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        Title: Spurgeon's Sermons Volume 5: 1859
   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
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                        God's Barriers Against Man's Sin

   A Sermon

   (No. 220)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, November 16th, 1856, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   BELOVED FRIENDS AND KINDRED IN CHRIST,

   The days seem like weeks and the weeks seem like months since I went up
   to the house of the Lord. My heart and my flesh are crying out for the
   assembly of the saints. Oh how I long to hear once more the solemn
   shout of the festal throng who with the voice of joy and praise keep
   holy day!

   I am slowly rallying. My great struggle now is with weakness. I feel as
   if my frail bark had weathered a heavy storm which has made every
   timber creak. Do not attribute this illness to my having laboured too
   hard for my Master. For his dear sake, I would that I may yet be able
   to labour more. Such toils as might be hardly noticed in the ramp for
   the service of one's country, would excite astonishment in the church
   for the service of our God.

   And now, I entreat you for love's sake to continue in prayer for me.
   When ye find access to God, remember me. Mind it is not by the words of
   your mouth, nor yet by the cravings of your heart, but it is by the
   precious blood of Christ ye must draw nigh to God. And when ye find his
   sweet presence and are bedewed with his holy anointing, then pour out
   your souls before him, and make mention of me in your supplications.

   Yours to love and serve in the Gospel,

   C. H. SPURGEON.

   Clapham, Tuesday Evening, 26th October, 1858.

   ?Fear ye not me? saith the Lord; will ye not tremble at my presence,
   which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by a perpetual
   decree, that it cannot pass it: and though the waves thereof toss
   themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they roar, yet can they
   not pass over it? But this people hath a revolting and a rebellious
   heart; they are revolted and gone.?--Jeremiah 5:22-23.

   THE MAJESTY OF God, as displayed in creation and providence, ought to
   stir up our hearts in adoring wonder and melt them down in willing
   obedience to his commands. The Almighty power of Jehovah, so clearly
   manifest in the works if his hands, should constrain us, his creatures,
   to fear his name and prostrate ourselves in humble reverence before his
   throne. When we know that the sea, however tempestuous, is entirely
   submissive to the behests of God; that when he saith, ?Hitherto shalt
   thou come, but no further,? it dares not encroach--?the pride of its
   waves is stayed.? When we know that God bridles the tempest, though
   ?nature rocks beneath his tread,? and curbs the boisterous storm--he
   ought to be feared--verily, he is a God before whom it is no dishonour
   for us to bow ourselves in the very dust. The contemplation of the
   marvellous works which he doth upon ?the great and wide sea,? where he
   tosseth the waves to and fro, and yet keepeth them in their ordained
   courses, should draw forth our devoutest emotions, and I could almost
   say, inspire us with homage. Great art thou, O Lord God; greatly art
   thou to be praised; let the world which thou hast made, and all that
   therein is, declare thy glory! I can scarcely conceive a heart so
   callous that it feels no awe, or a human mind so dull and destitute of
   understanding, as fairly to view the tokens of God's omnipotent power,
   and then turn aside without some sense of the fitness of obedience. One
   might think the impression would be spontaneous in every breast, and if
   not, only let reason do her office, and by slower process every mind
   should yet be convinced. Let your eyes behold the stars; God alone can
   tell their numbers, yet he calls them all by names; by him they are
   marshalled in their spheres, and travel through the aerial universe
   just as he gives them charge; they are all his servants, who with
   cheerful haste perform the bidding of their Lord. You see how the
   stormy wind and tempest like slaves obey his will; and you know that
   the great pulse of ocean throbs and vibrates with its ebb and flow
   entirely under his control. Have these great things of God, these
   wondrous works of his, no lesson to teach us? Do they not while
   declaring his glory reveal our duty? Our poets, both the sacred and the
   uninspired, have feigned consciousness to those inanimate agents that
   they might the more truthfully represent their honourable service. But
   if because we are rational and intelligent beings, we withhold our
   allegiance from our rightful Sovereign, then our privileges are a
   curse, and our glory is a shame. Alas, then the instincts of men very
   often guide them to act by impulse more wisely than they commonly do by
   a settled conviction. Where is the man that will not bend the knee in
   time of tempest? Where is the man that does not acknowledge God when he
   hears the terrible voice of his deep-toned thunder, and sees with alarm
   the shafts of his lightning fly abroad, cleaving the thick darkness of
   the atmosphere? In times of plague, famine, and pestilence, men are
   prone to take refuge in religion--they will make confession, like
   Pharaoh, when he said, ?I have sinned this time: the lord is righteous,
   and I and my people are wicked;? but like him, when ?the rain, and the
   hail, and the thunders have ceased,? when the plagues are removed, then
   they sin yet more, and their hearts are hardened. Hence their sin
   becomes exceeding sinful, since they sin against truths which even
   nature itself teaches us are most just. We might learn, even without
   the written oracles of Scripture, that we ought to obey God, if our
   foolish hearts were not so darkened; thus unbelief of the Almighty
   Creator is a crime of the first magnitude. If it were a petty Sovereign
   against whom ye rebelled, it might be pardonable; if he were a man like
   yourselves, ye might expect that your faults would easily find
   forgiveness; but since he is the God who reigns alone where clouds and
   darkness are round about him, the God to whom all nature is obedient,
   and whose high behests are obeyed both in heaven and in hell, it
   becomes a crime, the terrible character of which words cannot pourtray,
   that you should ever sin against a God so marvellously great. The
   greatness of God enhances the greatness of our sin. I believe this is
   one lesson which the prophet intended to teach us by the text. He asks
   us in the name of God, or rather, God asks us through him--?Fear ye not
   me? saith the Lord: will ye not tremble at my presence??

   But while it is a lesson, I do not think it is the lesson of the text.
   There is something else which we are to learn from it. God here
   contrasts the obedience of the strong, the mighty the untamed sea, with
   the rebellious character of his own people. ?The sea,? saith he, ?obeys
   me; it never breaks its boundary; it never leapeth from its channel; it
   obeys me in all its movements. But man, poor puny man, the little
   creature whom I could crush as the moth, will not be obedient to me.
   The sea obeys me from shore to shore, without reluctance, and its
   ebbing floods, as they retire from its bed, each of them says to me, in
   the voices of the pebbles, O Lord, we are obedient to thee, for thou
   art our master.' But my people,? says God, ?are a revolting and a
   rebellious people; they go astray from me.? And is it not, my brethren,
   a marvellous thing, that the whole earth is obedient to God, save man?
   Even the mighty Leviathan, who maketh the deep to be hoary, sinneth not
   against God, but his course is ordered according to his Almighty
   Master's decree. Stars, those wondrous masses of light, are easily
   directed by the very wish of God; clouds, though they seem erratic in
   their movement, have God for their pilot; ?he maketh the clouds his
   chariot;? and the winds, though they seem restive beyond control, yet
   do they blow, or cease to blow just as God willeth. In heaven, on
   earth, even in the lower regions, I had almost said, we could scarcely
   find such a disobedience as that which is practised by man; at least,
   in heaven, there is a cheerful obedience; and in hell there is
   constrained submission to God, while on earth man makes the base
   exception, he is continually revolting and rebelling against his Maker.

