place, the sleep of a quiet
   conscience. I think most of you saw that splendid picture, in the
   Exhibition of the Royal Academy--the Sleep of Argyle--where he lay
   slumbering on the very morning before his execution. You saw some
   noblemen standing there, looking at him, almost with compunction; the
   jailer is there, with his keys rattling; but positively the man sleeps,
   though tomorrow morning his head shall be severed from his body, and a
   man shall hold it up, and say, "This was the head of a traitor." He
   slept because he had a quiet conscience: for he had done no wrong. Then
   look at Peter. Did you ever notice that remarkable passage, where it is
   said that Herod intended to bring out Peter on the morrow; but, behold,
   as Peter was sleeping between two guards, the angel smote him? Sleeping
   between two guards, when on the morrow he was to be crucified or slain!
   He cared not, for his heart was clear; he had committed no ill. He
   could say, "If it be right to serve God or man, judge ye;" and,
   therefore, he laid him down and slept. O sirs! do ye know what the
   sleep of a quiet conscience is? Have you ever stood out and been the
   butt of calumny--pelted by all men; the object of scorn--the laugh, the
   song of drunkards? And have ye known what it is, after all, to sleep,
   as if you cared for nothing, because your heart was pure? Ah! ye who
   are in debt--ah! ye who are dishonest--ah! ye who love not God, and
   love not Christ--I wonder ye can sleep, for sin doth put pricking
   thorns in the pillow. Sin puts a dagger in a man's bed, so that
   whichever way he turns it pricks him. But a quiet conscience is the
   sweetest music that can lull the soul to sleep. The demon of
   restlessness does not come to that man's bed who has a quiet
   conscience--a conscience right with God--who can sing--

   With the world, myself, and thee,

   I, ere I sleep, at peace shall be.

   "So he giveth his beloved sleep."

   But let me tell you who have no knowledge of your election in Christ
   Jesus, no trust in the ransom of a Saviour's blood--you, who have never
   been called by the Holy Ghost--you, who were never regenerated and born
   again--let me tell you that you do not know this slumber. You may say
   your conscience is quiet; you may say, you do no man any wrong, and
   that you believe at the bar of God you shall have little to account
   for. But, sirs, you know that the soul that sinneth, if it sins but
   once, must die. If the picture has a single flaw, it is not a perfect
   one. If ye have sinned but once, ye shall be damned for it, unless ye
   have something to take away that one sin. Ye do not know this sleep,
   but the Christian does, for all his sins were numbered on the
   "scape-goat's head of old." Christ has died for all his sins however
   great or enormous; and there is not now a sin written against him in
   the Book of God. "I, even I," says God, "am he that blotteth out thy
   transgressions for my name's sake, and I will not remember thy sins."
   Now thou mayest sleep; for "so he giveth his beloved sleep."

   III. Again: there is the sleep of contentment which the Christian
   enjoys. How few people in this world are satisfied. No man ever need
   fear offering a reward of a thousand pounds to a contented man; for if
   any one came to claim the reward, he would of course prove his
   discontent. We are all in a measure, I suspect, dissatisfied with our
   lot; the great majority of mankind are always on the wing; they never
   settle; they never light on any tree to build their nest; but they are
   always fluttering from one to the other. This tree is not green enough,
   that is not high enough, this is not beautiful enough, that is not
   picturesque enough; so they are ever on the wing, and never build a
   peaceful nest at all. The Christian builds his nest; and as the noble
   Luther said, "Like yon little bird upon the tree, he hath fed himself
   tonight--he knoweth not where his breakfast is tomorrow. He sitteth
   there while the winds rock the tree; he shuts his eyes, puts his head
   under his wing, and sleeps; and, when he awakes in the morning sings,

   Mortals cease from toil and sorrow;

   God provideth for the morrow."

   How few there are who have that blessed contentment--who can say, "I
   want nothing else; I want but little here below--yea, I long for
   nothing more--I am satisfied--I am content." You sung a beautiful hymn
   just now; but I suspect that many of you had no right to it, because
   you did not feel it.

   With thy will I leave the rest,

   Grant me but this one request;

   Both in life and death to prove

   Tokens of thy special love.

   Could you say there was nothing you wanted on earth, save Jesus? Did
   you mean that you are perfectly content--that you had the sleep of
   contentment? Ah! no. You, who were apprentices, are sighing till you
   shall be journeymen; you who are journeymen, are groaning to be
   masters; masters are longing till they shall retire from business, and
   when they have retired, they are longing that all their children shall
   be settled in life. Man always looks for a yet-beyond; he is a mariner
   who never gets to port; an arrow which never reaches the target. Ah!
   the Christian hath this text and communed with it:--"So he giveth his
   beloved sleep." In my reverie, as I was on the border of the land of
   dreams, methought I was in a castle. Around its massive walls there ran
   a deep moat. Watchmen paced the walls both day and night. It was a fine
   old fortress, bidding defiance to the foe; but I was not happy in it. I
   thought I lay upon a couch; but scarcely had I closed my eyes, ere a
   trumpet blew, "To arms! To arms!" and when the danger was overpast I
   lay me down again. "To arms! To arms! once more resounded, and again I
   started up. Never could I rest. I thought I had my armour on, and moved
   about perpetually clad in mail, rushing each hour to the castle top,
   aroused by some fresh alarm. At one time a foe was coming from the
   west; at another from the east. I thought I had a treasure somewhere
   down in some dep part of the castle, and all my care was to guard it. I
   dreaded, I feared, I trembled lest it should be taken from me. I awoke,
   and I thought I would not live in such a tower as that for all its
   grandeur. It was the castle of discontent, the castle of ambition, in
   which man never rests. It is ever "To arms! To arms! To arms!" There is
   a foe here or a foe there. His dear-loved treasure must be guarded.
   Sleep never crosses the drawbridge of the castle of discontent. Then I
   thought I would supplant it by another reverie. I was in a cottage. It
   was in what poets call a beautiful and pleasant place, but I cared not
   for that. I had no treasure in the world, save one sparkling jewel on
   my breast; and I thought I put my hand on that and went to sleep, nor
   did I wake till morning light. That treasure was a quiet conscience and
   the love of God--"the peace that passeth all understanding." I slept,
   because I slept in the house of content, satisfied with what I had. Go
   ye, overreaching misers! Go ye, grasping ambitious men! I envy not your
   life of inquietude. The sleep of statesmen is often broken; the dream
   of the miser is always evil; the sleep of the man who loves gain is
   never hearty; but God "giveth," by contentment, "his beloved sleep."

   IV. Once more: God giveth his beloved the sleep of quietness of soul as
   to the future. O that dark future! that future! The present may be
   well; but ah! the next wind may wither all the flowers, and where shall
   I be? Clutch thy gold, miser; for "riches make to themselves wings and
   fly away." Hug that babe to thy breast, mother; for the rough hand of
   death may rob thee of it. Look at thy fame and wonder at it, O thou man
   of ambition! But one slight report shall wound thee to the heart, and
   thou shalt sink as low as e'er thou hast been lifted high by the voices
   of the multitude. The future! All persons have need to dread the
   future, except the Christian. God giveth to his beloved sleep with
   regard to the events of coming time.

   What may be the future lot,

   High or low concerns me not;

   This doth set my heart at rest,

   What my God appoints is best.

   Whether I am to live or die is no matter to me; whether I am to be the
   "offscouring of all things," or "the man whom the king delighteth to
   honour," matters not to me. All is alike, provided my Father doth but
   give it. "So he giveth his beloved sleep." How many of you have arrived
   at that happy point that you have no wish of your own at all? It is a
   sweet thing to have but one wish; but it is a better thing to have no
   wish at all--to be all lost in the present enjoyment of Christ and the
   future anticipation of the vision of his face. O my soul! what would
   the future be to thee, if thou hadst not Christ? If it be a bitter and
   a dark future, what matters it, so long as Christ thy Lord sanctifies
   it, and the Holy Ghost still gives thee courage, energy, and strength?
   It is a blessed thing to be able to say with Madame Guyon--

   To me tis equal, whether love ordained,

   My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;

   My soul perceives no real ill in pain,

   In ease or health, no real good she sees.

   One good she covets, and that good alone,

   To choose thy will, from selfish bias free,

   And to prefer a cottage to a throne,

   And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.

   That we should bear the cross is thy command--

   Die to the world, and live to sin no more;

   Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest hand,

   As pleased when shipwrecked, as when safe on shore.

   It is a happy condition to attain. "So he giveth his beloved sleep."
   Ah! if you have a self-will in your hearts, pray to God to uproot it.
   Have you self-love? Beseech the Holy Spirit to turn it out; for if you
   will always will to do as God wills, you must be happy. I have heard of
   some good old woman in a cottage, who had nothing but a piece of bread
   and a little wafer, and lifting up her hands, she said, as a blessing,
   "What! all this, and Christ too?" It is "all this," compared with what
   we deserve. And I have read of some one dying, who was asked if he
   wished to live or die; and he said, "I have no wish at all about it."
   "But if you might wish, which would you choose?" "I would not choose at
   all." "But if God bade you choose?" "I would beg God to choose for me,
   for I should not know which to take." Happy state! happy state! to be
   perfectly acquiescent--

   To lie passive in his hand,

   And to know no will but his.

   "So he giveth his beloved sleep."

   V. In the fifth place: there is the sleep of security. Solomon slept
   with his armed men round his bed, and thus slumbered securely; but
   Solomon's father slept one night on the bare ground--not in a
   palace--with no moat round his castle wall,--but he slept quite as
   safely as his son, for he said, "I laid me down and slept, and I
   awaked, for the Lord sustained me." Now, some persons never feel secure
   in this world at all; I query whether one half of my hearers feel
   themselves so. Suppose I burst out in a moment, and sing this--

   I to the end shall endure,

   As sure as the earnest is given;

   More happy, but not more secure,

   Are the glorified spirits in heaven.

   You would say, that is too high doctrine; and I would reply, very
   likely it is for you, but it is the truth of God, and it is sweet
   doctrine for me. I love to know, that if I am predestinated according
   to the foreknowledge of God the Father, I must be saved; if I was
   purchased by the Son's blood, I cannot be lost, for it would be
   impossible for Jesus Christ to lose one whom he has redeemed, otherwise
   he would be dissatisfied with his labours. I know that where he has
   begun the good work he will carry it on. I never fear that I shall fall
   away, or be lost; my only fear is, lest I should not have been right at
   first; but, provided I am right, if I be really a child of God, I might
   believe that the sun would be smitten with madness, and go reeling
   through the universe like a drunken man--I might believe that the stars
   would urn form their courses, and instead of marching with their
   measured tramp, as now they do, whirl on in wild courses like the dance
   of Bacchanals--I could even conceive that this great universe might all
   subside in God, "even as a moment's foam subsides again upon the wave
   that bears it;" but neither reason, heresy, logic, eloquence, nor a
   conclave of divines, shall make me pay a moment' attention to the vile
   suggestion that a child of God may ever perish. Hence I tread this
   earth with confidence. Arguing a little while ago with an Arminian, he
   said, "Sir, you ought to be a happy man; for if what you say be true,
   why you are as secure of being in heaven as if you were there." I said,
   "Yes, I know it." "Then you ought to live above cares and tribulations,
   and sing happily from morning to night." I said, "So I ought, and so I
   will, God helping me." This is security. "He giveth his beloved sleep."
   To know that if I died I should enter heaven--to be as sure as I am of
   my own existence that God, having loved me with an everlasting love,
   and he being immutable, will never hate me if he has once loved me--to
   know that I must enter the kingdom of glory--is not this enough to make
   all burdens light, and give me the hind's feet wherewith I may stand
   upon my high places. Happy state of security! "So he giveth his beloved
   sleep."

   And there is a sleep, my dear friends, of security, which is enjoyed on
   earth even in the midst of the greatest troubles. Do you remember that
   passage in the book of Ezekiel, where it is said, "They shall dwell
   securely in the wilderness and sleep in the woods?" A queer place to
   sleep in! "In the woods." There is a wolf over yonder; there is a tiger
   in the jungle; and eagle is soaring in the air; a horde of robbers
   dwell in the dark forest. "Never mind," says the child of God:

   He that hath made his refuge God,

   Shall find a most secure abode;

   Shall walk all day beneath his shade,

   And there at night shall rest his head.

   I have often admired Martin Luther, and wondered at his composure. When
   all men spoke so ill of him, what did he say? Turn to that Psalm--"God
   is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble;
   therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the
   mountains be carried into the midst of the sea." In a far inferior
   manner, I have been called to stand up in the position of Martin
   Luther, and have been made the butt of slander, a mark for laughter and
   scorn; but it has not broken my spirit yet; not will it, while I am
   enabled to enjoy that quiescent state of--"So he giveth his beloved
   sleep." But thus far I beg to inform all those who choose to slander or
   speak ill of me, that they are very welcome to do so till they are
   tired of it. my motto is cedo nulli--I yield to none. I have not
   courted any man's love; I asked no man to attend my ministry; I preach
   what I like, and when I like, and as I like. Oh! happy state--to be
   bold, though downcast, and distressed--to go and bend my knee and tell
   my Father all, and then to come down from my chamber, and say--

   If on my face, for thy dear name,

   Shame and reproach shall be;

   I'll hail reproach, and welcome shame,

   For thou'lt remember me.

   VI. The last sleep God giveth his beloved is the sleep of a happy
   dismission. I have stood by the graves of many servants of the Lord. I
   have buried some of the excellent of the earth; and when I bid farewell
   to my brother down below there slumbering in his coffin, I usually
   commence my speech with those words, "So he giveth his beloved sleep."
   Dear servants of Jesus! There I see them! What can I say of them, but
   that "so he giveth his beloved sleep?" Oh! happy sleep! This world is a
   state of tossing to and fro; but in that grave they rest. No sorrows
   there; no sighs, no groans, to mingle with the songs that warble from
   immortal tongues. Well may I address the dead thus:--"My brother,
   oftentimes hast thou fought the battles of this world; thou hast had
   thy cares, thy trials, and thy troubles; but now thou art gone--not to
   worlds unknown, but to yonder land of light and glory. Sleep on,
   brother! Thy soul sleepeth not, for thou art in heaven; but thy body
   sleepeth. Death hath laid thee in thy last couch; it may be cold, but
   it is sanctified; it may be damp, but it is safe; and on the
   resurrection morning, when the archangel shall set his trumpet to his
   mouth, thou shalt rise. Blessed are they dead that die in the Lord:
   yea, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours, and their
   works do follow them.' Sleep on in thy grave, my brother, for thou
   shalt rise to glory." "So he giveth his beloved sleep."

   Some of you fear to die, and have good reason to do so, for death for
   you would be the beginning of sorrows; and on its approach ye might
   hear the voice of the angel of the Apocalypse: "One woe is past, but
   behold two woes more are to come." If, sirs, ye were to die unprepared,
   and unconverted, and unsaved, "There remaineth nothing but a fearful
   looking for of judgment and fiery indignation." I need not speak like a
   Boanerges, for it is to you a well known truth, that without God,
   without Christ, "strangers from the commonwealth of Israel," your
   portion must be amongst the damned--the fiends--the tortured--the
   shrieking ghosts--the wandering souls who find no rest--

   On waves of burning brimstone toss'd,

   For ever, O for ever lost!

   "The wrath to come!" "The wrath to come!" "The wrath to come!"

   But beloved Christian brother, wherefore dost thou fear to die? Come
   let me take thy hand:

   To you and me by grace tis given,

   To know the Saviour's precious name;

   And shortly we shall meet in heaven,

   Our end, our hope, our way the same.