   Still there is another thought in the text, and this I shall endeavour
   to dilate upon. Let us read it again. ?Fear ye not me? saith the Lord:
   will ye not tremble at my presence??--now here is the pith of the
   matter--?which have placed the sand for the bound of the sea by a
   perpetual decree, that it cannot pass it: and though the waves thereof
   toss themselves, yet can they not prevail; though they soar, yet can
   they not pass over it? But this people hath a revolting and a
   rebellious heart; they are revolted and gone.? ?The sea,? says God, ?is
   not only obedient, but it is rendered obedient by the restraint merely
   of sand.? It is not the rock of adamant that restrains the sea one half
   so easily as just that little belt of sand and shingle which preserves
   the dry land from the inundations of the ocean. ?The sea obeys me, and
   has for its only check the sand; and yet,? says he, ?my people, though
   they have restraints the strongest that reason could imagine, are a
   revolting and a rebellious people, and scarcely can my commands, my
   promises, my love, my judgment, my providence or my word restrain them
   from sin.?

   That is the point we shall dwell upon this morning. The sea is easily
   restrained by a belt of sand; but we, notwithstanding all the
   restraints of God, are a people bent on revolting from him.

   The doctrine of the text, seems to me to be this--that without
   supernatural means God can make all creatures obedient save man; but
   man is so disobedient in his heart, that only some supernatural agency
   can make him obedient to God, while the simple agency of sand can
   restrain the sea, without any stupendous effort of divine power more
   than he ordinarily puts out in nature: he can not thus make man
   obedient to his will.

   Now, my brethren, let us look back into history, and see if it has not
   been so. What has been a greater problem, if we may so speak concerning
   the Divine mind, than that of restraining men from sin? How many
   restraints God has put upon man! Adam is in the garden, pure and holy;
   he has restraints that one would think strong enough to prevent his
   committing a sin so contemptible and apparently unprofitable as that by
   which he fell. He is to have the whole garden in perpetuity, if he will
   not eat of that tree of life; his God will walk with him, and make him
   his friend; moreover, in the cool of the day, he shall hold converse
   with angels, and with the Lord, the Master of angels; and yet he dares
   eat of that holy fruit which God had set forth not to be touched by
   man. Then he must die. One would think it was enough, to promise reward
   for obedience, and punishment for sin; but no, the check fails. Man,
   left to his own free will, touches the fruit, and he falls. Man cannot
   be restrained, even in his purity, so easily as the mighty sea. Since
   that time, mark what God has done by way of restraint. The world has
   become corrupt it is altogether covered with iniquity. Forth comes a
   prophet. Enoch prophesies of the coming of the Lord, declaring that he
   sees him coming with ten thousand of his saints to judge the world.
   That world goes on, as profane and unheeding as before. Another prophet
   is raised up, and cries, ?Yet a little while, and this earth shall be
   drowned in a flood of water.? Do men cease from sin? No; profligacy,
   crime, iniquities of the vilest class, are as prevalent as before. Man
   rushes on to his destruction; the deluge comes and destroys all but a
   favoured few. The new family goes out to people the earth: will not the
   world now be clean and holy? Wait a little, and ye shall see. One of
   these men will do a deed which shall render him a curse for ever, and
   his son Canaan shall in after years inherit his father's curse. Not
   long after that you see Sodom and Gomorrah devoured with fire which God
   rains out of heaven. But what of this? What though in later years
   Pharaoh and his chariots are drowned in the Red sea? What though
   Sennacherib and his hosts perish at midnight by the blast of an
   archangel? What though the world reel to and fro, and stagger like a
   drunken man, being drunken with the wine of God's wrath? What though
   the earth be scarred and burned by war? What though it be deluged with
   floods? What though it be oppressed with famines, pestilences, and
   diseases? She still goes on in the same manner; at this hour the world
   is a sinful, rebellious world, and until God shall work a work in our
   day, such as we shall scarce believe, though a man tell it to us, the
   world shall never be pure and holy. The sea is restrained by sand; we
   admire the beautiful poetic fact; but man, being naturally more
   ungovernable than the storm and more impetuous than the ocean, is not
   to be tamed; he will not bend his neck to the Lord, nor will he be
   obedient to the God of the whole earth.

   ?But what of this fact??--you say--?we know it is true; we do not doubt
   it.? Stay awhile; I am now coming to deal with your hearts and
   consciences; and may the Holy Spirit help me in doing so! I shall
   divide, as God would divide them,--saints and sinners.

   First of all, ye saints, I have a word to say to you. I want you to
   look at this as a doctrine not more evident in the history of mankind
   at large, than abundantly verified in your own case. Come, now, I want
   to ask of you this morning, whether it cannot be said of you
   truly--?The sea is bound by sand; but I am one of those people who are
   bent on revolting from God, neither can any of his restraints keep me
   from sin.? Let us review, for a few moments, the various restraints
   which God has put upon his people to keep them from sins which,
   nevertheless, are altogether ineffectual, without the accompanying
   power of irresistible grace.

   First, then, remember there is a restraint of gratitude which, to the
   lowly regenerated heart, must necessarily form a very strong motive to
   obedience. I can conceive of nothing that ought so much to prompt me to
   obedience as the thought that I owe so much to God. O heir of heaven!
   thou canst look back to eternity and see thy name in life's fair book
   set down; thou canst sing of electing love; thou dost believe that a
   covenant was made with Christ in thy behalf, and that thy salvation was
   made secure in that moment when the hands of the Eternal Son grasped
   the stylus and signed his name as the representative of all the elect.
   Thou believest that on Calvary thy sins were all atoned for; thou hast
   in thy soul the conviction that thy sins, past, present, and to come,
   were all numbered on the scape-goat's head of old, and carried away for
   ever; thou believest that neither death nor hell can ever divide thee
   from thy Saviour's breast; thou knowest that there is laid up for thee
   a crown of life which fadeth not away, and thine expectant soul
   anticipates that with branches of palms in thine hands, with crowns of
   gold on thine head, and streets of gold beneath thy feet, thou shalt be
   happy for ever. Thou believest thyself to be one of the favoured of
   heaven, a special object of divine solicitation; thou thinkest that all
   things work together for thy good, yea, thou art persuaded that
   everything in providence has a special regard to thee, and to thy
   favoured brethren. I ask thee, O saint, is not this a bond strong
   enough to keep thee from sin? If it were not for the desperate
   unstableness of thy heart, wouldst thou not be restrained from sin by
   this? Is not thy sin exceeding sinful, because it is sin against
   electing love, against redeeming peace, against all-surpassing mercy,
   against matchless affection, against shoreless grace, against spotless
   love? Ah! sin has reached its climax, when it dares to sin against such
   love as this. O Christian! thine affection to thy Lord and Master
   should restrain thee from iniquity. And is it not a fearful proof of
   the terrible character of thine heart, of thine heart even now, for
   still thou hast evil remaining in it, that all the ties of gratitude
   are still incapable of keeping thee from unholiness. The sins of
   yesterday rise to thy memory now. Oh! look back on them. Do they not
   tell thee that thou dost sin most ungratefully? O saint! didst thou not
   yesterday use thy Master's name in vain, and not thy Master's only, but
   thy Father's name? Hadst thou not yesterday an unbelieving heart? Wast
   thou not petulant when girded with favours that ought to make a living
   man unwilling to complain? Wast thou not, when God hath forgiven thee
   ten thousand talents, angry with thy neighbour, who owed thee a hundred
   pence? Ah Christian! thou art not yet free from sin, nor wilt thou be,
   until thou hast washed thy garments in death's black stream, and then
   thou shalt be holy, as holy as the glorified and pure and spotless,
   even as the angels around the throne, but not till then. I ask thee, O
   saint, viewing thy sins as sins against love and mercy, against
   covenant promises, covenant oaths, covenant engagements, ay, and
   covenant fulfilments, is not thy sin a desperate thing, and art not
   thou thyself a rebellious and revolting being, seeing that thou canst
   not be restrained by such a barrier of adamant as thy soul
   acknowledges?

   Next notice, that the saint has not only this barrier against sin, but
   many others. He has the whole of God's Word given him by way of
   warning; its pages he is accustomed to read; he reads there, that if he
   break the statutes and keep not the commandments of the Lord, his
   Father will visit his transgressions with a rod, and his iniquity with
   stripes. He has before him in God's Word abundant examples. He finds a
   David going with broken bones to his grave after his sin; he finds a
   Samson shorn of his locks, and with his eyes put out; he sees proof
   upon proof that sin will find a man out; that the backslider in heart
   shall be filled with his own ways. Abundant warnings there are for the
   child of God, not of saints who have perished, for we have none such on
   record in Scripture, and none ever shall finally perish--but we have
   many warnings of great and grievous damages sustained by God's own
   children when they have sailed out of their proper course. And yet, O
   Christian, against all warning and against all precept thou darest to
   sin. Oh! art thou not a rebellious creature, and mayest thou not this
   morning humble thyself at the thought of the greatness of thine
   iniquity?

   Again: the saint sins against his own experience, When he looks back
   upon his past life he finds that sin has always been a loss to him; he
   has never found any profit, but has always lost by it. He remembers
   such and such a transgression; it appeared sweet to him at the time,
   but oh! it made his Master withdraw his presence and hide his face. The
   saint can look back on the time when sin hung like a mill-stone round
   his neck, and he felt the terrible flame of remorse burning in his
   soul, and knew how evil a thing and bitter it is to sin against God.
   And yet the saint sins. Now, if the unconverted man sins, he does not
   sin against his own experience, for he has not had that true heartfelt
   experience that renders sin exceeding sinful. But every time thou
   sinnest, O grey-headed saint, thou sinnest with a vengeance, for thou
   hast had all through thy life so much proof of what sin has been to
   thee. Thou hast not been deceived about it, for thou hast felt its
   bitterness in thy bowels: and when thou sippest the accursed draught
   thou art infatuated indeed, because thou sinnest against experience.
   Ay, and the youngest of the saints, have you not been made to taste the
   bitterness of sin? I know you have, if you are saints! and will you go
   and dip your fingers in the nauseous cup? Will you put the poisoned
   goblet to your lips again? Yes, you will; but because you do so in the
   teeth of your experience, it ought to make you weep, that you should be
   such desperate rebels against such a loving God, who has put not merely
   a barrier of sand, but a barrier of tried steel to keep in your lusts,
   and yet they will break forth; verily ye are a rebellious and revolting
   people.

   Then again, God guards all his children with providence, in order to
   keep them from sin. I could tell you, even from the little experience I
   have had of spiritual things, many cases in which I feel I have been
   kept from sin by Divine providence. There have been seasons when the
   strong hand of sin has appeared for a while to get the mastery over us,
   and we have been dragged along by some strong inherent lust, which we
   were prone to practise before our regeneracy. We were intoxicated with
   the lust, we remember how pleasurable it was to us in the days of our
   iniquity, how we revelled in it, till we were on a sudden dragged to
   the very edge of the precipice, and we looked down; our brain reeled,
   we could not stand; and do we not remember how just then some striking
   providence came in our way, and saved us, or else we should have been
   excommunicated from the church for violating the rules of propriety.
   Ah! strange things happen to some of us; strange things have happened
   to some of you. It was only a providence which on some sad and solemn
   occasion, to which you never look back without regret, saved you from
   sin which would have been a scab on your character. Bless God for that!
   But remember, notwithstanding the girdlings of his providence, how many
   times you have offended; and let the frequency of your sin remind you
   that you must indeed be a rebellious creature. Though he has afflicted
   you, you have sinned; though he has given you chastisement, you have
   sinned; though he has put you in the furnace. yet the dross has not
   departed from you. Oh! how corrupt your hearts are, and how prone you
   are still to wander, notwithstanding all the barriers God has given you
   to encompass you!

   Yet, once more let me remind you, beloved, that the ordinances of God's
   house are all intended to be checks to sin. He girds us by the worship
   of the sanctuary; he girds us by the remembrance of our holy baptism;
   and all else that is connected with Christianity is intended to check
   us from sin. And great are the effects which these produce; yet all are
   insufficient, without the preserving grace of God, given to us day by
   day. Let us think, beloved, too, that God has given to us a tender
   conscience, more tender than the conscience of worldly men, because he
   has given us living consciences, whereas theirs are often seared and
   dead. And yet, against this living conscience, against the warnings of
   the Spirit, against precept, against promise, against experience,
   against the honour of God, and against the gratitude they owe him, the
   saints of God have dared to sin, and they must confess before him that
   they are rebellious, and have revolted from him. Bow down your heads
   with shame while ye consider your ways, and then lift up your hearts,
   Christians, in adoring love, that he has kept you when your feet were
   making haste to hell, where you would have gone, but for his preserving
   grace. Shall not this long suffering of your God, this tender
   compassion, be your theme every day--

   ?While life, and thought, and being last,

   Or immortality endures??