   Do you know that heaven is just across that narrow stream? Are you
   afraid to plunge in and swim across? Do you fear to be drowned? I feel
   the bottom--it is good. Dost thou think thou shalt sink? Hear the voice
   of the Spirit: "Fear not, I am with thee; be not dismayed, I am thy
   God: when thou passest through the river, I will be with thee, and the
   floods shall not overflow thee." Death is the gate of endless joys, and
   dost thou dread to enter there? What! fear to be emancipated from
   corruption? Oh! say not so! but rather, gladly lay down and sleep in
   Jesus, and be blessed.

   I have finished expounding my subject. There is only one question I
   want to ask of you before you pass out of those doors. Do you seriously
   and solemnly believe that you belong to the "beloved" here mentioned? I
   may be impertinent in asking such a question; I have been accused of
   that before now, but I have never denied it. I rather take the credit
   of it than not. But seriously and solemnly I ask you--Do you know
   yourselves to be amongst the beloved? And if it happens that you want a
   test, allow me to give you three tests, very briefly, and I have done.
   It has been said that there are three kinds of preachers--doctrinal
   preachers, experimental preachers, and practical preachers. Now I think
   there are three things that make up a Christian--true doctrine, real
   exzperience, and good practice.

   Now, then, as to your doctrine. You may tell whether you are the Lord's
   beloved partly by that. Some think it matters not what a man believes.
   Excuse me: truth is alway precious, and the least atom of truth is
   worth searching out. Now- a-days the sects do not clash so much as they
   did. Perhaps that is good; but there is one evil about it. People do
   not read the Bibles so much as they did. They think we are all right.
   Now, I believe we may be all right in the main, but we cannot be all
   right where we contradict one another; and it becomes every man to
   search the Bible to see which is right. I am not afraid to submit my
   Calvinism, or my doctrine of believer's baptism, to the searching of
   the Bible. A learned lord, an infidel, once said to Whitfield, "Sir I
   am an infidel, I do not believe the Bible, but if the Bible be true,
   you are right, and your Arminian opponents are wrong. If the Bible be
   the Word of God, the doctrines of grace are true;" adding that if any
   man would grant him the Bible to be the truth, he would challenge him
   to disprove Calvinism. The doctrines of original sin, election,
   effectual calling, final perseverance, and all those great truths which
   are called Calvinism--though Calvin was not the author of them, but
   simply an able writer and preacher upon the subject--are, I believe,
   the essential doctrines of the Gospel that is in Jesus Christ. Now, I
   do not ask you whether you believe all this--it is possible you may
   not; but I believe you will before you enter heaven. I am persuaded,
   that as God may have washed your hearts, he will wash your brains
   before you enter heaven. He will make you right in your doctrines. But
   I must enquire whether you read your Bibles. I am not finding fault
   with you this morning for differing from me, I may be wrong; but I want
   to know whether you search the Scriptures to find what is truth. And,
   if you are not a reader of the Bible, if you take doctrines
   second-hand, if you go to chapel, and say, "I do not like that:' what
   matters your not liking it, provided it is in the Bible? Is it Biblical
   truth, or is it not? If it is God's truth, let us have it exalted. It
   may not suit you; but let me remind you, that the truth that is in
   Jesus never was palatable to carnal men, and I believe never will be.
   The reason you love it not, is because it cuts too much at your pride;
   it lets you down too low. Search yourselves, then, in doctrine.

   Then take care that you remember the experimental test. I am afraid
   there is very little experimental religion amongst us; but where there
   is true doctrine, there ought always to be a vital experience. Sirs,
   try yourselves by the experimental test. Have you ever had an
   experience of your wretchedness, of your depravity, your inability,
   your death in sin? Have you ever felt life in Christ, an experience of
   the light of God's countenance, of wrestling with corruption? Have you
   had a grace-given Holy Ghost-implanted experience of a communion with
   Christ? If so, then you are right on the experimental test.

   And, to conclude, take care of the practical test. "Faith without works
   is dead, being alone." He that walketh in sin is a child of the devil;
   and he that walketh in righteousness is a child of light. Do not think,
   because you believe the right doctrines, therefore you are right. There
   are many that believe right, act wrong, and they perish. "Be not
   deceived; God is not mocked; whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also
   reap."

   I have done. Now let me beseech thee, you, by the frailty of your own
   lives--by the shortness of time--by the dreadful realities of
   eternity--by the sins you have committed--by the pardon that you
   need--by the blood and wounds of Jesus--by his second coming to judge
   the world in righteousness--by the glories of heaven--by the awful
   horrors of hell--by time--by eternity--by all that is good--by all that
   is sacred--let me beg of you, as you love your own souls, to search and
   see whether ye are amongst the beloved, to whom he giveth sleep. God
   bless you.
     __________________________________________________________________

               Consolation Proportionate to Spiritual Sufferings

   A Sermon

   (No. 13)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 11, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "For as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, so our consolation also
   aboundeth by Christ."--2 Corinthians 1:5.

   SEEK ye rest from your distresses ye children of woe and sorrow ? This
   is the place where ye may lighten your burden, and lose your cares. Oh,
   son of affliction and misery, wouldst thou forget for a time thy pains
   and griefs? This is the Bethesda the house of mercy; this is the place
   where God designs to cheer thee, and to make thy distresses stay their
   never ceasing course; this is the spot where his children love to be
   found, because here they find consolation in the midst of tribulation,
   joy in their sorrows, and comfort in their afflictions. Even worldly
   men admit that there is something extremely comforting in the sacred
   Scriptures, and in our holy religion; I have even heard it said of
   some, that after they had, by their logic, as they thought, annihilated
   Christianity, and proved it to be untrue, they acknowledged that they
   had spoilt an excellently comforting delusion, and that they could
   almost sit down and weep to think it was not a reality. Ay, my friends,
   if it were not true, ye might weep. If the Bible were not the truth of
   God--if we could not meet together around his mercy seat, then ye might
   put your hands upon your loins and walk about as if ye were in travail.
   If ye had not something in the world beside your reason, beside the
   fleeting joys of earth--if ye had not something which God had given to
   you, some hope beyond the sky, some refuge that should be more than
   terrestrial, some deliverance which should be more than earthly, then
   ye might weep;--ah! weep your heart out at your eyes, and let your
   whole bodies waste away in one perpetual tear. Ye might ask the clouds
   to rest on your head, the rivers to roll down in streams from both your
   eyes, for your grief would "have need of all the watery things that
   nature could produce." But, blessed be God, we have consolation, we
   have joy in the Holy Ghost. We find it nowhere else. We have raked the
   earth through, but we have discovered ne'er a jewel; we have turned
   this dunghill-world o'er and o'er a thousand times, and we have found
   nought that is precious; but here, in this Bible, here in the religion
   of the blessed Jesus we the sons of God, have found comfort and joy;
   while we can truly say, "As our afflictions abound, so our consolations
   also abound by Christ."

   There are four things in my text to which I invite your attention: the
   first is the sufferings to be expected--"The sufferings of Christ
   abound in us;" secondly, the distinction to be noticed--they are the
   sufferings of Christ; thirdly, a proportion to be experienced--as the
   sufferings of Christ abound, so our consolations abound; and fourthly,
   the person to be honored--"So our consolation aboundeth by CHRIST."

   I. Our first division then is, THE SUFFERINGS TO BE EXCPECTED. Our holy
   Apostle says "The sufferings of Christ abound in us." Before we buckle
   on the Christian armour we ought to know what that service is which is
   expected of us. A recruiting sergeant often slips a shilling into the
   hand of some ignorant youth, and tells him that. Her Majesty's Service
   is a fine thing, that he has nothing to do but walk about in his
   flaming colors, that he will have no hard service--in fact, that he has
   nothing to do but to be a soldier, and go straight on to glory. But the
   Christian searjeant when he enlists a soldier of the cross, never
   deceives him like that. Jesus Christ himself said, "Count the cost." He
   wished to have no disciple who was not prepared to go all the way--"to
   bear hardness as a good soldier." I have sometimes heard religion
   described in such a way that its high coloring displeases me. It is
   true "her ways are ways of pleasantness;" but it is not true that a
   Christian never has sorrow or trouble. It is true that light-eyed
   cheerfulness, and airy-footed love, can go through the world without
   much depression: and tribulation: but it is not true that Christianity
   will shield a man from trouble; nor ought it to be so represented. In
   fact, we ought to speak of it in the other-way. Soldier of Christ, if
   thou enlisteth, thou wilt have to do hard battle. There is no bed of
   down for thee; there it no riding to heaven in a chariot; the rough way
   must be trodden; mountains must be climbed, rivers must be forded,
   dragons must be fought, giants must be slain, difficulties must be
   overcome, and great trials must be borne. It is not a smooth road to
   heaven, believe me; for those who have gone but a very few steps
   therein have found it to be a rough one. It is a pleasant one; it is
   the most delightful in all the world, but it is not easy in itself; it
   is only pleasant because of the company, because of the sweet promises
   on which we lean, because of our Beloved who walks with us through all
   the rough and thorny brakes of this vast wilderness. Christian, expect
   trouble: "Count it not strange concerning the fiery trial, and as
   though some strange thing had happened unto thee;" for as truly as thou
   art a child of God, thy Saviour hath left thee for his legacy,--"In the
   world, ye shall have tribulation; in me ye shall have peace." If I had
   no trouble I would not believe myself one of the family. If I never had
   a trial I would not think myself a heir of heaven. Children of God must
   not, shall not, escape the rod. Earthly parents may spoil their
   children but the heavenly Father never shall his. "Whom he loveth he
   chasteneth," and scourgeth every son whom he hath chosen. His people
   must suffer; therefore, expect it Christian; if thou art a child of God
   believe it, look for it, and when it comes, say, "Well suffering, I
   foresaw thee; thou art no stranger; I have looked for thee
   continually." You cannot tell how much it will lighten your trials, if
   you await them with resignation. In fact, make it a wonder if you get
   through a day easily. If you remain a week without persecution, think
   it a remarkable thing; and if you should, perchance, live a month
   without heaving a sigh from your inmost heart, think it a miracle of
   miracles. But when the trouble comes, say, "Ah! this is what I looked
   for; it is marked in the chart to heaven; the rock is put down; I will
   sail confidently by it; my Master has not deceived me."

   "Why should I complain of want or distress,

   Temptation or pain? he told me no less."

   But why must the Christian expect trouble? Why must he expect the
   sufferings of Christ to abound in him? Stand here a moment, my brother,
   and I will show thee four reasons wherefore thou must endure trial.
   First look upward, then look downward, then look around thee, and then
   look within thee; and thou wilt see four reasons why the sufferings of
   Christ should abound in thee.

   Look upward. Dost thou see thy heavenly Father, a pure and holy being,
   spotless, just, perfect? Dost thou know that thou art one day to be
   like him? Thinkest thou that thou wilt easily come to be conformed to
   his image? Wilt thou not require much furnace work, much grinding in
   the mill of trouble, much breaking with the pestle in the mortar of
   affliction, much being broken under the wheels of agony? Thinkest thou
   it will be an easy thing for thy heart to become as pure as God is?
   Dost thou think thou canst so soon get rid of thy corruptions, and
   become perfect, even as thy Father which is in heaven is perfect?

   Lift up thine eye again; dost thou discern those bright spirits clad in
   white, purer than alabaster, more chaste, more fair than Parian marble?
   Behold them as they stand in glory. Ask them whence their victory came.
   Some of them will tell you they swam through seas of blood. Behold the
   scars of honor on their brows; see, some of them lift up their hands
   and tell you they were once consumed in fire; while others were slain
   by the sword, rent in pieces by wild beasts; were destitute afflicted,
   tormented. ye noble army of martyrs, ye glorious hosts of the living
   God. Must ye swim through seas of blood, and shall I hope to ride to
   heaven wrapped in furs and ermine? Did ye endure suffering, and shall I
   be pampered with the luxuries of this world? Did ye fight and then
   reign, and must I reign without a battle. Oh, no. By God's help I will
   expect that as ye suffered so must I, and as through much tribulation
   ye entered the kingdom of heaven, so shall I.

   Next, Christian, turn thine eyes downward. Dost thou know what foes
   thou hast beneath thy feet? There are hell and its lions against thee.
   Thou wast once a servant of Satan and no king will willingly lose his
   subjects. Dost thou think that Satan be pleased with thee? Why, thou
   hast changed thy country. Thou wast once a liege servant of Apollyon,
   but now thou art become a good soldier of Jesus Christ; and dost thou
   think the devil is pleased with thee? I tell thee nay. If thou hadst
   seen Satan the moment thou wast converted, thou wouldst have beheld a
   wondrous scene. As soon as thou gavest thy heart to Christ, Satan
   spread his bat-like-wings: down he flew into hell, and summoning all
   his councilors, he said "Sons of the pit, true heirs of darkness; ye
   who erst were clad in light, but who fell with me from high dignities,
   another of my servants has forsaken me; I have lost another of my
   family; he is gone over to the side of the Lord of Hosts. Oh ye, my
   compeers, ye fellow-helpers of the powers of darkness, leave no stone
   unturned to destroy him. I bid you all hurl all your fiercest darts at
   him; plague him; let hell-dogs bark at him; let fiends besiege him;
   give him no rest, harrass him to the death; let the fumes of our
   corrupt and burning lake ever rise in his nostrils; persecute him; the
   man is a traitor; give him no peace; since I cannot have him here to
   bind him in chains of adamant, since I ne'er can have him here to
   torment and afflict him, as long as ye can, till his dying day, I bid
   you howl at him; until he crosses the river, afflict him, grieve him,
   torment him; for the wretch has turned against me, and become a servant
   of the Lord." Such may have been the scene in hell, that very day when
   thou didst love the Lord. And dost thou think Satan loves thee better
   now? Ah! no. He will always be at thee, for thine enemy, "like a
   roaring lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour." Expect trouble
   therefore, Christian, when thou lookest beneath thee.

   Then, man of God, look around thee. Do not be asleep. Open thine eyes,
   and look around thee. Where art thou? Is that man a friend next to
   thee? No; thou art in an enemy's country. This is a wicked world. Half
   the people, I suppose, profess to be irreligious, and those who profess
   to be pious, often are not. "Cursed is he that trusteth in man and
   maketh flesh his arm."--Blessed is he that trusteth in the Lord, and
   whose hope the Lord is."--"As for men of low degree, they are vanity;"
   the voice of the crowd is not worth having; and as for "men of high
   degree, they are a lie," which is worse still. The world is not to be
   trusted in, not to be relied upon. The true Christian treads it beneath
   his feet, with "all that earth calls good or great." Look around thee
   my brother; thou wilt see some good hearts, strong and valiant; thou
   wilt see some true souls, sincere and honest; thou wilt see some
   faithful lovers of Christ; but I tell thee O child of light, that where
   thou meetest one sincere man, thou wilt meet twenty hypocrites; where
   thou wilt find one that will lead thee to heaven, thou wilt find a
   score who would push thee to hell. Thou art in a land of enemies, not
   of friends. Never believe the world is good for much. Many people have
   burned their fingers by taking hold of it. Many a man has been injured
   by putting his hand into a nest of the rattlesnake--the world; thinking
   that the dazzling hues of the sleeping serpent were securities from
   harm. O Christian! the world is not thy friend. If it is, then thou art
   not God's friend; for he who is the friend of the world is the enemy of
   God; and he who is despised of men, is often loved of Jehovah. Thou art
   in an enemy's country, man: therefore, expect trouble: expect that the
   man who "eats thy bread will lift up his heel against thee;" expect
   that thou shalt be estranged from those that love thee; be assured that
   since thou art in the land of the foe, thou shalt find foemen
   everywhere. When thou sleepest, think that thou sleepest on the
   battle-field; when thou walkest believe that there is an ambush in
   every hedge. Oh! take heed, take heed: this is no good world to shut
   thine eyes in. Look around thee, man; and when thou art upon the
   watch-tower, reckon surely that trouble cometh.

   . But then, look within thee. There is a little world in here, which is
   quite enough to give us trouble. A Roman once said he wished he had a
   window to his heart, that all people might see what was going on there.
   I am very glad I have not; if I had I would shut it up as closely as
   Apsley House used to be; I would take care to have all the shutters up.
   Most of us would have great need of shutters if we had such a window.
   However, for one moment, peep into the window of thine heart, to
   observe what is there. Sin is there--original sin and corruption; and
   what is more, self is still within. Ah! if thou hadst no devil to tempt
   thee, thou wouldest tempt thyself; it there were no enemies to fight
   thee, thyself would be thy worst foe; if there were no world, still thy
   self would be bad enough; for "the heart is deceitful above all things,
   and desperately wicked." Look within thee, believer; know that thou
   bearest a cancer in thy very vitals; that thou carriest within thee a
   bomb-shell, ready to burst at the slightest spark of temptation; know
   that thou hast inside thy heart an evil thing, a coiled-up viper, ready
   to sting thee and bring thee into trouble, and pain, and misery
   unutterable. Take heed of your heart, Christian; and when thou findest
   sorrow, trouble, and care, look within and say, "Verily, I may well
   receive this, considering the evil heart of unbelief which I carry
   about with me." Now dost thou see, brother Christian? No hope to escape
   trouble, is there. What shall we do then? There is no chance for us. We
   must bear suffering and affliction; therefore, let us endure it
   cheerfully. Some of us are the officers in God's regiments, and we are
   the mark of all the riflemen of the enemy. Standing forward, we have to
   bear all the shots. What a mercy it is that not one of God's officers
   ever fall in battle! God always keeps them. When the arrows fly fast,
   the shield of faith catches them all; and when the enemy is most angry,
   God is most pleased. So, for aught we care, the world may go on, the
   devil may revile, flesh may rise; "for we are more than conquerors
   through him that hath loved us." Therefore, all honor be unto God
   alone. Expect suffering--this is our first point.

   II. Now, secondly, there is A DISTINCTION TO BE NOTICED. Our sufferings
   are said to be the sufferings of Christ. Now, suffering in itself is
   not an evidence of Christianity. There are many people who have trials
   and troubles who are not children of' God. I have heard some poor
   whining people come and say, "I know I am a child of God because I am
   in debt, because I am in poverty, because I am in trouble." Do you
   indeed? I know a great many rascals in the same condition; and I don't
   believe you are a child of God any the more because you happen to be in
   poor circumstances. There are abundance who are in trouble and distress
   besides God's children. It is not the peculiar lot of God's family; and
   if I had no other ground of my hope as a Christian, except my
   experience of trials, I should have but very poor ground indeed. But
   there is a distinction to be noticed. Are these sufferings the
   sufferings of Christ, or are they not? A man is dishonest, and is put
   in jail for it; a man is a coward and men hiss at him for it; a man is
   insincere, and, therefore, persons avoid him. Yet he says he is
   persecuted. Persecuted! Not at all; it serves him right. He deserves
   it. But such persons will comfort themselves with the thought, that
   they are "the dear people of God," because other people avoid them;
   when it so happens that they just deserve it. They do not live as they
   ought to do; therefore the world's punishment is their desert. Take
   heed, beloved, that your sufferings are true sufferings of Christ; be
   sure they are not your own sufferings; for if they are, you will get no
   relief. It is only when they are the sufferings of Jesus that we may
   take comfort.

   "Well," you say, "What is meant by our sufferings being the sufferings
   of Christ?" You know the word "Christ" in the Bible sometimes means the
   whole Church with Christ, as in 1 Cor. xii.12, and several other
   passages which I cannot just now remember; but you will call to mind a
   scripture where it says, "I fill up that which is behind of the
   sufferings of Christ, for his body's sake, which is the Church." Now,
   as Christ, the head, had a certain amount of suffering to endure, so
   the body must also have a certain weight laid upon it. Our afflictions
   are the sufferings of Christ mystical, the sufferings of Christ's body,
   the sufferings of Christ's church; for you know that if a man could be
   so tall as to have his head in heaven and his feet at the bottom of the
   sea, it would be the same body, and the head would feel the sufferings
   of the feet. So, though my head is in heaven, and I am on earth, my
   griefs are Christ's griefs; my trials are Christ's trials, my
   afflictions, he suffers.

   "I feel at my heart all thy sighs and thy groans,

   For thou art most near me, my flesh and my bones;

   In all thy distresses, thy Head feels the pain,

   Yet all are most needful, not one is in vain."

   The trials of a true Christian are as much the sufferings of Christ, as
   the agonies of Calvary.

   Still you say, "We want to discern whether our troubles are the trials
   of Christ." Well, they are the trials of Christ, if you suffer for
   Christ's sake. If you are called to endure hardness for the sake of the
   truth, then those are the sufferings of Christ. If you suffer for your
   own sake, it may be a punishment for your own sins; but if you endure
   for Christ's sake, then they are the trials of Christ. "But," say some,
   "is there any persecution now-a-days? Do any Christians have to suffer
   for Christ's sake now?" Suffer, sirs! Yes. "I could a tale unfold" this
   morning, if I pleased, of bigotry insufferable, of persecution well
   nigh as bad as that in the days of Mary; only our foes have not the
   power and the law on their side. I could tell you of some who, from the
   simple fact, that they choose to come and hear this despised young man,
   this ranting fellow, are to be looked upon as the offscouring of all
   things. Many are the persons who come to me, who have to lead a
   miserable and unhappy life, simply because from my lips they heard the
   word of truth. Still, despite of all that is said, they will hear it
   now. I have, I am sure, many before me, whose eyes would drop with
   tears, if I were to tell their history--some who have privately sent me
   word of how they have to suffer for Christ's sake, because they choose
   to hear whom they please. Why, is it not time that men should choose to
   do as they like. If I do not care to do just as other ministers do,
   have not I a right to preach as I please? If I havn't I will--that is
   all. And have not other parties a right to hear me if they like,
   without asking the lords and governors of the present day, whether the
   man is really clerical or not. Liberty! liberty! Let persons do as they
   please. But liberty--where is it? Ye say it is in Britain. It is, in a
   measure, but not thoroughly. However, I rejoice that there are some who
   say, "Well, my soul is profited: and let men say what they will, I will
   hold hard and fast to truth, and to the place where I hear the word to
   my soul's edification." So, dear hearts, go on, go on; and if ye suffer
   for Christ's sake, they are Christ's sufferings. If ye came here simply
   because ye gained anything by it, then your sufferings would be your
   own; but since there is nothing to gain but the profit of our own
   souls, still hold on; and whate'er is said, your persecution will but
   win you a brighter crown in glory.

   Ah! Christian, this ennobles us. My brethren, this makes us proud and
   happy to think that our trials are the trials of Jesus. Oh! I think it
   must have been some honor to the old soldier, who stood by the Iron
   Duke in his battles, to be able to say, "We fight under the good old
   Duke, who has won so many battles: and when he wins, part of the honor
   will be ours." Christian, thou fightest side by side with Jesus; Christ
   is with thee; every blow is a blow aimed at Christ; every slander is a
   slander on Christ; the battle is the Lord's; the triumph is the Lord's,
   therefore, still on to victory! I remember a story of a great
   commander, who, having won many glorious victories, led his troops into
   a defile, and when there, a large body of the enemy entirely surrounded
   him. He knew a battle was inevitable on the morning, he therefore went
   round to all the tents, to hear in what condition his soldier's minds
   were--whether they were dispirited or not. He came to one tent, and as
   he listened, he heard a man say, "There is our general; he is very
   brave, but he is very unwise this time; he has led us into a place
   where we are sure to be beaten; there are so many of the enemy's
   cavalry, so many infantry:" and then the man counted up all the troops
   on their own side, and made them only so many. Then the commander,
   after he had heard the tale, gently drew aside a part of the tent, and
   said, "How many do you count me for? You have counted the infantry and
   cavalry; but how many do you count me for--me, your mighty captain, who
   have won so many victories." Now, Christian, I say, how many do you
   count one? He is not one, nor a thousand: he is the "chief among ten
   thousand." But he is more than that. Oh! put him down for a high
   figure; and when thou countest up thine aids and auxiliaries, put down
   Christ for all in all, for in him victory is certain--the triumph is
   secure.

   III. Our third point is, A PROPORTION TO BE EXPERIENCED. As the
   sufferings of Christ abound in us so the consolations of Christ abound.
   Here is a blessed proportion. God always keeps a pair of scales--in
   this side he puts his people's trials and in that he puts their
   consolations. When the scale of trial is nearly empty, you will always
   find the scale of consolation in nearly the same condition; and when
   the scale of trials is full, you will find the scale of consolation
   just as heavy for as the sufferings of Christ abound in us, even so
   shall consolation abound by Christ. This is a matter of pure
   experience. Some of you do not know anything at all about it. You are
   not Christians, you are not born again, you are not converted; ye are
   unregenerate, and, therefore, ye have never realized this wonderful
   proportion between the sufferings and the consolations of a child of
   God. Oh! it is mysterious that, when the black clouds gather most, the
   light within us is always the brightest. When the night lowers and the
   tempest is coming on, the heavenly captain is always closest to his
   crew. It is a blessed thing, when we are most cast down, then it is
   that we are most lifted up by the consolations of Christ. Let me show
   you how.

   The first reason is, because trials make more room, for consolation.
   There is nothing makes a man have a big heart like a great trial. I
   always find that little, miserable people, whose hearts are about the
   size of a grain of mustard-seed, never have had much to try them. I
   have found that those people who have no sympathy for their
   fellows--who never weep for the sorrows of others--very seldom have had
   any woes of their own. Great hearts can only be made by great troubles.
   The spade of trouble digs the reservoir of comfort deeper, and makes
   more room for consolation. God comes into our heart--he finds it
   full--he begins to break our comforts and to make it empty; than there
   is more room for grace. The humbler a man lies, the more comfort he
   will always have. I recollect walking with a ploughman one day--a man
   who was deeply taught, although he was a ploughman; and really
   ploughmen would make a great deal better preachers than many college
   gentlemen--and he said to me, "Depend upon it, my good brother, if you
   or I ever get one inch above the ground, we shall get just that inch
   too high." I believe it is true; for the lower we lie, the nearer to
   the ground we are--the more our troubles humble us--the more fit we are
   to receive comfort; and God always gives us comfort when we are most
   fit for it. That is one reason why consolations increase in the same
   ratio as our trials.

   Then again, trouble exercises our graces, and the very exercise of our
   graces tends to make us more comfortable and happy. Where showers fall
   most, there the grass is greenest. I suppose the fogs and mists of
   Ireland make it "the Emerald Isle;" and wherever you find great fogs of
   trouble, and mists of sorrow, you always find emerald green hearts:
   full of the beautiful verdure of the comfort and love of God. O
   Christian, do not thou be saying, "Where are the swallows gone? they
   are gone: they are dead." They are not dead; they have skimmed the
   purple sea, and gone to a far off land; but they will be back again
   by-and-by. Child of God, say not the flowers are dead; say not the
   winter has killed them, and they are gone. Ah! no; though winter hath
   coated them with the ermine of its snow; they will put up their heads
   again, and will be alive very soon. Say not, child of God, that the sun
   is quenched, because the cloud hath hidden it. Ah! no; he is behind
   there, brewing summer for thee; for when he cometh out again, he will
   have made the clouds fit to drop in April showers, all of them mothers
   of the sweet May flowers. And oh! above all, when thy God hides his
   face, say not, that he has forgotten thee. He is but tarrying a little
   while to make thee love him better; and when he cometh, thou shalt have
   joy in the Lord, and. shalt rejoice with joy unspeakable. Waiting,
   exercises our grace; waiting, tries our faith; therefore, wait on in
   hope; for though the promise tarry, it can never come too late.

   Another reason why we are often most happy in our troubles is
   this--then we have the closest dealing with God. I speak from heart
   knowledge and real experience. We never have such close dealings with
   God as when we are in tribulation. When the barn is full, man can live
   without God; when the purse is bursting with gold, we somehow can do
   without so much prayer. But once take your gourds away, you want your
   God; once cleanse away the idols out of the house, then you must go and
   honor Jehovah. Some of you do not pray half as much as you ought. If
   you are the children of God, you will have the whip, and when you have
   that whip, you will run to your Father. It is a fine day, and the child
   walks before its father; but there is a lion in the road, now he comes
   and takes his father's hand. He could run half-a-mile before him when
   all was fine and fair; but once bring the lion, and it is "father!
   father!" as close as he can be. It is even so with the Christian. Let
   all be well, and he forgets God. Jeshurun waxes fat, and he begins to
   kick against God; but take away his hopes, blast his joys, let the
   infant lie in the coffin, let the crops be blasted, let the herd be cut
   off from the stall, let the husband's broad shoulder lie in the grave,
   let the children be fatherless--then it is that God is a God indeed.
   Oh, strip me naked; take from me all I have; make me poor, a beggar,
   penniless, helpless: dash that cistern in pieces; crush that hope;
   quench the stars; put out the sun; shroud the moon in darkness, and
   place me all alone in space, without a friend, without a helper; still,
   "Out of the depths will I cry unto thee, O God." There is no cry so
   good as that which comes from the bottom of the mountains; no prayer
   half so hearty as that which comes up from the depths of the soul,
   through deep trials and afflictions. Hence they bring us to God, and we
   are happier; for that is the way to be happy--to live near to God. So
   that while troubles abound, they drive us to God, and then consolations
   abound.

   Some people call troubles weights. Verily they are so. A ship that has
   large sails and a fair wind, needs ballast. Troubles are the ballast of
   a believer. The eyes are the pumps which fetch out the bilge-water of
   his soul, and keep him from sinking. But if trials be weights I will
   tell you of a happy secret. There is such a thing as making a weight
   lift you. If I have a weight chained to me, it keeps me down; but give
   me pulleys and certain appliances, and I can make it lift me up. Yes,
   there is such a thing as making troubles raise me towards heaven. A
   gentlemen once asked a friend, concerning a beautiful horse of his,
   feeding about in the pasture with a clog on its foot, "Why do you clog
   such a noble animal?" "Sir," said he, "I would a great deal sooner clog
   him than lose him: he is given to leap hedges." That is why God clogs
   his people. He would rather clog them than lose them; for if he did not
   clog them, they would leap the hedges and be gone. They want a tether
   to prevent their straying, and their God binds them with afflictions,
   to keep them near to him, to preserve them, and have them in his
   presence. Blessed fact--as our troubles abound, our consolations also
   abound.