   Will you not pray, that God should not cast you away, nor take his Holy
   Spirit from you, though you are a rebellious creature, and though you
   have revolted against him?

   This is for the saints; and now may the Spirit help me, while I strive
   to apply it to sinners! Sinner, I have solemn things to say to thee
   this morning; lend me for a few minutes thy very closest attention; I
   will speak to thee as though this were the last message I should ever
   deliver in thine ear. I have asked my God, that I may so speak to thee,
   O sinner, that if I win not thy heart I may at least be free from thy
   blood; and that if I am not able to convince thee of thy sin, I may at
   any rate make thee without excuse in that day ?when God shall judge the
   secrets of men by Jesus Christ according to my gospel.? Come, then,
   sinner; in the first place, I bid thee consider thy guilt. Thou hast
   heard what I have said. The mighty ocean is kept in obedience by God,
   and restrained within its channel by simple sand; and thou, a pitiful
   worm, the creature of a day, the ephemera of an hour, thou art a rebel
   against God. The sea obeys him; thou dost not. Consider, I beseech
   thee, how many restraints God has put on thee: he has not checked thy
   lusts with sand but with beetling cliffs; and yet thou hast burst
   through every bound in the violence of thy transgressions. Perhaps he
   has checked thy soul by the remembrance of thy guilt. Thou hast this
   morning felt thyself a despiser of God; or if not a despiser, thou art
   a mere hearer, and hast no part nor lot in this matter. Dost thou not
   remember thy sins in the face of thy mother's counsels and thy father's
   strong admonitions? Do they never check thee? Dost thou never think
   thou seest a mother's tears coming after thee? Hast thou never heard a
   father's prayer for thee? When thou hast been spending thy nights in
   dissipation, and hast gone home late to thy bed, hast thou never
   thought thou hast seen thy father's spirit at thy bed side, offering
   one more prayer for an Absalom, his son, or for an Ishmael, his
   rebellious child? Consider what thou hast learned, child! Baptized with
   a mother's tears, almost immersed in them; thou wast early taught to
   know something of God; when thou didst go from thy mother's knees, thou
   wentest to those of a pious teacher; thou wast trained in a Sabbath
   school, or at any rate thou wast taught to read the Bible. Thou knowest
   the threatenings of God; it is no new tale to thee, when I warn thee
   that sinners must be condemned; it is no new story when I tell thee
   that saints shall wear the starry crown; thou knowest all that.
   Consider, then, how great is thy guilt; thou hast sinned against light
   and knowledge; thou art not the Hottentot sinner, who sins in darkness,
   but thou art a sinner before high heaven, in the full light of day;
   thou hast not sinned ignorantly, thou hast done it when thou knewest
   better; and when thou comest to he lost, thou shalt have an additional
   doom, because thou didst know thy duty, but thou didst it not. I charge
   that home upon thee, I charge it solemnly upon thy conscience; is it
   true, or is it not? Some of you have had other things. Don't you
   remember, some little time ago, when sickness was rife, you were
   stretched on your bed? One night you will never forget; sickness had
   got strong hold of you, and the strong man bowed himself. Do you not
   remember what a sight you had then of the regions of the damned; not
   with your eyes, but with your conscience? You thought you heard their
   shrieks; you thought you would be amongst them yourself soon. Methinks
   I see you; you turned your face to the wall, and you cried, ?O God, if
   thou wilt save my life, I will give myself to thee!? Perhaps it was an
   accident; thou didst fear that death was very near; the terrors of
   death laid hold of thee, and thou didst cry, ?Oh! God, let me but reach
   home in safety, and my bended knees and my tears pouring in torrents,
   shall prove that I am sincere in the vow I make.? But didst thou
   perform that vow? Nay, thou hast sinned against God; thy broken vows
   have gone before thee to judgment. Dost thou think it a little thing to
   make a promise to thy fellow creature and break it? It may be so in
   thine estimation, but not so in that of honest men. But dost thou think
   it a little thing to promise to thy Maker, and to break thy promise?
   There is no light penalty for sinning against the Almighty God; it will
   cost thee thy soul, man, and thy soul's blood for ever, if thou goest
   on in this fashion. Vow and pay, or if thou payest not, vow not; for
   God shall visit those vows upon thee, in the day when he maketh
   inquisition for blood, and destroyeth thy soul. Thou hast been guarded
   thus; remember that thou hast had extraordinary deliverances, the
   disease did not kill thee; thy broken bones were healed; thou didst not
   die; when the jaws of death were uplifted, they did not close upon
   thee: here thou art still. Thy life is spared.

   Oh! my dear hearers, some of you are the worst; you have regularly sat
   in these pews--God is my witness, how earnestly I have longed for you
   all in the bowels of Christ. I have not shunned to declare the whole
   counsel of God to you. If I had been a time-server, and kept back part
   of the truth, much more honour would I have received from men than I
   have received; but I have cleared my conscience, I trust, from your
   blood. How many times have I seen men and women cry, the hot tears
   falling down their cheeks in quick succession? and expected that I
   should have seen a change in some of your lives. But how many of you
   there are, who have gone on sinning against warnings, which, I am sure,
   though they may have been excelled in eloquence, have never been
   exceeded in heartiness! Do you think it a little thing to sin against
   God's ambassador? It is no little sin: every time we sin against the
   warnings we have received, we sin so much the more heinously. But there
   are some--I had hope for you, but ye have gone back to the ways of
   perdition; I have cried, ?Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die?? But I
   have been obliged to go to my Master with that exclamation, ?Who hath
   believed our report? and to whom is the arm of the Lord revealed?? Woe
   unto thee, Bethsaida; it were better for thee that thou hadst been Tyre
   and Sidon than that thou shouldst have been left in the midst of
   privileges, if thou shouldst perish at last! Woe unto you, hearers of
   New Park Street! Woe unto you that listen not to the voice of the
   minister here! If ye perish beneath our warnings, ye shall perish in a
   horrible manner! Woe unto thee, Capernaum! thou art exalted unto
   heaven, but thou shalt be cast down to hell.? Woe unto thee, young
   woman! thou hast had a pious mother, and thou hast had many warnings.
   Woe unto thee, young man! thou hast been a profligate youth; thou hast
   been brought to this house of prayer from thine infancy, and thou art
   sitting there even now; often does thy conscience prick thee; often thy
   heart hast told thee that thou art wrong; and yet thou art still
   unchanged! Woe unto thee! Woe unto thee! And yet will I cry unto my
   God, that he would avert that woe and pardon thee; that he would not
   let thee die, but bring thee unto himself, lest now ye perish in your
   sins. Ye sinners! God has a controversy with you; he tames the sea, but
   ye will not be tamed; nothing but his marvellous grace exerted in you
   will ever check you in your lusts. You have sinned against warnings and
   reproofs, against providences, mercies, and judgments, and still ye
   sin.