   IV. Now we close up with our last point; and may the Holy Ghost once
   more strengthen me to speak a word or two to you. THERE IS A PERSON TO
   BE HONOURED. It is a fact that Christians can rejoice in deep distress;
   it is a truth, that put them in prison, and they still will sing; like
   many birds, they sing best in their cages. It is true that when waves
   roll over them, their soul never sinks. It is true they have a buoyancy
   about them which keeps their heads always above the water, and helps
   them to sing in the dark, dark night, "God is with me still." But to
   whom shall we give the honor? To whom shall the glory be given? Oh! to
   Jesus, to Jesus; for the text says it is all by Jesus. It is not
   because I am a Christian that I get joy in my trouble--not necessarily
   so; it is not always the fact that troubles bring their consolations;
   but it is Christ who comes to me. I am sick in my chamber; Christ
   cometh up stairs, he sitteth by my bedside, and he talketh sweet words
   to me. I am dying; the chilly cold waters of Jordan have touched my
   foot, I feel my blood stagnate and freeze. I must die; Christ puts his
   arms around me, and says, "Fear not, beloved; to die is to be blessed;
   the waters of death have their fountain head in heaven; they are not
   bitter, they are sweet as nectar, for they flow from the throne of
   God." I wade in the stream, the billows gather around me, I feel that
   my heart and flesh fail but there is the same voice in my ears, "Fear
   not, I am with thee! be not dismayed; I am thy God." Now, I come to the
   borders of the infinite unknown, that country "from whose bourne no
   traveller returns;" I stand almost affrighted to enter the realm of
   shades; but a sweet voice says, "I will be with thee whithersoever thou
   goest; if thou shouldst make thy bed in Hades I will be with thee;" and
   I still go on, content to die, for Jesus cheers me; he is my
   consolation and my hope. Ah! ye who know not that matchless name,
   Jesus, ye have lost the sweetest note which e'er can give melody. Ah!
   ye who have never been entranced by the precious sonnet contained in
   that one word Jesu, ye who know not that Jesu means, I-ES-U, ("I ease
   you"); ye have lost the joy and comfort of your lives, and ye must live
   miserable and unhappy. But the Christian can rejoice, since Christ will
   never forsake him, never leave him, but will be with him.

   A word or two to characters--First, I have a word with you who are
   expecting troubles, and are very sad because you are looking forward to
   them. Take the advice of the common people, and "never cross a bridge
   till you get to it." Follow my advice: never bring your troubles nearer
   than they are, for they will be sure to come down upon you soon enough.
   I know that many persons fret themselves about their trials before they
   come. What on earth is the good of it? If you will show me any benefit
   in it, I will say go on; but to me it seems quite enough for the Father
   to lay the rod on the child without the child chastising itself. Why
   should you do so? You, who are afraid of trouble, why should you be so?
   The trial may never overtake you; and if it does come, strength will
   come with it. Therefore, up with thee, man, who are sitting down
   groaning, because of forebodings.

   "Religion never was designed

   To make our pleasures less."

   Out on thee! Up! up! Why wilt thou sit down and be frozen to death?
   When trouble comes, then fight it; with manful heart and strong, plunge
   into the stream, accoutred as thou art, and swim it through; but oh! do
   not fear it before it comes.

   Then Christian in trouble, I have a word to say with thee. So my
   brother, thou art in trouble; thou art come into the waves of afflitio,
   art thou? No strange thing, is it brother? Thou hast been there many
   times before. "Ah," but sayest thou, "this is the worst I ever had. I
   have come up here this morning with a millstone round my neck; I have a
   mine of lead in my heart: I am miserable, I am unhappy, I am cast down
   exceedingly." Well, but brother, as thy troubles abound, so shall thy
   consolation. Brother, hast thou hung thy harp upon the willows? I am
   glad thou hast not broken the harp altogether. Better, to hang it on
   the willows than to break it; be sure not to break it. Instead of being
   distressed about thy trouble, rejoice in it; thou wilt then honor God,
   thou wilt glorify Christ, thou wilt bring sinners to Jesus, if thou
   wilt sing in the depths of trouble, for then they will say, "There must
   be something in religion after all, otherwise the man would not be so
   happy."

   Then one word with you who are almost driven to despair. I would
   stretch my hands out, if I could, this morning--for I believe a
   preacher ought to be a Briareus, with a thousand hands to fetch out his
   hearers one by one, and speak to them. There is a man here quite
   despairing--almost every hope gone. Brother, shall I tell thee what to
   do? Thou hast fallen off the main deck, thou art in the sea, the floods
   surround thee; thou seemest to have no hope; thou catchest at straws;
   what shalt thou do now? Do? why lie upon the sea of trouble, and float
   upon it; be still, and know that God is God, and thou wilt never
   perish. All thy kicking and struggling will sink thee deeper; but lie
   still, for behold the life-boat cometh; Christ is coming to thy help;
   soon he will deliver thee, and fetch thee out of all thy perplexities.

   Lastly, some of you have no interest in this sermon at all. I never try
   to deceive my hearers by making them believe that all I say belongs to
   all who hear me. There are different characters in God's word; it is
   yours to search your own hearts this day, and see whether ye are God's
   people, or not. As the Lord liveth, before whom I stand, there are two
   classes here. I do not own the distinction of aristocratic and
   democratic; in my sight, and in God's sight, every man is alike. We are
   made of one flesh and blood; we do not have china gentlemen and
   earthenware poor people; we are all made of the same mould of fashion.
   There is one distinction, and only one. Ye are all either the children
   of God, or children of the devil; ye are all either born again, or dead
   in trespasses and sins. It is yours to let the question ring in your
   ears: "Where am I? Is yon black tyrant, with his fiery sword, my king;
   or do I own Jehovah-Jesus as my strength, my shield, my Saviour?" I
   shall not force you to answer it; I shall not say anything to you about
   it. Only answer it yourselves; let your hearts speak; let your souls
   speak. All I can do is to propose the question. God apply it to your
   souls! I beseech him to send it home! and make the arrow stick fast!

   "Is Jesus mine! I am now prepared,

   To meet with what I thought most hard;

   Yes, let the winds of trouble blow,

   And comforts melt away like snow,

   No blasted trees, nor failing crops,

   Can hinder my eternal hopes;

   Tho' creatures change, the Lord's the same;

   Then let me triumph in his name.
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The Victory of Faith

   A Sermon

   (No. 14)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 18, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "For whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world; and this is the
   victory that overcometh the world, even our faith."--1 John 5:4.

   THE epistles of John are perfumed with love. The word is continually
   occurring. while the Spirit enters into every sentence. Each letter is
   thoroughly soaked and impregnated with this heavenly honey. If he
   speaks of God, his name must be love; are the brethren mentioned, he
   loves them; and even of the world itself, he writes, "God so loved the
   world, that he gave his only begotten Son." From the opening to the
   conclusion, love is the manner, love the matter, love the motive, and
   love the aim. We stand, therefore, not a little astonished, to find
   such martial words in so peaceful a writing; for I hear a sound of war.
   It is not the voice of love, surely, that says," He that is born of God
   overcometh the world." Lo, here are strife and battle. The word
   "overcometh" seems to have in it something of the sword and warfare; of
   strife and contention; of agony and wrestling; so unlike the love which
   is smooth and gentle, which hath no harsh words within its lips; whose
   mouth is lined with velvet; whose words are softer than butter; whose
   utterances are more easily flowing than oil. Here we have war--war to
   the knife; for I read "Whatsoever is born of God overcometh the world;"
   strife until death; battle throughout life; fighting with a certainty
   of victory. How is it that the same gospel which always speaks of
   peace, here proclaims a warfare? How can it be? Simply because there is
   something in the world which is antagonistic to love; there are
   principles abroad which cannot bear light, and, therefore, before light
   can come, it must chase the darkness. Ere summer reigns, you know, it
   has to do battle with old winter, and to send it howling away in the
   winds of March, and shedding its tears in April showers. So also,
   before any great or good thing can have the mastery of this world, it
   must do battle for it. Satan has seated him self on his blood-stained
   throne, and who shall get him down, except by main force, and fight and
   war? Darkness broods o'er the nations; nor can the sun establish his
   empire of light until he has pierced night with the arrowy sunbeams,
   and made it flee away. Hence we read in the Bible that Christ did not
   come to send peace on earth, but a sword; he came to set "the father
   against the son, and the son against the father; the mother against the
   daughter, and the daughter against the mother; the mother-in-law
   against her daughter-in-law, and the daughter-in-law against her
   mother-in-law;" not intentionally, but as a means to an end; because
   there must always be a struggle ere truth and righteousness can reign.
   Alas! for that earth is the battle-field where good must combat with
   evil Angels look on and hold their breath, burning to mingle in the
   conflict, but the troops of the Captain of Salvation may be none but
   the soldiers of the cross; and that slender band must fight alone, and
   yet shall triumph gloriously. Enough shall they be for conquest, and
   the motto of their standard is ENOUGH. Enough by the arm of the helping
   Trinity.

   As God shall help me, I shall speak to you of three things to be found
   in the text. First, the text speaks of a great victory: it says, "This
   is the victory." Secondly, it mentions a great birth: "Whatsoever is
   born of God." And, thirdly, it extols a great grace, whereby we
   overcome the world, "even our faith."

   I. First, the text speaks of a GREAT VICTORY--the victory of
   victories--the greatest of all. We know there have been great battles
   where nations have met in strife, and one has overcome the other; but
   who has read of a victory that over came the world? Some will say that
   Alexander was its conqueror; but I answer, nay. He was himself the
   vanquished man, even when all things were in his possession. He fought
   for the world, and won it; and then mark how it mastered its master,
   conquered its conquerer, and lashed the monarch who had been its
   scourge. See the royal youth weeping, and stretching out his hands with
   idiotic cries, for another world which he might ravage. He seemed, in
   outward show, to have overcome old earth; but, in reality, within his
   inmost soul, the earth had conquered him, had overwhelmed him, had
   wrapped him in the dream of ambition, girdled him with the chains of
   covetousness, so that when he had all, he was still dissatisfied; and,
   like a poor slave, was dragged on at the chariot wheels of the world,
   crying, moaning, lamenting, because he could not win another. Who is
   the man that ever overcame the world? Let him stand forward: he is a
   Triton among the minnows; he shall outshine Caesar; he shall outmatch
   even our own lately departed Wellington, if he can say he has overcome
   the world. It is so rare a thing, a victory so prodigious, a conquest
   so tremendous, that he who can claim to have won it may walk among his
   fellows, like Saul, with head and shoulders far above them. He shall
   command our respect; his very presence shall awe us into reverence; his
   speech shall persuade us to obedience; and, yielding honour to whom
   honour is due, we'll say when we listen to his voice, "Tis even as if
   an angel shook his wings."

   I shall now attempt to expand the idea I have suggested, showing you in
   what varied senses the Christian overcomes the world. A tough battle,
   sirs, I warrant you: not one which carpet knights might win: no easy
   skirmish that he might win, who dashed to battle on some sunshiny day,
   looked at the host, then turned his courser's rein, and daintily
   dismounted at the door of his silken tent--not one which he shall gain,
   who, hut a raw recruit to-day, puts on his regimentals, and foolishly
   imagines that one week of service will ensure a crown of glory. Nay,
   sirs, it is a life-long war--a fight needing the power of all these
   muscles, and this strong heart; a contest which shall want all our
   strength, if we are to be triumphant; and if we do come off more than
   conquerors, it shall be said of us, as Hart said of Jesus Christ: "He
   had strength enough and none to spare;" a battle at which the stoutest
   heart might quail; a fight at which the braves might shake, if he did
   not remember that the Lord is on his side, and therefore, whom shall he
   fear? He is the strength of his life; of whom shall he be afraid? This
   fight with the world is not one of main force, or physical might; if it
   were, we might soon win it; but it is all the more dangerous from the
   fact that it is a strife of mind, a contest of heart, a struggle of the
   spirit, a strife of the soul. When we overcome the world in one
   fashion, we have not half done our work; for the world is a Proteus,
   changing its shape continually; like the chameleon, it hath all the
   colours of the rainbow; and when you have worsted the world in one
   shape, it will attack you in another. Until you die, you will always
   have fresh appearances of the world to wrestle with. Let me just
   mention some of the forms in which the Christian overcomes the world.

   I. He overcomes the world when it sets up itself as a legislator,
   wishing to teach him customs. You know the world has its old massive
   law book of customs, and he who does not choose to go according to the
   fashion of the world, is under the ban of society. Most of you do just
   as everybody else does, and that is enough for you. If you see
   so-and-so do a dishonest thing in business, it is sufficient for you
   that everybody does it. If ye see that the majority of mankind have
   certain habits, ye succomb, ye yield. Ye think, I suppose, that to
   march to hell in crowds, will help to diminish the fierce heat of the
   burning of the bottomless pit, instead of remembering that the more
   faggots the fiercer will be the flame. Men usually swim with the stream
   like a dead fish; it is only the living fish that goes against it. It
   is only the Christian who despises customs, who does not care for
   conventionalisms, who only asks himself the question, "Is it right or
   is it wrong? If it is right, I will be singular. If there is not
   another man in this world who will do it, I will do it; should a
   universal hiss go up to heaven, I will do it still; should the very
   stories of earth fly up, arid stone me to death, I will do it still;
   though they bind me to the stake, yet I must do it; I will be
   singularly right; if the multitude will not follow me, I will go
   without them, I will be glad if they will all go and do right as well,
   but if not, I will despise their customs; I care not what others do; I
   shall not be weighed by other men; to my own Master I stand or fall.
   Thus I conquer and overcome the customs of the world." Fair world! she
   dresseth herself in ermine, she putteth on the robes of a judge, and
   she solemnly telleth you, "Man, you are wrong. Look at your fellows;
   see how they do. Behold my laws. For hundreds of years have not men
   done so? Who are you, to set yourself up against me?" And she pulls out
   her worm-eaten law-book, and turning over the musty pages, says, "See,
   here is an act passed in the reign of Nebuchadnezzar, and here is
   another law enacted in the days of Pharaoh. These must be right,
   because antiquity has enrolled them among her standard authorities. Do
   you mean to set yourself up and stand against the opinions of the
   multitude?" Yes, we do; we take the law-book of the world, and we burn
   it, as the Ephesians did their magic rolls; we take her deeds, and make
   them into waste paper; we rend her proclamation from the walls; we care
   not what others do; custom to us is a cobweb; we count it folly to be
   singular; but when to be singular is to be right, we count it the
   proudest wisdom; we overcome the world; we trample on her customs; we
   walk as a distinct people, a separate race, a chosen generation, a
   peculiar people. The Christian behaves in his dealings not as the
   laughing infidel insinuates, when he sneeringly describes Mawworm, as
   saying, "Boy, have you sanded the sugar?" "Yes, sir." "Have you put the
   sloe-leaves in the tea?" "Yes, sir." "Have you put red lead in the
   pepper?" "Yes, sir." "Then come to prayers." Christians do not do so;
   they say, "We know better; we cannot conform to the customs of the
   world. If we pray, we will also act, or else we are hypocrites,
   confounded hypocrites. If we go to the house of God, and profess to
   love him, we love him every. where; we take our religion with us into
   the shop, behind the counter; into our offices; we must have it
   everywhere, or else God knows it is not religion at all." Ye must stand
   up, then, against the customs of mankind. Albeit, this may be a
   three-million peopled city, ye are to come out and be separate, if ye
   would overcome the world.

   2. We rebel against the world's customs. And if we do so, what is the
   conduct of our enemy? She changes her aspect. "That man is a heretic;
   that man is a fanatic; he is a cant, he is a hypocrite," says the world
   directly. She grasps her sword, she putteth frowns upon her brow, she
   scowleth like a demon, she girdeth tempests round about her, and she
   saith, "The man dares defy my government; he will not do as others do.
   Now I will persecute him. Slander! come from the depths of hell and
   hiss at him. Envy! sharpen up thy tooth and bite him." She fetches up
   all false things, arid she persecutes the man. If she can, she does it
   with the hand; if not, by the tongue. She afflicts him wherever he is.
   She tries to ruin him in business; or, if he standeth forth as the
   champion of the truth why then she laugheth, arid mocketh, and
   scorneth. She lets no stone be unturned whereby she may injure him.
   What is then the behaviour of the Lord's warrior, when he sees the
   world take up arms against him, and when he sees all earth, like an
   army, coming to chase him, and utterly destroy him? Does he yield? Does
   he yield? Does he bend? Does he cringe? Oh, no! Like Luther, he writes
   "Cedo nulli" on his banner--"I yield to none;" and he goes to war
   against the world, if the world goes to war against him.

   "Let earth be all in arms abroad,

   He dwells in perfect peace."

   Ah! some of you, if you had a word spoken against you, would at once
   give up what religion you have; but the true-born child of God cares
   little for man's opinion. "Ah," says he, "let my bread fail me, let me
   be doomed to wander penniless the wide world o'er; yea, let me die:
   each drop of blood within these veins belongs to Christ, and I am ready
   to shed it for his name's sake." He counts all things but loss, that he
   may win Christ--that he may be found in him; and when the world's
   thunders roars, he smiles at the uproar, while lie hums his pleasant
   tune:--

   "Jerusalem my happy home,

   Name ever dear to me;

   When shall my labours have an end,

   In joy, and peace, and thee?"

   When her sword comes out, he looketh at it. "Ah," saith he, "just as
   the lightning leapeth from its thunder lair, splitteth the clouds, and
   affrighteth the stars, but is powerless against the rock-covered
   mountaineer, who smiles at its grandeur, so now the world cannot hurt
   me, for in the time of trouble my Father hides me in his pavillion, in
   the secret of his tabernacle doth he hide me, and set me up upon a
   rock." Thus, again, we conquer the world, by not caring for its frowns.

   3. "Well," saith the world, "I will try another style," and this
   believe me, is the most dangerous of all. A smiling world is worse than
   a frowning one. She saith, "I cannot smite the man low with my repeated
   blows, I will take off my mailed glove, and showing him a fair white
   hand, I'll bid him kiss it. I will tell him I love him: I will flatter
   him, I will speak good words to him." John Bunyan well describes this
   Madam Bubble: she has a winning way with her; she drops a smile at the
   end of each of her sentences; she talks much of fair things, arid tries
   to win and woo. Oh, believe me, Christians are not so much in danger
   when they are persecuted as when they are admired. When we stand upon
   the pinnacle of popularity, we may well tremble and fear. It is not
   when we are hissed at, and hooted, that we have any cause to be
   alarmed; it is when we are dandled on the lap of fortune, and nursed
   upon the knees of the people; it is when all men speak well of us, that
   woe is unto us. It is not in the cold wintry wind that I take off my
   coat of righteousness, and throw it away; it is when the sun comes,
   when the weather is warm, and the air balmy, that I unguardedly strip
   off my robes, and become naked. Good God! how many a man has been made
   naked by the love of this world! The world has flattered and applauded
   him; he has drunk the flattery; it was an intoxicating draught; he has
   staggered, he has reeled, he has sinned, he has lost his reputation;
   and as a comet that erst flashed across the sky, doth wander far into
   space, arid is lost in darkness, so doth he; great as he was, he falls;
   mighty as he was, he wanders, and is lost. But the true child of God is
   never so; he is as safe when the world smiles, as when it frowns; he
   cares as little for her praise as for her dispraise. If he is praised,
   and it is true, he says, ""My deeds deserves praise, but I refer all
   honor to my God." Great souls know what they merit from their critic;
   to them it is nothing more than the giving of their daily income. Some
   men cannot live without a large amount of praise; and if they have no
   more than they deserve, let them have it. If they are children of God,
   they will be kept steady; they will not be ruined or spoiled; but they
   will stand with feet like hinds' feet upon high places.--"This is the
   victory that overcometh the world."

   4. Sometimes, again, the world turns jailer to a Christian. God sends
   affliction and sorrow, until life is a prison-house, the world its
   jailer--and a wretched jailer too. Have you ever been in trials and
   troubles, my friends? and has the world never come to you and said,
   ""Poor prisoner, I have a key that will let you out. You are in
   pecuniary difficulties; I will tell you how you may get free. Put that
   Mr. Conscience away. He asks you whether it is a dishonest act. Never
   mind about him; let him sleep; think about the honesty after you have
   got the money, and repent at your leisure." So saith the world; but you
   say, "I cannot do the thing." "Well," says the world, "then groan and
   grumble: a good man like you locked up in this prison!" "No," says the
   Christian, "my Father sent me into want, and in his own time he will
   fetch me out; but if I die here I will not use wrong means to escape.
   My Father put me here for my good, I will not grumble; if my bones must
   lie here--if my coffin is to be under these stones--if my tomb-stone
   shall be in the wall of my dungeon--here will I die, rather than so
   much as lift a finger to get out by unfair means." "Ah," says the
   world, "then thou art a fool." The scorner laughs and passes on,
   saying, "The man has no brain, he will not do a bold thing; he hath no
   courage; he will not launch upon the sea; he wants to go in the old
   beaten track of morality." Ay, so he does; for thus he overcomes the
   world.

   Oh! I might tell you of some battles that have been fought. There has
   been many a poor maiden, who has worked, worked, worked, until her
   fingers were worn to the bone, to earn a scanty living out of the
   things which we wear upon us, knowing not that ofttimes we wear the
   blood, and bones, and sinews of poor girls. That poor girl has been
   tempted a thousand times, the evil one has tried to seduce her, but she
   has fought a valiant battle; stern in her integrity, in the midst of
   poverty she still stands upright, "Clear as the sun, fair as the moon,
   and terrible as an army with banners," a heroine unconquered by the
   temptations and enticements of vice. In other cases: many a man has had
   the chance of being rich in an hour, affluent in a moment, if he would
   but clutch something which he dare not look at, because God within him
   said, "No." The world said, "Be rich, be rich;" but the Holy Spirit
   said, "No! be honest; serve thy God." Oh, the stern contest. and the
   manly combat carried on within the heart! But he said, "No; could I
   have the stars transmuted into worlds of gold, I would not for those
   globes of wealth belie my principles, and damage my soul :" thus he
   walks a conqueror. "This is the victory that overcometh the world, even
   our faith."

   II. But my text speaks of a GREAT BIRTH. A very kind friend has told me
   that while I was preaching in Exeter Hall I ought to pay deference to
   the varied opinions of my hearers; that albeit I may be a Calvinist and
   a Baptist, I should recollect that there are a variety of creeds here.
   Now, if I were to preach nothing but what would please the whole lot of
   you, what on earth should I do? I preach what I believe to be true; and
   if the omission of a single truth that I believe, would make me king of
   England throughout eternity, I would not leave it out. Those who do not
   like what I say have the option of leaving it. They come here, I
   suppose, to please themselves; and if the truth does not please them,
   they can leave it. I will never be afraid that an honest British
   audience will turn away from the man who does not stick, and stutter,
   and stammer in speaking the truth. Well, now, about this great birth. I
   am going to say perhaps a harsh thing, but I heard it said by Mr. Jay
   first of all. Some say a new birth takes place in an infant baptism,
   but I remember that venerable patriarch saying," Popery is a lie,
   Puseyism is a lie, baptismal regeneration is a lie." So it is. It is a
   lie so palpable that I can scarcely imagine the preachers of it have
   any brains in their heads at all. It is so absurd upon the very face of
   it, that a man who believes it put himself below the range of a
   common-sense man. Believe that every child by a drop of water is born
   again! Then that man that you see in the ring as a prize-fighter is
   born again, because those sanctified drops once fell upon his infant
   forehead! Another man swears--behold him drunk and reeling about the
   streets. He is born again! A pretty born again that is! I think he
   wants to be born again another time. Such a regeneration as that only
   fits him for the devil; and by its deluding effect, may even make him
   sevenfold more the child of hell. But the men who curse, and swear, and
   rob and steal, and those poor wretches who are hanged, have all been
   born again, according to the fiction of this beautiful Puseyite church.
   Out upon it! out upon it! Ah, God sends something better than that into
   men's hearts, when he sends them a new birth.

   However, the text speaks of a great birth. "Whatsoever is born of God
   overcometh the world." This new birth is the mysterious point in all
   religion. If you preach anything else except the new birth you will
   always get on well with your hearers; but if you insist that in order
   to enter heaven there must be a radical change, though this is the
   doctrine of the Scripture, it is so unpalateable to mankind in general
   that you will scarcely get them to listen. Ah! now ye turn away if I
   begin to tell you, that "except ye be born of water and of the Spirit,
   ye cannot enter the kingdom of heaven." If I tell you that there must
   be a regenerating influence exerted upon your minds by the power of the
   Holy Ghost then I know ye will say "it is enthusiasm." Ah! but it is
   the enthusiasm of the Bible. There I stand; by this I will be judged.
   If the Bible does not say we must be born again, then I give it up; but
   if it does then, sirs, do not distrust that truth on which your
   salvation hangs.

   What is it to be born again, then? Very briefly, to be born again is to
   undergo a change so mysterious, that human words cannot speak of it. As
   we cannot describe our first birth, so it is impossible for us to
   describe the second. "The wind bloweth where it listeth, and thou
   hearest the sound thereof, but canst not tell whence it cometh or
   whither it goeth; so is every one that is born of the Spirit." But
   while it is so mysterious, it is a change which is known and felt.
   People are not born again when they are in bed and asleep, so that they
   do not know it. They feel it; they experience it. Galvanism, or the
   power of electricity, may be mysterious; but they produce a feeling--a
   sensation. So does the new birth. At the time of the new birth the soul
   is in great agony--often drowned in seas of tears. Sometimes it drinks
   bitters, now and then mingled with sweet drops of hope. Whilst we are
   passing from death unto life, there is an experience which none but the
   child of God can really understand. It is a mysterious change; but, at
   the same time, it is a positive one. It is as much a change as if this
   heart were taken out of me, and the black drops of blood wrung from it,
   then washed and cleansed and put into my soul again. It is "a new heart
   and a right spirit:" a mysterious but yet an actual and real change!

   Let me tell you, moreover, that this change is a supernatural one. It
   is not one that a man performs upon himself. It is not leaving off
   drinking and becoming sober; it is not turning from a Roman Catholic to
   a Protestant; it is not veering round from a Dissenter to a Churchman,
   or a Churchman to a Dissenter. It is a vast deal more than that. It is
   a new principle infused which works in the heart, enters the very soul,
   and moves the entire man. Not a change of my name, but a renewal of my
   nature, so that I am not the man I used to be, but a new man in Christ
   Jesus. It is a supernatural change--something which man cannot do, and
   which only God can effect; which the Bible itself cannot accomplish
   without the attendant Spirit of God; which no minister's eloquence can
   bring about--something so mighty and wondrous, that it must be
   confessed to be the work of God, and God alone. Here is the place to
   observe that this new birth is an enduring change. Arminians tell us
   that people are born again, then fall into sin, pick themselves up
   again, and become Christians again--fall into sin, lose the grace of
   God, then come back again--fall into sin a hundred times in their
   lives, and so keep on losing grace and recovering it. Well, I suppose
   it is a new version of the Scripture where you read of that. But I read
   in my Bible that if true Christians could fall away, it would be
   impossible to renew them again unto repentance. I read, moreover, that
   wherever God has begun a good work he will carry it on even to the end;
   and that whom he once loves, he loves to the end. If I have simply been
   reformed, I may be a drunkard yet, or you may see me acting on the
   stage. But if I am really born again, with that real supernatural
   change, I shall never fall away, I may fall into a sin, but I shall not
   fall finally; I shall stand while life shall last, constantly secure;
   and when I die it shall be said--

   "Servant of God, well done!

   Rest from thy blest employ;

   The battle's fought, the victory's won;

   Enter thy rest of joy."

   Do not deceive yourselves, my beloved. If you imagine that you have
   been regenerated, and having gone away from God, will be once more born
   again, you do not know anything about the matter; for "he that is born
   of God sinneth not." That is, he does not sin so much as to fall away
   from grace; "for he keepeth himself, that the evil one toucheth him
   not." Happy is the man who is really and actually regenerate, and
   passed from death unto life!

   III. To conclude. There IS A GREAT GRACE. Persons who are born again
   really do overcome the world. How is this brought about? The text says,
   "This is the victory that overcometh the world, even our faith."
   Christians do not triumph over the world by reason. Not at all. Reason
   is a very good thing, and nobody should find fault with it. Reason is a
   candle: but faith is a sun. Well, I prefer the sun, though I do not put
   out the candle. I use my reason as a Christian man; I exercise it
   constantly: but when I come to real warfare, reason is a wooden sword;
   it breaks, it snaps; while faith, that sword of true Jerusalem metal,
   cuts to the dividing of soul and body. My text says, "This is the
   victory which overcometh the world, even our faith." Who are the men
   that do anything in the world? Are they not always men of faith? Take
   it even as natural faith. Who wins the battle? Why, the man who knows
   he will win it, and vows that he will be victor. Who never gets on in
   the world? The man who is always afraid to do a thing, for fear he
   cannot accomplish it. Who climbs the top of the Alps? The man who says,
   "I will do it, or I will die." Let such a man make up his mind that he
   can do a thing. and he will do it, if it is within the range of
   possibility. Who have been the men who have lifted the standard, and
   grasping it with firm hand, have upheld it in the midst of stormy
   strife and battle? Why, men of faith. Who have done great things? Not
   men of fear and trembling, men who are afraid; but men of faith, who
   had bold fronts, and foreheads made of brass-men who never shook, and
   never trembled, but believing in God, lifted their eyes to the hills,
   whence cometh their strength.

   "Never was a marvel done upon the earth, but it had sprung of faith;
   nothing noble, generous, or great, but faith was the root of the
   achievement; nothing comely, nothing famous, but its praise is faith.
   Leonidas fought in human faith as Joshua in divine. Xenophon trusted to
   his skill, and the sons of Matthias to their cause." Faith is mightiest
   of the mighty. It is the monarch of the realms of the mind; there is no
   being superior to its strength, no creature which will not bow to its
   divine prowess. The want of faith makes a man despicable, it shrivels
   him up so small that he might live in a nutshell. Give him faith, and
   he is a leviathan that can dive into the depths of the sea; he is a war
   horse, that cries, aha! aha! in the battle; he is a giant who takes
   nations and crumbles them in his hand, who encounters hosts, and at a
   sword they vanish; he binds up sheaves of sceptres, and gathers up all
   the crowns at his own. There is nothing like faith, sirs. Faith makes
   you almost as omnipotent as God, by the borrowed might of its divinity.
   Give us faith and we can do all things.

   I want to tell you how it is that faith helps Christians to overcome
   the world. It always does it homoeopathically. You say, "That is a
   singular idea." So it may be. The principle is that, "like cures like."
   So does faith overcome the world by curing like with like. How does
   faith trample upon the fear of the world? By the fear of God. "Now,"
   says the world, "if you do not do this I will take away your life. If
   you do not bow down before my false god, you shall be put in yon
   burning fiery furnace." "But," says the man of faith, "I fear him who
   can destroy both body and soul in hell. True, I may dread you, but I
   have a greater fear than that, I fear lest I should displease God; I
   tremble lest I should offend my Sovereign." So the one fear
   counterbalances the other. How does faith overthrow the world's hopes?
   "There," says the world, "I will give thee this, I will give thee that,
   if thou wilt be my disciple. There is a hope for you; you shall be
   rich, you shall be great." But, faith says, "I have a hope laid up in
   heaven; a hope which fadeth not away, eternal, incorrupt, amaranthine
   hope, a golden hope, a crown of life;" and the hope of glory overcomes
   all the hopes of the world, "Ah!" says the world, "Why not follow the
   example of your fellows ?" "Because," says faith, "I will follow the
   example of Christ." If the world puts one example before us, faith puts
   another. "Oh, follow the example of such an one; he is wise, and great,
   and good," says the world. Says faith, "I will follow Christ; he is the
   wisest, the greatest, and the best." It overcomes example by example,
   "Well," says the world, "since thou wilt not be conquered by all this,
   come, I will love thee; thou shalt be my friend." Faith says, "He that
   is the friend of this world, cannot be the friend of God. God loves
   me." So he puts love against love; fear against fear; hope against
   hope; dread against dread; and so faith overcomes the world by like
   curing like.