   Oh! my hearers, when you sin, you do not sin so cheaply as others; for
   when you sin, you sin in the very teeth of hell. There is not a man or
   woman in this place, I am sure, who, when he or she sins, does not know
   that hell is the inevitable consequence! Sirs, ye do not sin in the
   dark. When God shall give you the wages of your iniquity, you shall not
   be able to say, ?O God, I did not know this would be the pay for my
   labour.? When thou didst sow tares, thou couldst not expect that thou
   shouldst reap wheat; thou knowest ?that they who sow carnal things,
   shall reap carnal things;? thou art sowing to the flesh, but not with
   the hope that thou wilt reap salvation; for thou knowest that ?he who
   soweth to the flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption.? Sinner, it is
   a dreadful thing to sin, when God puts hell before thee! What! sin when
   he has given out his threatening? Sin! while Sinai is thundering, while
   hell is blazing? Ay, that is to sin indeed. But how many of you, may
   dear hearers, have sinned like this. I would to God, that he would turn
   this house into a Bochim, that you might weep over your guilt. It is
   the hardest thing in the world to make men believe their guilt. If we
   could once get them to do that, we should find that Christ would reveal
   to them his salvation. I cannot with my poor voice and my weak
   utterance, even bring you to think that it is Christ Jesus in the
   ministry of his Spirit who can give you a true and real sense of your
   sin. Hath he done so? Hath he blessed my words to any of you? Do any of
   you feel your sins? Do any of you know that you are rebellious? Do you
   say, from this time forth you will mend your ways? Sirs, let me tell
   you, you cannot do that. Are you better than the mightiest of men? The
   best of men are but men at the best, and they are convinced that they
   cannot tame their own turbulent passions. God saith that the sea can be
   tamed with sand; but the heart of man cannot be restrained, it is still
   revolting. Dost thou think thou canst do that, which God saith is
   impossible? Dost thou suppose thyself stronger than God Almighty? What!
   canst thou change thine own heart, when God declares that we must he
   born again from above, or else we cannot see the kingdom of heaven?
   Others have tried to do it, but they cannot. I beseech thee, do not try
   to do it with thine own strength. I am glad thou knowest thy guilt; but
   O do not increase that guilt, by seeking to wash it out in the foul
   stream of thine own resolutions. Go and tell God that thou knowest thy
   sin, and confess it before him, and ask him to create in thee a clean
   heart, and renew in thee a right spirit. Tell him thou knowest that
   thou art rebellious, and thou art sure that thou always wilt be, unless
   he change thy heart; and I beseech thee, rest not satisfied until thou
   hast a new heart. My hearer, be not content with Baptism; be not
   content with the Lord's Supper; be not content with shutting up your
   shop on Sunday; be not content with leaving off drunkenness; be not
   content with giving up swearing. Remember, you may do all that, and be
   damned. It is a new heart and a right spirit you want; begin with that,
   and when you have that, all the rest will come right. Bethink thee, my
   hearer; thou mayest varnish and gild thyself, but thou canst never
   change thyself. Thou mayest moralise, but thou canst never spiritualise
   thy heart. But just bethink thee. Thou art this morning lost; and just
   think of this,--thou canst do nothing whatever to save thyself. Let
   that thought rise in thy soul, and lay thee very low; and when thou
   goest to God, cry, ?O Lord, do what I cannot do; save me, O my God, for
   thy mercy's sake.?

   My dear hearers, have I spoken harshly to you, or wilt ye rather take
   it in love? Ye who have sinned thus terribly against God, do ye feel
   it? Well, I have no grace to offer to thee, I have no Christ to offer
   to thee, but I have Christ to preach to thee. Oh! what shall I say?
   This:--you are a sinner. ?It is a faithful saying, and worthy of all
   acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners,
   even the chief.? Art thou a sinner? Then he came to save thee. Oh!
   joyful sound. I am ready to leap in the pulpit for very joy, to have
   this to preach to thee. I can clap my hands with ecstacy of heart, that
   I am allowed again to tell thee--?It is a faithful saying, and worthy
   of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save
   sinners.? Let me tell you that when he came into this world he was
   nailed to the cross, and that there he expired in desperate griefs and
   agony; and there he shrieked, ?My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken
   me?? There the blood ran from his hands and feet, and because he
   suffered he is able to forgive. Sinner, dost thou believe that? Thou
   art black; dost thou believe, in the face of thy blackness, that
   Christ's blood can make thee white? What sayest thou, sinner? God has
   convinced thee of thy sin; art thou willing to be saved in God's way
   this morning? If thou art willing, thou shalt be saved. It is
   written,--?Whosoever will, let him come.? Art thou thirsty this
   morning? come hither and drink. Art thou hungry? come and eat. Art thou
   dying? come and live. My Master bids me tell you, all you who feel your
   sins, that you are forgiven; all you who know your transgressions, he
   bids me tell you this:--? I, even I, am he that blotteth out your
   transgressions, for my name's sake.? Hast thou been an adulterer, hast
   thou been a whore-monger, a thief, a drunkard, a Sabbath-breaker, a
   swearer? I find no exception in this proclamation;--?Whosoever will,
   let him come.? I find no exception in this;--?Him that cometh I will in
   nowise cast out.? Dost thou know thy guilt? then I do not ask thee what
   thy guilt is. Though thou wert the vilest creature, again, I tell thee,
   if thou knowest thy guilt, Christ will forgive thee. Believe it, and
   thou art saved.

   And now will ye go away and forget all this? Some of you have wept this
   morning. No wonder; the wonder is that we do not all weep, until we
   find ourselves saved! You will go away to-morrow to your farms and to
   your merchandize, to your shops, and to your offices; and the
   impression that may have been produced on you this Sabbath morning will
   pass away like the morning cloud. My hearers, I would not weep, though
   you should call me all the names you can think of, but I wilt weep
   because you will not weep for yourselves. Sinners, why will ye be
   damned? Is it a pleasant thing to revolt in the flames of hell? Sirs,
   what profit is there in your death! What! is it an honorable thing to
   rebel against God? Is it an honor to stand and be the scorn of God's
   universe? Dost thou say thou shalt not die; yet thou wilt put it off a
   little while? Sinner, thou wilt never have a more convenient season; if
   to-day is inconvenient, to-morrow will be more so. Put it off to-day,
   wipe away the tears from your eyes, and the day may come when you would
   give a million worlds for a tear, but you shall not be able to get one.
   Many a man has had a soft heart; it has passed away, and in after years
   he has said, ?Oh, that I could but shed a tear!? O God! make thy word
   like a hammer this morning, that it may break the rocky heart in
   pieces! Ye who know your sins, as God's ambassador, I beseech you, ?be
   ye reconciled unto God.? ?Kiss the Son, lest he be angry, and ye perish
   from the way, when his wrath is kindled but a little.? Remember, once
   lost, ye are lost for ever; but if ye are once saved, ye are certainly
   saved for ever. ?Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be
   saved,? said Paul of old; Jesus himself hath said ?He that believeth
   and is haptised shall be saved; but he that believeth not shall be
   damned.? I will not finish with a curse. ?He that believeth shall be
   saved.? God give you all an interest in that eternal blessing, for the
   Lord Jesus' sake!
     __________________________________________________________________