   In closing my discourse, men and brethren, I am but a child; I have
   spoken to you as I could this morning. Another time, perhaps I might be
   able to launch more thunders, and to proclaim better the word of God;
   but this I am sure of--I tell you all I know, and speak right on. I am
   no orator; but just tell you what springs up from my heart. But before
   I have done, O that I may have a word with your souls. How many are
   there here who are born again? Some turn a deaf ear, and say, "It is
   all nonsense; we go to our place of worship regularly; put our hymn
   books and Bibles under our arm! and we are very religious sort of
   people." Ah, soul! if I meet you at the bar of judgment, recollect I
   said--and said God's word--" Except ye be born again ye shall not enter
   the kingdom of heaven." Others of you say, "We cannot believe that
   being born again is such a change as you speak of, I am a great deal
   better than I used to be; I do not swear now, and I am very much
   reformed." Sirs, I tell you it is no little change. It is not mending
   the pitcher, but it is breaking it up and having a new one; it is not
   patching the heart, it is having a new heart and a right spirit. There
   is nothing but death unto sin, and life unto righteousness, that will
   save your souls.

   I am preaching no new doctrine. Turn to the articles of the Church of
   England, and read it there. Church people come to me sometimes to unite
   with our church; I show them our doctrines in their prayer book, and
   they have said they never knew they were there. My dear hearers, why
   cannot you read your own articles of faith? Why, positively, you do not
   know what is in your own prayer book, Men, now-a-days, do not read
   their Bibles, and they have for the most part no religion. They have a
   religion, which is all outside show, but they do not think of searching
   to see what its meaning really is. Sirs, it is not the cloak of
   religion that will do for you; it is a vital godliness you need; it is
   not a religious Sunday, it is a religious Monday; it is not a pious
   church, it is a pious closet; it is not a sacred place to kneel in, it
   is a holy place to stand in all day long. There must be a change of
   heart, real, radical, vital, entire. And now, what say you? Has your
   faith overcome the world? Can you live above it? or do you love the
   world and the things thereof? If so, sirs, ye must go on your way and
   perish, each one of you, unless ye turn from that, and give your hearts
   to Christ. Oh! what say you, is Jesus worthy of your love? Are the
   things of eternity and heaven worth the things of time? Is it so sweet
   to be a worldling, that for that you can lie down in torment? Is it so
   good to be a sinner, that for this you can risk your soul's eternal
   welfare? O, my friends, is it worth your while to run the risk of an
   eternity of woe for a hour of pleasure? Is a dance worth dancing in
   hell with howling fiends for ever? Is one dream, with a horrid waking,
   worth enjoying, when there are the glories of heaven for those who
   follow God? Oh! if my lips would let me speak to you, my heart would
   run over at my eyes, and I would weep myself away, until ye had pity on
   your own poor souls. I know I am, in a measure, accountable for your
   souls, If the watchmen warn them not, they shall perish, but their
   blood shall be required at the watchman's hands, "Turn ye, turn ye, why
   will ye die, O house of Israel?" thus saith the Lord. Besotted, filled
   with your evil wills, inclined to evil; still the Holy Ghost speaks by
   me this morning, "If ye turn unto the Lord, with full purpose of heart,
   he will have mercy upon you, and to our God, he will abundantly
   pardon." I cannot bring you; I cannot fetch you. My words are
   powerless, my thoughts are weak! Old Adam is too strong for this young
   child to draw or drag; but God speak to you, dear hearts; God send the
   truth home, and then we shall rejoice together, both he that soweth and
   he that reapeth, because God has given us the increase. God bless you!
   may you all be born again, and have that faith that overcometh the
   world!

   "Have I that faith which looks to Christ,

   O'ercomes the world and sin--

   Receives him Prophet, Priest, and King,

   And makes the conscience clean?

   "If I this precious grace possess,

   All praise is due to thee;

   If not, I seek it from thy hands;

   Now grant it, Lord, to me."
     __________________________________________________________________

                                   The Bible

   A Sermon

   (No. 15)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, March 18, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "I have written to him the great things of my law; but they were
   counted as a strange thing."--Hosea 8:12

   This is God's complaint against Ephraim. It is no mean proof of his
   goodness, that he stoops to rebuke his erring creatures; it is a great
   argument of his gracious disposition, that he bows his head to notice
   terrestrial affairs. He might, if he pleased, wrap himself with might
   as with a garment; he might put the stars around his wrist for
   bracelets, and bind the suns around his brow for a coronet; he might
   dwell alone, far, far above this world, up in the seventh heaven, and
   look down with calm and silent indifference upon all the doings of his
   creatures; he might do as the heathens supposed their Jove did, sit in
   perpetual silence, sometimes nodding his awful head to make the fates
   move as he pleased, but never taking thought of the little things of
   earth, disposing of them as beneath his notice, engrossed with his own
   being, swallowed up within himself, living alone and retired; and I, as
   one of his creatures, might stand by night upon a mountain-top, and
   look upon the silent stars and say, "Ye are the eyes of God, but ye
   look not down on me; your light is the gift of his omnipotence, but
   your rays are not smiles of love to me. God, the mighty Creator, has
   forgotten me; I am a despicable drop in the ocean of creation, a sear
   leaf in the forest of beings, an atom in the mountain of existence. He
   knows me not; I am alone, alone, alone." But it is not so, beloved. Our
   God is of another order. He notices every one of us; there is not a
   sparrow or a worm but is found in his decrees. There is not a person
   upon whom his eye is not fixed. Our most secret acts are known to him.
   Whatsoever we do, or bear, or suffer, the eye of God still rests upon
   us, and we are beneath his smile--for we are his people; or beneath his
   frown--for we have erred from him.

   Oh! how ten-thousand-fold merciful is God, that, looking down upon the
   race of man, he does not smite it our of existence. We see from our
   text that God looks upon man; for he says of Ephraim, "I have written
   to him the great things of my law, but they were counted as a strange
   thing." But see how, when he observes the sin of man, he does not dash
   him away and spurn him with his foot; he does not shake him by the neck
   over the gulf of hell, until his brain doth reel and then drop him
   forever; but rather, he comes down from heaven to plead with his
   creatures; he argues with them; he puts himself, as it were, upon a
   level with the sinner--states his grievances and pleads his claim. O
   Ephraim, I have written unto thee the great things of my law, but they
   have been unto thee as a strange thing! I come here to-night in God's
   stead, my friends, to plead with you as God's ambassador, to charge
   many of you with a sin; to lay it to your hearts by the power of the
   Spirit, so that you may be convinced of sin, of righteousness, and of a
   judgment to come. The crime I charge you with is the sin of the text.
   God has written to you the great things of his law, but they have been
   unto you as a strange thing. It is concerning this blessed book, the
   Bible, that I mean to speak tonight. Here lies my text--this Word of
   God. Here is the theme of my discourse, a theme which demands more
   eloquence than I possess; a subject upon which a thousand orators might
   speak at once; a mighty, vast, and comprehensive theme, which might
   engross all eloquence throughout eternity, and still it would remain
   unexhausted.

   Concerning the Bible, I have three things to say to-night, and they are
   all in my text. First, its author, "I have written;" secondly, its
   subjects--the great things of God's law; and thirdly, its common
   treatment--it has been accounted by most men a strange thing.

   I. First, then, concerning this book: Who is the author? The text says
   that it is God. "I have written to him the great things of my law."
   Here lies my Bible--who wrote it? I open it, and find it consists of a
   series of tracts. The first five tracts were written by a man called
   Moses; I turn on, and I find others. Sometimes I see David is the
   penman, at other times Solomon. Here I read Micah, then Amos, then
   Hosea. As I turn further on, to the more luminous pages of the New
   Testament, I see Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, Paul, Peter, James, and
   others; but when I shut up the book; I ask myself, who is the author of
   it? Do these men jointly claim the authorship? Are they the compositors
   of this massive volume? Do they between themselves divide the honor?
   Our holy religion answers, No! This volume is the writing of the living
   God; each letter was penned with an Almighty finger; each word in it
   dropped from the everlasting lips; each sentence was dictated by the
   Holy Spirit. Albeit, that Moses was employed to write his histories
   with his fiery pen, God guided that pen. It may be that David touched
   his harp, and let sweet Psalms of melody drop from his fingers; but God
   moved his hands over the living strings of his golden harp. It may be
   that Solomon sang canticles of love, or gave forth words of consummate
   wisdom, but God directed his lips, and made the preacher eloquent. If I
   follow the thundering Nahum, when his horses plough the waters, or
   Habakkuk, when he sees the tents of Cushan in affliction; if I read
   Malachi, when the earth is burning like an oven; if I turn to the
   smooth page of John, who tells of love, or the rugged, fiery chapters
   of Peter, who speaks of fire devouring God's enemies; if I turn to
   Jude, who launches forth anathemas upon the foes of God, everywhere I
   find God speaking; it is God's voice, not man's; the words are God's
   words, the words of the Eternal, the Invisible, the Almighty, the
   Jehovah of this earth. This Bible is God's Bible, and when I see it, I
   seem to hear a voice springing up from it, saying, "I am the book of
   God; man, read me. I am God's writing; open my leaf, for I was penned
   by God; read it, for he is my author, and you will see him visible and
   manifest everywhere." "I have written to him the great things of my
   law."

   How do you know that God wrote the book? That is just what I shall not
   try to prove to you. I could if I pleased, demonstrate it, for there
   are arguments enough, there are reasons enough, did I care to occupy
   your time to-night in bringing them before you; but I shall do no such
   thing. I might tell you, if I pleased, that the grandeur of the style
   is above that of an mortal writing, and that all the poets who have
   ever existed could not, with all their works united, give us such
   sublime poetry and such mighty language as is to be found in the
   Scriptures. I might insist upon it, that the subjects of which it
   treats are beyond the human intellect; that man could never have
   invented the grand doctrines of a Trinity in the Godhead; man could not
   have told us anything of the creation of the universe; he could never
   have been the author of the majestic idea of Providence--that all
   things are ordered according to the will of one great Supreme Being,
   and work together for good. I might enlarge upon its honesty, since it
   tells the faults of its writers; its unity, since it never belies
   itself; its master simplicity, that he who runs may read it; and I
   might mention a hundred more things, which would all prove, to a
   demonstration, that the book is of God. But I come not here to prove
   it. I am a Christian minister, and you are Christians, or profess to be
   so; and there is never any necessity for Christian ministers to make a
   point of bringing forward infidel arguments in order to answer them. It
   is the greatest folly in the world. Infidels, poor creatures, do not
   know their own arguments till we tell them, and then they glean their
   blunted shafts to shoot them at the shield of truth again. It is follow
   to bring forward these firebrands of hell, even if we are well prepared
   t quench them. Let men of the world learn error of themselves; do not
   let us be propagators of their falsehoods. True, there are some
   preachers who are short of stock, and want to fill them up; but God's
   own chosen men need not do that; they are taught of God, and God
   supplies them with matter, with language, with power. There may be some
   one here to-night who has come without faith, a man of reason, a
   freethinker. With him I have no argument at all. I profess not to stand
   here as a controversialist, but as a preacher of things that I know and
   feel. But I too, have been like him. There was an evil hour when I once
   shipped the anchor of my faith; I cut the cable of my belief; I no
   longer moored myself hard by the coasts of Revelation; I allowed my
   vessel to drift before the wind; I said to reason, "Be thou my
   captain;" I said to my own brain, "Be thou my rudder;" and I started on
   my mad voyage. Thank God, it is all over now; but I will tell you its
   brief history. It was one hurried sailing over the tempestuous ocean of
   free thought. I went on, and as I went, the skies began to darken; but
   to make up for that deficiency, the waters were brilliant with
   coruscations of brilliancy. I saw sparks flying upward that pleased me,
   and I thought, "If this be free thought, it is a happy thing." My
   thoughts seemed gems, and I scattered stars with both my hands; but
   anon, instead of these coruscations of glory, I saw grim fiends, fierce
   and horrible, start up from the waters, and as I dashed on, they
   gnashed their teeth, and grinned upon me; they seized the prow of my
   ship and dragged me on, while I, in part, gloried at the rapidity of my
   motion, but yet shuddered at the terrific rate with which I passed the
   old landmarks of my faith. As I hurried forward, with an awful speed, I
   began to doubt my very existence; I doubted if there were a world, I
   doubted if there was such a thing as myself. I went to the very verge
   of the dreary realms of unbelief. I went to the very bottom of the sea
   of Infidelity. I doubted everything. But here the devil foiled himself:
   for the very extravagance of the doubt, proved its absurdity. Just when
   I saw the bottom of that sea, there came a voice which said, "And can
   this doubt be true?" At this very thought I awoke. I started from that
   deathdream, which, God knows might have damned my soul, and ruined
   this, my body, if I had not awoke. When I arose, faith took the helm;
   from that moment I doubted not. Faith steered me back; faith cried,
   "Away, away!" I cast my anchor on Calvary; I lifted my eye to God; and
   here I am, "alive, and out of hell." Therefore, I speak what I do know.
   I have sailed that perilous voyage; I have come safe to land. Ask me
   again to be an infidel! No; I have tried it; it was sweet at first, but
   bitter afterwards. Now, lashed to God's gospel more firmly than ever,
   standing as on a rock of adamant, I defy the arguments of hell to move
   me; for "I know in whom I have believed, and am persuaded that he is
   able to keep that which I have committed unto him." But I shall neither
   plead nor argue this night. You profess to be Christian men, or else
   you would not be here. Your professions may be lies; what you say you
   are, may be the very contrary to what you really are; but still I
   suppose you all admit that this is the Word of God. A thought or two
   then upon it. "I have written to him the great things of my law."

   First, my friends, stand over this volume, and admire its authority.
   This is no common book. It is not the sayings of the sages of Greece;
   here are not the utterances of philosophers of past ages. If these
   words were written by a man, we might reject them; but O let me think
   the solemn thought, that this book is God's handwriting--that these
   words are God's! Let me look at its date; it is dated from the hills of
   heaven. Let me look at its letters; they flash glory on my eye. Let me
   read the chapters; they are big with meaning and mysteries unknown. Let
   me turn over the prophecies; they are pregnant with unthought-of
   wonders. Oh, book of books! And wast thou written by my God? Then will
   I bow before thee. Thou book of vast authority! thou art a proclamation
   from the Emperor of Heaven; far be it from me to exercise my reason in
   contradicting thee. Reason, thy place is to stand and find out what
   this volume means, not to tell what this book ought to say. Come thou,
   my reason, my intellect, sit thou down and listen, for these words are
   the words of God. I do not know how to enlarge on this thought. Oh! if
   you could ever remember that this Bible was actually and really written
   by God. Oh! if ye had been let into the secret chambers of heaven, if
   ye had beheld God grasping his pen and writing down these letters--then
   surely ye would respect them; but they are just as much God's
   handwriting as if you had seen God write them. This Bible is a book of
   authority; it is an authorized book, for God has written it. Oh!
   tremble, lest any of you despise it; mark its authority, for it is the
   Word of God.