                                Satan's Banquet

   A Sermon

   (No. 225)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, November 28th, 1858, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?The governor of the feast called the bridegroom, and saith unto him,
   every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have
   well drunk, then that which is worse; but thou hast kept the good wine
   until now.?--John 2:9-10.

   THE governor of the feast said more than he intended to say, or rather,
   there is more truth in what he said than he himself imagined. This is
   the established rule all the world over: ?the good wine first, and when
   men have well drunk, then that which is worse.? It is the rule with
   men; and have not hundreds of disappointed hearts bewailed it?
   Friendship first--the oily tongue, the words softer than butter, and
   afterwards the drawn sword. Ahithophel first presents the lordly dish
   of love and kindness to David, then afterwards that which is worse, for
   he forsakes his master, and becomes the counsellor of his rebel son.
   Judas presents first of all the dish of fair speech and of kindness;
   the Saviour partook thereof, he walked to the house of God in company
   with him, and took sweet counsel with him; but afterwards there came
   the dregs of the wine--?He that eateth bread with me hath lifted up his
   heel against me.? Judas the thief betrayed his Master, bringing forth
   afterwards ?that which is worse.? Ye have found it so with many whom ye
   thought your friends. In the heyday of prosperity, when the sun was
   shining, and the birds were singing, and all was fair and gay and
   cheerful with you, they brought forth the good wine; but there came a
   chilling frost, and nipped your flowers, and the leaves fell from the
   trees, and your streams were frosted with the ice, and then they
   brought forth that which is worse,--they forsook you and fled; they
   left you in your hour of peril, and taught you that great truth, that
   ?Cursed is he that trusteth in man, and maketh flesh his arm.? And this
   is the way all the world over--I say it once again--not merely with
   men, but with nature too.

   ?Alas, for us, if thou wert all,

   And nought beyond O earth;?

   for doth not this world serve us just the same? In our youth it brings
   forth the best wine; then we have the sparkling eye, and the ear
   attuned to music; then the blood flows swiftly through the veins and
   the pulse beats joyously; but wait a little and there shall come forth
   afterwards that which is worse, for the keepers of the house shall
   tremble, and the strong men shall bow themselves; the grinders shall
   fail because they are few, they that look out of the windows shall be
   darkened, all the daughters of music shall be brought low; then shall
   the strong man totter, the grasshopper shall be a burden, and desire
   shall fail, the mourners shall go about the streets. First there is the
   flowing cup of youth, and afterwards the stagnant waters of old age,
   unless God shall cast into those dregs a fresh flood of his
   lovingkindness and tender mercy, so that once again, as it always
   happeneth to the Christian, the cup shall run over, and again sparkle
   with delight. O Christian, trust not thou in men; rely not thou upon
   the things of this present time, for this is evermore the rule with men
   and with the world--?the good wine first, and when ye have well
   drunken, then that which is worse.?

   This morning, however, I am about to introduce you to two houses of
   feasting. First, I shall bid you look within the doors of the devil's
   house, and you will find he is true to this rule; he brings forth first
   the good wine, and when men have well drunk, and their brains are
   muddled therewith, then he bringeth forth that which is worse. Having
   bidden you look there and tremble, and take heed to the warning, I
   shall then attempt to enter with you into the banquetting house of our
   beloved Lord and Master Jesus Christ, and of him we shall be able to
   say, as the governor of the feast said to the bridegroom, ?Thou hast
   kept the good wine until now;? thy feasts grow better, and not worse:
   thy wines grow richer, thy viands are daintier far, and thy gifts more
   precious than before. ?Thou hast kept the good wine until now.?

   I. First, we are to take a warning glance at the HOUSE OF FEASTING
   WHICH SATAN HATH BUILDED: for as wisdom hath builded her house, and
   hewn out her seven pillars, so hath folly its temple and its tavern of
   feasting, into which it continually tempts the unwary. Look within the
   banquetting house, and I will shew you four tables and the guests that
   sit thereat; and as you look at those tables you shall see the courses
   brought in. You shall see the wine cops brought, and you shall see them
   vanish one after another, and you shall mark that the rule holds good
   at all four tables--first the good wine, and afterwards that which is
   worse--yea, I shall go further--afterwards, that which is worst of all.

   1. At the first table to which I shall invite your attention, though I
   beseech you never to sit down and drink thereat, sit the PROFLIGATE.
   The table of the profligate is a gay table; it is covered over with a
   gaudy crimson, and all the vessels upon it look exceedingly bright and
   glistening. Many there be that sit thereat, but they know not that they
   are the guests of hell, and that the end of all the feast shall be in
   the depths of perdition. See ye now the great governor of the feast, as
   he comes in? He has a bland smile upon his face; his garments are not
   black, but he is girded with a robe of many colours, he hath a honied
   word on his lip, and a tempting witchery in the sparkle of his eye. He
   brings in she cup, and says, ?Hey, young man, drink hereat, it
   sparkleth in the cup, it moveth itself aright. Do you see it? It is the
   wine-cup of pleasure.? This is the first cup at the banquetting house
   of Satan. The young man takes it, and sips the liquor. At first it is a
   cautious sip; it is but a little he will take, and then he will
   restrain himself. He does not intend to indulge much in lust, he means
   not to plunge headlong into perdition. There is a flower there on the
   edge of that cliff: he will reach forward a little and pluck it, but it
   is not his intention to dash himself from that beetling crag and
   destroy himself. Not he! He thinks it easy to put away the cup when he
   has tested its flavour! He has no design to abandon himself to its
   intoxication. He takes a shallow draught. But O how sweet it is! How it
   makes his blood tingle within him. What a fool I was, not to have
   tasted this before! he thinks. Was ever joy like this? Could it be
   thought that bodies could be capable of such ecstacy as this? He drinks
   again; this time he takes a deeper draught, and the wine is hot in his
   veins. Oh! how blest is he! What would he not say now in the praise of
   Bacchus, or Venus, or whatever shape Beelzebub chooses to assume? He
   becomes a very orator in praise of sin? It is fair, it is pleasant, the
   deep damnation of lust appeareth as joyous as the transports of heaven.
   He drinks, he drinks, he drinks again, till his brain begins to reel
   with the intoxication of his sinful delight. This is the first course.
   Drink, O ye drunkards of Ephraim, and bind the crown of pride about
   your head, and call us fools because we put your cup from us; drink
   with the harlot and sup with the lustful; ye may think yourselves wise
   for so doing, but we know that after these things there cometh
   something worse, for your vine is the vine of Sodom, and of the fields
   of Gomorrah, your grapes are grapes of gall, the clusters are bitter;
   your wine is the poison of dragons and the cruel venom of asps.