   Then, since God wrote it, mark its truthfulness. If I had written it,
   there would be worms of critics who would at once swarm upon it, and
   would cover it with their evil spawn; Had I written it, there would be
   men who would pull it to pieces at once, and perhaps quite right too.
   But this is the Word of God; come, search, ye critics, and find a flaw;
   examine it, from its Genesis to its Revelation, and find an error. This
   is a vein of pure gold, unalloyed by quartz, or any earthly substance.
   This is a star without a speck; a sun without a blot; a light without
   darkness; a moon without its paleness; a glory without a dimness. O
   Bible! it cannot be said of any other book, that it is perfect and
   pure; but of thee we can declare all wisdom is gathered up in thee,
   without a particle of folly. This is the judge that ends the strife,
   where wit and reason fail. This is the book untainted by any error; but
   is pure, unalloyed, perfect truth. Why? Because God wrote it. Ah!
   charge God with error if ye please; tell him that his book is not what
   it ought to be. I have heard men, with prudish and mock-modesty, who
   would like to alter the Bible; and (I almost blush to say it) I have
   heard ministers alter God's Bible, because they were afraid of it. Have
   you never heard a man say, "He that believeth and is baptized, shall be
   saved; but he that believeth not"--what does the Bible say?--"Shall be
   damned." But that does not happen to be polite enough, so they say,
   "Shall be condemned." Gentlemen, pull the velvet out of your mouths;
   speak God's word; we want none of your alterations. I have heard men in
   prayer instead of saying, "Make your calling and election sure," say
   "Make your calling and salvation sure." Pity they were not born when
   God lived far--far back that they might have taught God how to write.
   Oh, impudence beyond all bounds! Oh full-blown self-conceit! To attempt
   to dictate to the All-wise--to teach the Omniscient and instruct the
   Eternal. Strange that there should be men so vile as to use the
   penknife of Jehoiakim to cut passages out of the word, because they are
   unpalatable. O ye who dislike certain portions of Holy Writ, rest
   assured that your taste is corrupt, and that God will not stay for you
   little opinion. Your dislike is the very reason why God wrote it,
   because you out not to be suited; you have no right to be pleased. God
   wrote what you do not like; he wrote the truth. Oh! let us bend in
   reverence before it, for God inspired it. It is pure truth. Here from
   this fountain gushes aqua vitae--the water of life--without a single
   particle of earth; here from this sun cometh forth rays of radiance,
   without the mixture of darkness. Blessed Bible! thou art all truth.

   Yet once more, before we leave this point, let us stop and consider the
   merciful nature of God, in having written us a Bible at all. Ah! he
   might have left us without it, to grope our dark way, as blind men seek
   the wall; he might have suffered us to wander on with the star of
   reason as our only guide. I recollect a story of Mr. Hume, who so
   constantly affirmed that the light of reason is abundantly sufficient.
   Being at a good minister's house one evening, he had been discussing
   the question, and declaring his firm belief in the sufficiency of the
   light of nature. On leaving, the minister offered to hold him a candle
   to light him down the steps. He said "No; the light of nature would be
   enough; the moon would do." It so happened that the moon was covered
   with a cloud, and he fell down the steps. "Ah!" said the minister, "you
   had better have had a little light from above, after all, Mr. Hume."
   So, supposing the light of nature to be sufficient, we had better have
   a little light from above too, and then we shall be sure to be right.
   Better have two lights than only one. The light of creation is a bright
   light. God may be seen in the stars; his name is written in gilt
   letters on the brow of night; you may discover his glory in the ocean
   waves, yea, in the trees of the field; but it is better to read it in
   two books than in one. You will find it here more clearly revealed; for
   he has written this book himself, and he has given you the key to
   understand it, if you have the Holy Spirit. Ah, beloved, let us thank
   God for this Bible; let us love it; let us count it more precious than
   much fine gold.

   But let me say one thing, before I pass on to the second point. If this
   be the Word of God, what will become of some of you who have not read
   it for the last month? "Month, sir! I have not read it for this year."
   Ay, there are some of you who have not read it at all. Most people
   treat the Bible very politely . They have a small pocket volume, neatly
   bound; they put a white pocket-handkerchief round it and carry it to
   their places of worship; when they get home, they lay it up in a drawer
   till next Sunday morning; then it comes out again for a little bit of a
   treat, and goes to chapel; that is all the poor Bible gets in the way
   of an airing. That is your style of entertaining this heavenly
   messenger. There is dust enough on some of your Bibles to write
   "damnation" with your fingers. There are some of you who have not
   turned over your Bibles for a long, long while, and what think you? I
   tell you blunt words, but true words. What will God say at last? When
   you shall come before him, he shall say, "Did you read my Bible?" "No."
   "I wrote you a letter of mercy; did you read it?" "No." "Rebel! I have
   sent thee a letter inviting thee to me; didst thou ever read it?"
   "Lord, I never broke the seal; I kept it shut up." "Wretch!" says God,
   "then, thou deservest hell, if I sent thee a loving epistle, and thou
   wouldst not even break the seal; what shall I do unto thee?" Oh, let it
   not be so with you. Be Bible-readers; be Bible

   II. Our second point is: The subjects on which the Bible treats. The
   words of the text are these: "I have written to him the great things of
   my law." The Bible treats of great things, and of great things only.
   there is nothing in this Bible which is unimportant. Every verse in it
   has a solemn meaning; and if we have not found it out yet, we hope yet
   to do it. You have seen mummies, wrapped round and round with folds of
   linen. Well, God's Bible is like that; it is a vast roll of white
   linen, woven in the loom of truth; so you will have to continue
   unwinding it, roll after roll, before you get the real meaning of it
   from the very depth; and when you have found, as you think, a part of
   the meaning, you will still need to keep on unwinding, unwinding, and
   all eternity you will be unwinding the words of this great volume. Yet
   there is nothing in the Bible but great things. Let me divide, so as to
   be more brief. First, all things in this Bible are great; but,
   secondly, some things are the greatest of all.

   All things in the Bible are great. Some people think it does not matter
   what doctrines you believe; that it is immaterial what church you
   attend; that all denominations are alike. Well, I dislike Mrs. Bigotry
   above almost all people in the world, and I never give her any
   compliment or praise; but there is another woman I hate equally as
   much, and that is Mrs. Latitudinarianism--a well-known character, who
   has made the discovery that all of us are alike. Now, I believe that a
   man may be saved in any church. Some have been saved in the Church of
   Rome--a few blessed men whose names I could mention here. I know,
   blessed be God, what multitudes are saved in the Church of England; she
   has a host of pious, praying men in her midst. I think that all
   sections of Protestant Christians have a remnant according to the
   election of grace; and they had need to have, some of them, a little
   salt, for otherwise they would go to corruption. But when I say that,
   do you imagine that I think them all on a level? Are they all alike
   truthful? One sect says infant baptism is right; another says it is
   wrong; yet you say they are both right. I cannot see that. One teaches
   we are saved by free grace; another say us that we are not, but are
   saved by free will; and yet you believe they are both right. I do not
   understand that. One says that God loves his people, and never leaves
   off loving them; another says that he did not love his people before
   they loved him--that he often loves them, and then ceases to love them,
   and turns them away. They may both be right in the main; but can they
   both be right when one says "Yes," and the other says "No?" I must have
   a pair of spectacles, to enable me to look backwards and forwards at
   the same time, before I can see that. It cannot be, sirs, that they are
   both right. But some say they differ upon non-essentials. This text
   says, "I have written to him the great things of my law." There is
   nothing in God's Bible which is not great. Did ever any of you sit down
   to see which was the purest religion? "Oh," say you, "we never took the
   trouble. We went just where our father and mother went." Ah! that is a
   profound reason indeed. You went where you father and mother did. I
   thought you were sensible people; I didn't think you went where other
   people pulled you, but went of your own selves. I love my parents above
   all that breathe, and the very thought that they believe a thing to be
   true, helps me to think it is correct; but I have not followed them; I
   belong to a different denomination, and I thank God that I do. I can
   receive them as Christian brethren and sisters; but I never thought
   that, because they happened to be one thing, I was to be the same. No
   such thing. God gave me brains, and I will use them; and if you have
   any intellect, use it too. Never say it doesn't matter. Whatever God
   has put here is of eminent importance; he would not have written a
   thing that was indifferent. Whatever is here is of some value;
   therefore, search all questions, try all by the Word of God. I am not
   afraid to have what I preach tried by this book. Only give me a fair
   field and no favor, and this book; if I say anything contrary to it, I
   will withdraw it the next Sabbath-day. By this I stand, by this I fall.
   Search and see; but don't say, "it does not matter." If God says a
   thing, it always must be of importance.

   But, while all things in God's word are important, all are not equally
   important. There are certain fundamental and vital truths which must be
   believed, or otherwise no man would be saved. If you want to know what
   you must believe, if ye would be saved, you will find the great things
   of God's law between these two covers; they are all contained here. As
   a sort of digest or summary of the great things of law, I remember an
   old friend of mine once saying, "Ah! you preach the three R's, and God
   will always bless you." I said, "What are the three R's?" and he
   answered, "Ruin, redemption, and regeneration." They contain the sum
   and substance of divinity. R for ruin. We were all ruined in the fall;
   we were lost when Adam sinned, and we were all ruined by our own
   transgressions; we are all ruined by our own evil hearts, and our own
   wicked wills; and we all shall be ruined, unless grace saves us. Then
   there is a second R for redemption. We are ransomed by the blood of
   Christ, a lamb without blemish and without spot; we are rescued by his
   power; we are ransomed by his merits; we are redeemed by his strength.
   then there is R for regeneration. If we would be pardoned, we must also
   be regenerated; for no man can partake of redemption unless he is
   regenerate. Let him be as good as he pleases; let him serve God, as he
   imagines, as much as he likes; unless he is regenerate, and has a new
   heart, a new birth, he will still be in the first R, that is ruin.
   These things contain an epitome of the gospel. I believe there is a
   better epitome in the five points of Calvinism;--Election according to
   the foreknowledge of God; the natural depravity and sinfulness of man;
   particular redemption by the blood of Christ; effectual calling by the
   power of the Spirit; and ultimate perseverance by the efforts of God's
   might. I think all those need to be believed, in order to salvation;
   but I should not like to write a creed like the Athanasian, beginning
   with "Whosoever shall be saved, before all things it is necessary that
   he should hold the Catholic faith, which faith is this,"--when I got so
   far, I should stop, because I should not know what to write. I hold the
   Catholic faith of the Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the
   Bible. It is not for me to draw up creeds; but I ask you to search the
   Scriptures, for this is the word of life.

   God says, "I have written to him the great things of my law." Do you
   doubt their greatness? Do ye think they are not worth your attention?
   Reflect a moment, man. Where art thou standing now?

   "Lo on a narrow neck of land,

   'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand;

   An inch of time, a moment's space,

   May lodge me in yon heavenly place,

   Or shut me up in hell."

   I recollect standing on a seashore once, upon a narrow neck of land,
   thoughtless that the tide might come up. The tide kept continually
   washing up on either side, and, wrapped in thoughts, I stood there,
   until at last there was the greatest difficulty in getting on shore.
   You and I stand each day on a narrow neck, and there is one wave coming
   up there; see, how near it is to your foot; and lo! another follows at
   every tick of the clock; "Our hearts, like muffled drums, are beating
   funeral marches to the tomb." We are always tending downwards to the
   grave each moment that we live. This book tells me that if I am
   converted, when I die, there is a heaven of joy and love to receive me;
   it tells me that angels' pinions shall be stretched, and I, borne by
   strong cherubic wings, shall out-soar the lightning, and mount beyond
   the stars, up to the throne of God, to dwell forever.

   "Far from a world of grief and sin,

   With God eternally shut in."

   Oh! it makes the hot tear start from my eye, it makes my heart too big
   for this my body, and my brain whirls at the thought of

   "Jerusalem, my happy home,

   Name ever dear to me."

   Oh! that sweet scene beyond the clouds; sweet fields arrayed in living
   green, and rivers of delight. Are not these great things? But then,
   poor unregenerate soul, the Bible says if thou are lost, thou art lost
   forever; it tells thee that if thou diest without Christ, without God,
   there is no hope for thee; that there is no place without a gleam of
   hope, where thou shalt read, in burning letters, "Ye knew your duty,
   but ye did it not;" it tells you, that ye shall be driven from his
   presence with a "depart, ye cursed." Are these not great things? Yes,
   sirs, as heaven is desirable, as hell is terrible, as time is short, as
   eternity is infinite, as the soul is precious, as pain is to be
   shunned, as heaven is to be sought, as God is eternal, and as his words
   are sure, these are great things, things ye ought to listen to.

   III. Our last point is: The treatment which the poor Bible receives in
   this world; it is accounted a strange thing. What does that mean--the
   Bible accounted a strange thing? In the first place, it means that it
   is very strange to some people, because they never read it. I remember
   reading, on one occasion, the sacred story of David and Goliath, and
   there was a person present, positively grown up to years of maturity,
   who said to me, "Dear me! what an interesting story; what book is that
   in?" And I recollect a person once coming to me in private; I spoke to
   her about her soul, she told me how deeply she felt, how she had a
   desire t serve God, but she found another law in her members. I turned
   to a passage in Romans, and read to her, "The good that I would I do
   not; and the evil which I would not that I do!" She said, "Is that in
   the Bible? I did not know it." I did not blame her, because she had no
   interest in the Bible till then; but I did not wonder that there could
   be found persons who knew nothing about such a passage. Ah! you know
   more about your ledgers than your Bible; you know more about your
   day-books than what God has written; many of you will read a novel from
   beginning to end, and what have you got? A mouthful of froth when you
   have done. But you cannot read the Bible; that solid, lasting,
   substantial, and satisfying food goes uneaten, locked up in the
   cupboard of neglect; while anything that man writes, a catch of the
   day, is greedily devoured. "I have written to him the great things of
   my law, but they were counted as a strange thing." Ye have never read
   it. I bring the broad charge against you. Perhaps, ye say, I ought not
   to charge you with any such thing. I always think it better to have a
   worse opinion of you than too good an one. I charge you with this: you
   do not read your Bibles. Some of you have never read it through. I know
   I speak what your heart must say is honest truth. You are not Bible
   readers. You say you have the Bible in your houses; do I think you are
   such heathens as not to have a Bible? But when did you read it last?
   How do you know that your spectacles, which you have lost, have not
   been there for the last three years? Many people have not turned over
   its pages for a long time, and God might say unto them, "I have written
   unto you the great things of my law, but they have been accounted unto
   you a strange thing."

   Others there be who read the Bible; but when they read it, they say it
   is so horribly dry. That young man over there says it is a "bore;" that
   is the words he uses. He says, "My mother says to me, when you go up to
   town, read a chapter every day. Well, I thought I would please her, and
   I said I would. I am sure I wish I had not. I did not read a chapter
   yesterday, or the day before. We were so busy, I could not help it."
   You do not love the Bible, do you? "No, there is nothing in it which is
   interesting." Ah, I thought so. But a little while ago I could not see
   anything in it. Do you know why? Blind men cannot see, can they? But
   when the Spirit touches the scales of the eyes, they fall off; and when
   he puts eye-salves on, the Bible becomes precious. I remember a
   minister who went to see an old lady, and he thought he would give her
   some precious promises out of the word of God. Turning to one, he saw
   written in the margin "P.," and he asked, "What does this mean?" "That
   means precious, sir." Further down, he saw "T. and P.," and he asked
   what the letters meant. "That," she said, "means tried and proved, for
   I have tried and proved it." If you have tried God's word and proved
   it--if it is precious to your soul. then you are Christians; but those
   persons who despise the Bible, have "neither part nor lot in the
   matter." If it is dry to you, you will be dry at last in hell. If you
   do not esteem it as better than your necessary food, there is no hope
   for you; for you lack the greatest evidence of your Christianity.

   Alas! alas! the worst case is to come. There are some people who hate
   the Bible, as well as despise it. Is there such an one stepped in here?
   Some of you said, "Let us go and hear what the young preacher has to
   say to us." This is what he has to say to you: "Behold, ye despisers,
   and wonder and perish." This is what he hath to say to you: "The wicked
   shall be turned into hell, and all that forget God." And this, again he
   has to say to you: "Behold, there shall come in the last days, mockers,
   like yourselves, walking after your own lusts." But more: he tells you
   to-night that if you are saved, you must find salvation here.
   Therefore, despise not the Bible; but search it, read it, and come unto
   it. Rest thee will assured, O scorner, that thy laughs cannot alter
   truth, thy jests cannot avert thine inevitable doom. Though in thy
   hardihood thou shouldst make a league with death, and sign a covenant
   with hell--yet swift justice shall o'ertake thee, and strong vengeance
   strike the low. In vain dost thou jeer and mock, for eternal verities
   are mightier than thy sophistries, nor can thy smart sayings alter the
   divine truth of a single word of this volume of Revelation. Oh! why
   dost thou quarrel with thy best friend, and ill-treat thy only refuge?
   There yet remains hope, even for the scorner. Hope in a Saviour's
   veins. Hope in the Father's mercy. Hope in the Holy Spirit's omnipotent
   agency.

   I have done when I have said one word. My friend, the philosopher, says
   it may be very well for me to urge people to read the Bible; but he
   thinks there are a great many sciences far more interesting and useful
   than theology. Extremely obliged to you for your opinion, sir. What
   science do you mean? The science of dissecting beetles and arranging
   butterflies? "No," you say, "certainly not." The science, then, of
   arranging stones, and telling us of the strata of the earth? "No, not
   exactly that." Which science, then? "Oh, all sciences," say you, "are
   better than the science of the Bible." Ah! sir, that is your opinion;
   and it is because you are far from God, that you say so. But the
   science of Jesus Christ is the most excellent of sciences. Let no one
   turn away from the Bible because it is not a book of learning and
   wisdom. It is. Would ye know astronomy? It is here: it tells you of the
   Sun of Righteousness and the Star of Bethlehem. Would you know of
   botany? It is here: it tells you of the plant of renown--the Lily of
   the Valley, and the rose of Sharon. Would you know geology and
   mineralogy? You shall learn it here: for you may read of the Rock of
   Ages, and the White Stone with the name engraven thereon, which no man
   knoweth saving he that receiveth it. Would ye study history? Here is
   the most ancient of all the records of the history of the human race.
   Whate'er your science is, come and bend o'er this book; your science is
   here. Come and drink out of this fair fount of knowledge and wisdom,
   and ye shall find yourselves made wise unto salvation. Wise and
   foolish, babes and men, gray-headed sires, youths and maidens--I speak
   to you, I plead with you, I beg of you respect your Bibles, and search
   them out, for in them ye think ye have eternal life, and these are they
   which testify of Christ.

   I have done. Let us go home and practice what we have heard. I have
   heard of a woman, who, when she was asked what she remembered of the
   minister's sermon, said, "I don't recollect anything of it. It was
   about short weights and bad measures, and I didn't recollect anything
   but to go home and burn the bushel." So, if you will remember to go
   home and burn the bushel, if you will recollect to go home and read
   your Bibles, I shall have said enough. And may God, in his infinite
   mercy, when you read your Bibles, pour into your souls the illuminating
   rays of the Sun of Righteousness, by the agency of the ever-adorable
   Spirit; then you will read to your profit and to your soul's salvation.

   We may say of THE BIBLE:

   "God's cabinet of revealed counsel t is!

   Where weal and woe, are ordered so

   That every man may know which shall be his;

   Unless his own mistake, false application make.

   "It is the index to eternity.

   He cannot miss of endless bliss.

   That takes this chart to steer by,

   Nor can he be mistook that speaketh by this book.

   "It is the book of God. What if I should

   Say, God of books, let him that looks

   Angry at that expression, as too bold,

   His thoughts in silence smother, till he find such another."
     __________________________________________________________________

                              Paul's First Prayer

   A Sermon

   (No. 16)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 25th, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "For behold he prayeth"--Acts 9:11.

   GOD has many methods of quenching persecution. He will not suffer his
   church to be injured by its enemies, or overwhelmed by its foes; and he
   is not short of means for turning aside the way of the wicked, or of
   turning it upside down. In two ways he usually accomplishes his end;
   sometimes by the confusion of the persecutor, and at others in a more
   blessed manner, by his conversion. Sometimes, he confuses and confounds
   his enemies; he makes the diviner mad; he lets the man who comes
   against him be utterly destroyed, suffers him to drive on to his own
   destruction, and then at last turns round in triumphant derision upon
   the man who hoped to have said aha! aha! To the church of God. But at
   other times, as in this case, he converts the persecutor. Thus, he
   transforms the foe into a friend; he makes the man who was a warrior
   against the gospel a soldier for it. Out of darkness he bringeth forth
   light; out of the eater he getteth honey; yea, out of stony hearts he
   raiseth up children unto Abraham. Such was the case with Saul. A more
   furious bigot it is impossible to conceive. He had been bespattered
   with the blood of Stephen, when they stoned him to death; so officious
   was he in his cruelty, that the men left their clothes in the charge of
   a young man named Saul. Living at Jerusalem, in the college of
   Gamaliel, he constantly came in contact with the disciples of the Man
   of Nazareth; he laughed at them, he reviled them as they passed along
   the street; he procured enactments against them, and put them to death;
   and now, as a crowning point, this were-wolf, having tasted blood,
   becomes exceeding mad, determines to go to Damascus, that he may glut
   himself with the gore of men and women; that he may bind the
   Christians, and bring them to Jerusalem, there to suffer what he
   considered to be a just punishment for their heresy, and departure from
   their ancient religion. But oh, how marvelous was the power of God!
   Jesus stays this man in his mad career; just as with his lance in rest
   he was dashing against Christ. Christ met him, unhorsed him, threw him
   on the ground, and questioned him, "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou
   me?" He then graciously removed his rebellious heart--gave him a new
   heart and a right spirit--turned his aim and object--led him to
   Damascus--laid him prostrate for three days and nights--spoke to
   him--made mystic sounds go murmuring through his ears--set his whole
   soul on fire; and when at last he started up from that three days'
   trance, and began to pray, then it was that Jesus from heaven
   descended, came in a vision to Ananias, and said, "Arise, and go into
   the street which is called Straight, and inquire in the house of Judas
   for one called Saul, of Tarsus; for, behold, he prayeth."

   First, our text was an announcement; "Behold, he prayeth." Secondly, it
   was an argument; "For, behold, he prayeth." Then, to conclude, we will
   try to make an application of our text to your hearts. Though
   application is the work of God alone, we will trust that he will be
   pleased to make that application while the word is preached this
   morning.

   I. First, here was AN ANNOUNCEMENT; "Go to the house of Saul of Tarsus;
   for behold, he prayeth." Without any preface, let me say, that this was
   the announcement of a fact which was noticed in heaven; which was
   joyous to the angels; which was astonishing to Ananias, and which was a
   novelty to Saul himself.

   It was the announcement of a fact which was noticed in heaven. Poor
   Saul had been led to cry for mercy, and the moment he began to pray,
   God began to hear. Do you not notice, in reading the chapter, what
   attention God paid to Saul? He knew the street where he lived; "Go to
   the street that is called Straight." He knew the house where he
   resided; "inquire at the house of Judas." He knew his name; it was
   Saul. He knew the place where he came from; "Inquire for Saul of
   Tarsus." And he knew that he had prayed. "Behold, he prayeth." Oh! It
   is a glorious fact, that prayers are noticed in heaven. The poor
   broken-hearted sinner, climbing up to his chamber, bends his knee, but
   can only utter his wailing in the language of sighs and tears. Lo! That
   groan has made all the harps of heaven thrill with music; that tear has
   been caught by God, and put into the lachrymatory of heaven, to be
   perpetually preserved. The supplicant, whose fears prevent his words,
   will be well understood by the Most High. He may only shed one hasty
   tear; but "prayer is the falling of a tear." Tears are the diamonds of
   heaven; sighs are a part of the music of Jehovah's throne; for though
   prayers be

   "The simplest form of speech

   That infant lips can try;"

   so are they likewise the

   "Sublimest strains that reach The majesty on high."

   Let me dilate on this thought a moment. Prayers are noticed in heaven.
   Oh! I know what is the case with many of you. You think, "If I turn to
   God, if I seek him, surely I am so inconsiderable a being, so guilty
   and vile, that it cannot be imagined he would take any notice of me."
   My friends, harbor no such heathenish ideas. Our God is no god who sits
   in one perpetual dream; nor doth he clothe himself in such thick
   darkness that he cannot see; he is not like Baal who heareth not. True,
   he may not regard battles; he cares not for the pomp and pageantry of
   kings; he listens not to the swell of martial music; he regards not the
   triumph and the pride of man; but wherever there is a heart big with
   sorrow, wherever there is an eye suffused with tears, wherever there is
   a lip quivering with agony, wherever there is a deep groan, or a
   penitential sigh, the ear of Jehovah is wide open; he marks it down in
   the registry of his memory; he puts our prayers, like rose leaves,
   between the pages of his book of remembrance, and when the volume is
   opened at last there shall be a precious fragrance springing up
   therefrom. Oh! Poor sinner, of the blackest and vilest character, thy
   prayers are heard, and even now God hath said of thee, "Behold, he
   prayeth." Where was it--in a barn? Where was it--in the closet? Was it
   at thy bedside this morning, or in this hall? Art thou now glancing
   thine eye to heaven? Speak, poor heart; did I hear thy lips just now
   mutter out, "God have mercy upon me, a sinner?" I tell thee, sinner,
   there is one thing which doth outstrip the telegraph. You know we can
   now send a message and receive an answer in a few moments; but I read
   of something in the Bible more swift than the electric fluid. "Before
   they call I will answer, and while they are speaking I will hear." So,
   then, poor sinner, thou art noticed; yea, thou art heard by him that
   sitteth on the throne.

   Again; this was the announcement of a fact joyous to heaven. Our text
   is prefaced with "Behold," for doubtless, our Saviour himself regarded
   it with joy. Once only do we read of a smile resting upon the
   countenance of Jesus, when, lifting up his eye to heaven, he exclaimed,
   "I thank thee, O Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because thou hast
   hid these things from the wise and prudent, and hast revealed them unto
   babes; even so, Father; for so it seemed good in thy sight." The
   shepherd of our souls rejoices in the vision of his sheep securely
   folded, he triumphs in spirit when he brings a wanderer home. I
   conceive that when he spoke these words to Ananias, one of the smiles
   of Paradise must have shone from his eyes. "Behold," I have won the
   heart of my enemy, I have saved my persecutor, even now he is bending
   the knee at my footstool, "behold, he prayeth." Jesus himself led the
   song, rejoicing over the new convert with singing. Jesus Christ was
   glad, and rejoiced more over that lost sheep than over ninety and nine
   that went not astray. And angels rejoiced too. Why, when one of God's
   elect is born, angels stand around his cradle. He grows up, and runs
   into sin: angels follow him, tracking him all his way; they gaze with
   sorrow upon his many wanderings; the fair Peri drops a tear whene'er
   that loved one sins. Presently the man is brought under the sound of
   the gospel. The angel says, "Behold, he begins to hear." He waits a
   little while, the word sinks into his heart, a tear runs down his
   cheek, and at last he cries from his inmost soul, "God have mercy upon
   me!" See! The angel claps his wings, up he flies to heaven, and says,
   "Brethren angels, list to me, Behold, he prayeth.'" Then they set
   heaven's bells ringing; they have a jubilee in glory; again they shout
   with gladsome voices, for verily I tell you, "there is joy in heaven
   among the angels of God over one sinner that repenteth." They watch us
   till we pray, and when we pray, they say, "Behold, he prayeth."

   Moreover, my dear friends, there may be other spirits in heaven that
   rejoice, besides the angels. Those persons are our friends who have
   gone before us. I have not many relations in heaven, but I have one
   whom I dearly love, who, I doubt not, often prayed for me, for she
   nursed me when I was a child and brought me up during part of my
   infancy, and now she sits before the throne in glory--suddenly snatched
   away. I fancy she looked upon her darling grandson, and as she saw him
   in the ways of sin, and vice, and folly, she could not look with
   sorrow, for there are no tears in the eyes of glorified ones; she could
   not look with regret, because they cannot know such a feeling before
   the throne of God; but ah! That moment when, by sovereign grace, I was
   constrained to pray, when all alone I bent my knee and wrestled,
   methinks I see her as she said, "Behold, he prayeth; behold, he
   prayeth." Oh! I can picture her countenance. She seemed to have two
   heavens for a moment, a double bliss, a heaven in me as well as in
   herself--when she could say, "Behold, he prayeth." Ah! young man, there
   is your mother walking the golden streets. She is looking down upon you
   this hour. She nursed you; on her breast you lay when but a child, and
   she consecrated you to Jesus Christ. From heaven, she has been watching
   you with that intense anxiety which is compatible with happiness; this
   morning she is looking upon you. What sayest thou, young man? Does
   Christ by his Spirit say in thine heart, "Come unto me?" Dost thou drop
   the tear of repentance? Methinks I see thy mother as she cries,
   "Behold, he prayeth." Once more she bends before the throne of God and
   says, "I thank thee, O thou ever gracious One, that he who was my child
   on earth, has now become thy child in light."

   But, if there is one in heaven who has more joy than another over the
   conversion of a sinner, it is a minister, one of God's true ministers.
   O, my hearers, ye little think how God's true ministers do love your
   souls. Perhaps ye think it is easy work to stand here and preach to
   you. God knows, if that were all, it were easy work; but when we think
   that when we speak to you, your salvation or damnation, in some
   measure, depends upon what we say--when we reflect that if we are
   unfaithful watchmen, your blood will God require at our hands--O, good
   God! When I reflect that I have preached to thousands in my lifetime,
   many thousands and have perhaps said many things I ought not to have
   said, it startles me, it makes me shake and tremble. Luther said he
   could face his enemies, but could not go up his pulpit stairs without
   his knees knocking together. Preaching is not child's play; it is not a
   thing to be done without labor and anxiety; it is solemn work; it is
   awful work, if you view it in its relation to eternity. Ah! How God's
   minister prays for you! If you might have listened under the eaves of
   his chamber window, you would have heard him groaning every Sunday
   night over his sermons because he had not spoken with more effect; you
   would have heard him pleading with God, "Who hath believed our report?
   To whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?" Ah, when he observes you from
   his rest in heaven--when he sees you praying, how will he clap his
   hands and say, "Behold the child thou hast given me! Behold, he prays."
   I am sure when we see one brought to know the Lord, we feel very much
   like one who has saved a fellow-creature from being drowned. There is a
   poor man in the flood; he is going down, he is sinking, he must be
   drowned; but I spring in, grasp him firmly, lift him on the shore, and
   lay him on the ground; the physician comes; he looks at him, he puts
   his hand upon him, and says, "I am afraid he is dead." We apply all the
   means in our power, we do what we can to restore life. I feel that I
   have been that man's deliverer, and oh, how I stoop down and put my ear
   beside his mouth! At last I say, "He breathes! He breathes!" What
   pleasure there is in that thought! He breathes; there is life still. So
   when we find a man praying, we shout--he breathes; he is not dead, he
   is alive; for while a man prays he is not dead in trespasses and sins,
   but is brought to life, is quickened by the power of the Spirit.
   "Behold, he prayeth." This was joyful news in heaven, as well as being
   noticed by God.

   Then, in the next place, this was an event most astonishing to men.
   Ananias lifted up both his hands in amazement. "O my Lord, I should
   have thought anybody would pray but that man! Is it possible?" I do not
   know how it is with other ministers, but sometimes I look upon
   such-and-such individuals in the congregation, and I say, "Well, they
   are very hopeful; I think I shall have them. I trust there is a work
   going on, and hope soon to hear them tell wh