   Now with a leer upon his brow, the subtle govenor of the feast riseth
   from his seat. His victim has had enough of the best wine. He takes
   away that cup, and he brings in another, not quite so sparkling. Look
   into the liquor; it is not beaded over with the sparkling bubbles of
   rapture; it is all flat, and dull, and insipid; it is called the cup of
   satiety. The man has had enough of pleasure, and like a dog he vomits,
   though like a dog he will return to his vomit yet again. Who hath woe?
   Who hath redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine. I am now
   speaking figuratively of wine, as well as literally. The wine of lust
   bringeth the same redness of the eyes; the profligate soon discovers
   that all the rounds of pleasure end in satiety. ?What!? says he, ?What
   more can I do? There! I have committed every wickedness that can be
   imagined, and I have drained every cup of pleasure. Give me something
   fresh! I have tried the theatres all round: there! I don't care so much
   as one single farthing for them all. I have gone to every kind of
   pleasure that I can conceive. It is all over. Gaiety itself grows flat
   and dull. What am I to do?? And this is the devil's second course--the
   course of satiety--a fitful drowsiness, the result of the previous
   excess. Thousands there are who are drinking of the tasteless cup of
   satiety every day, and some novel invention whereby they may kill time,
   some new discovery whereby they may give a fresh vent to their iniquity
   would be a wonderful thing to them; and if some man should rise up who
   could find out for them some new fashion of wickedness, some deeper
   depths in the deeps of the nethermost hell of lasciviousness, they
   would bless his name, for having given them something fresh to excite
   them. That is the devil's second course. And do you see them partaking
   of it? Three are some of you that are having a deep draught of it this
   morning. You are the jaded horses of the fiend of lust, the
   disappointed followers of the will-o'-the-wisp of pleasure. God knows,
   if you were to speak your heart out you would be obliged to say,
   ?There! I have tried pleasure, and I do not find it pleasure ; I have
   gone the round, and I am just like the blind horse at the mill, I have
   to go round again. I am spell-bound to the sin, but I cannot take
   delight in it now as I once did, for all the glory on it is as a fading
   flower, and as the hasty fruit before the summer.

   Awhile the feaster remains in the putrid sea of his infatuation, but
   another scene is opening. The governor of the feast commandeth another
   liquor to be broached. This time the fiend bears a black goblet, and he
   presents it with eyes full of hell-fire, flashing with fierce
   damnation. ?Drink of that, sir,? says he, and the man sips it and
   starts back and shrieks, ?O God! that ever I must come to this!? You
   must drink, sir! He that quaffs the first cup, must drink the second,
   and the third. Drink, though it be like fire down your throat! Drink
   it, though it be as the lava of Etna in your bowels! Drink! you must
   drink! He that sins must suffer; he that is a profligate in his youth
   must have rottenness in his bones, and disease within his loins. He who
   rebels against the laws of God, must reap the harvest in his own body
   here. Oh! there are some dreadful things that I might tell you of this
   third course. Satan's house has a front chamber full of everything that
   is enticing to the eye and bewitching to the sensual taste; but there
   is a back chamber, and no one knoweth, no one hath seen the whole of
   its horrors. There is a secret chamber, where he shovels out the
   creatures whom he hath himself destroyed--a chamber, beneath whose
   floor is the blazing of hell, and above whose boards the heat of that
   horrible pit is felt. It may be a physician's place rather than mine,
   to tell of the horrors that some have to suffer as the result of their
   iniquity. I leave that; but let me tell the profligate spendthrift,
   that the poverty which he will endure is the result of his sin of
   extravagant spendthriftcy; let him know, also, that the remorse of
   conscience that will overtake him is not an accidental thing that drops
   by chance from heaven,--it is the result of his own iniquity; for,
   depend upon it, men and brethren, sin carries an infant misery in its
   bowels, and sooner or later it must be delivered of its terrible child.
   If we sow the seed we must reap the harvest. Thus the law of hell's
   house stands--?first, the good wine, then, afterwards, that which is
   worse.?

   The last course remains to be presented. And now, ye strong men who
   mock at the warning, which I would fain deliver to you with a brother's
   voice and with an affectionate heart, though with rough language. Come
   ye here, and drink of this last cup. The sinner has at the end brought
   himself to the grave. His hopes and joys were like gold put into a bag
   full of holes, and they have all vanished--vanished for ever; and now
   he has come to the last; his sins haunt him, his transgressions perplex
   him; he is taken like a bull in a net, and how shall he escape. He
   dies, and descends from disease to damnation. Shall mortal language
   attempt to tell you the horrors of that last tremendous cup of which
   the profligate must drink, and drink for ever? Look at it: ye cannot
   see its depths, but cast an eye upon its seething surface, I hear the
   noise of rushing to and fro, and a sound as of gnashing of teeth and
   the wailing of despairing souls. I look into that cup, and I hear a
   voice coming up from its depths--?These shall go away into everlasting
   punishment;? for ?Tophet is prepared of old, the pile thereof is wood
   and much smoke, the breath of the Lord, like a stream of brimstone,
   shall kindle it.? And what say ye to this last course of Satan? ?Who
   among us shall dwell with the devouring fire? Who among us shall dwell
   with everlasting burnings?? Profligate! I beseech thee, in the name of
   God, start from this table! Oh, be not so careless at thy cups; be not
   so asleep, secure in the peace which thou now enjoyest! Man! death is
   at the door, and at his heels is swift destruction. As for you, who as
   yet have been restrained by a careful father and the watchfulness of an
   anxious mother, I beseech you shun the house of sin and folly. Let the
   wise man's words be written on thine heart, and be thou mindful of them
   in the hour of temptation--?Remove thy way far from her, and come not
   nigh the door of her house: for the lips of a strange woman drop as an
   honeycomb, and her mouth is smoother than oil: but her end is bitter as
   wormwood, sharp as a two edged sword. Her feet go down to death; her
   steps take hold on hell.?

   2. Do ye see that other table yonder in the middle of the palace? Ah!
   good easy souls! Many of you had thought that you never went to the
   feast of hell at all; but there is a table for you too; it is covered
   over with a fair white cloth, and all the vessels upon the table are
   most clean and comely. The wine looks not like the wine of Gomorrah, it
   moveth aright, like the wine from the grapes of Eshcol; it seems to
   have no intoxication in it; it is like the ancient wine which they
   pressed from the grape into the cup having in it no deadly poison. Do
   ye see the men who sit at this table? How self-contented they are! Ask
   the white fiends who wait at it, and they will tell you, ?This is the
   table of the self-righteous: the Pharisee sits there. You may know him;
   he has his phylactery between his eyes; the hem of his garment is made
   exceeding broad; he is one of the best of the best professors.? ?Ah!?
   saith Satan, as he draws the curtain and shuts off the table where the
   profligates are carousing, ?be quiet; don't make too much noise, lest
   these sanctimonious hypocrites should guess what company they are in.
   Those self-righteous people are my guests quite as much as you, and I
   have them quite as safely.? So Satan, like an angel of light, brings
   forth a gilded goblet, looking like the chalice of the table of
   communion. And what wine is that? It seems to be the very wine of the
   sacred Eucharist; it is called the wine of self-satisfaction, and
   around the brim you may see the bubbles of pride. Look at the swelling
   froth upon the bowl--?God, I thank thee, that I am not as other men
   are, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even as this publican.? You
   know that cup, my self-deceiving hearers; Oh that ye knew the deadly
   hemlock which is mixed therein. ?Sin as other men do? Not you; not at
   all. You are not going to submit yourself to the righteousness of
   Christ: what need you? You are as good as your neighbours; if you are
   not saved, you ought to be, you think. Don't you pay everybody
   twenty-shillings in the pound? Did you ever rob anybody in your life?
   You do your neighbours a good turn; you are as good as other people.?
   Very good! That is the first cup the devil gives, and the good wine
   makes you swell with self-important dignity, as its fumes enter your
   heart and puff it up with an accursed pride. Yes! I see you sitting in
   the room so cleanly swept and so neatly garnished, and I see the crowds
   of your admirers standing around the table, even many of God's own
   children, who say, ?Oh that I were half as good as he.? While the very
   humility of the righteous provides you with provender for your pride.
   Wait awhile, thou unctious hypocrite, wait awhile, for there is a
   second course to come. Satan looks with quite as self-satisfied an air
   upon his guests this time as he did upon the troop of rioters. ?Ah!?
   says he, ?I cheated those gay fellows with the cup of pleasure--I gave
   them, afterwards, the dull cup of satiety, and I have cheated you, too;
   you think yourselves all right, but I have deceived you twice, I have
   befooled you indeed.? So he brings in a cup which, sometimes, he
   himself doth not like to serve. It is called the cup of discontent and
   unquietness of mind, and many there be that have to drink this after
   all their self-satisfaction. Do you not find, you that are very good in
   your own esteem, but have no interest in Christ, that when you sit
   alone and begin to turn over your accounts for eternity, that they do
   not square somehow--that you cannot strike the balance exactly to your
   own side after all, as you thought you could? Have not you sometimes
   found, that when you thought you were standing on a rock, there was a
   quivering beneath your feet? You heard the Christian sing boldly,--

   ?Bold shall I stand in that great day,

   For who aught to my charge shall lay?

   While, thro' thy blood, absolv'd I am

   From sin's tremendous curse and shame.?

   And you have said, ?Well, I cannot sing that, I have been as good a
   Churchman as ever lived, I never missed going to my church all these
   years, but I cannot say I have a solid confidence.? You had once a hope
   of self-satisfaction; but now the second course has come in, and you
   are not quite so contented. ?Well,? says another, ?I have been to my
   chapel, and I have been baptized, and made a profession of religion,
   though I was never brought to know the Lord in sincerity and in truth,
   and I once thought it was all well with me, but I want a something
   which I cannot find.? Now comes a shaking in the heart. It is not quite
   so delightful as one supposed, to build on one's own righteousness. Ah!
   that is the second course. Wait awhile, and mayhap in this world, but
   certainly in the hour of death, the devil will bring in the third cup
   of dismay, at the discovery of your lost condition. How many a man who
   has been self-righteous all his life, has, at the last discovered that
   the thing whereon he placed his hope had failed him. I have heard of an
   army, who, being defeated in battle, endeavoured to make good a
   retreat. With all their might the soldiers fled to a certain river,
   where they expected to find a bridge across which they could retreat
   and be in safety. But when they came to the stream, there was heard a
   shriek of terror--?The bridge is broken, the bridge is broken!? All in
   vain was that cry; for the multitude hurrying on behind, pressed upon
   those that were before and forced them into the river, until the stream
   was glutted with the bodies of drowned men. Such must be the fate of
   the self-righteous. You thought there was a bridge of ceremonies; that
   baptism, confirmation, and the Lord's Supper, made up the solid arches
   of a bridge of good works and duties. But when you come to die, there
   shall be heard the cry--?The bridge is broken, the bridge is broken!?
   It will be in vain for you to turn round then. Death is close behind
   you; he forces you onward, and you discover what it is to perish,
   through having neglected the great salvation, and attempting to save
   yourself through your own good works. This is the last course but one:
   and your last course of all, the worst wine, your everlasting portion
   must be the same as that of the profligate. Good as you thought
   yourself to be, inasmuch as you proudly rejected Christ, you must drink
   the winecup of the wrath of God; that cup which is full of trembling.
   The wicked of the earth shall wring out the dregs of that cup, and
   drink them; and you also must drink of it as deep as they. Oh, beware
   in time! Put away your high looks, and humble yourselves under the
   mighty hand of God. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and ye shall be
   saved.

   3. Some of you have as yet escaped the lash, but there is a third table
   crowded with most honourable guests. I believe there have been more
   princes and kings, mayors and aldermen, and great merchants sitting at
   this table, than at any other. It is called the table of worldliness.
   ?Humph,? says a man, ?Well, I dislike the profligate; there's my eldest
   son, I've been hard at work saving up money all my life, and there's
   that young fellow, he will not stick to business: he has become a real
   profligate, I am very glad the minister spoke so sharp about that. As
   for me--there now; I don't care about your self-righteous people a
   single farthing; to me it is of no account at all; I don't care at all
   about religion in the slightest degree; I like to know whether the
   funds rise or fall, or whether there is an opportunity of making a good
   bargain; but that's about all I care for.? Ah! worldling, I leave read
   of a friend of yours, who was clothed in scarlet, and fine linen, and
   fared sumptuously every day. Do you know what became of him? You should
   remember it, for the same end awaits yourself. The end of his feast
   must be the end of yours. If your God is this world, depend upon it you
   shall find that your way is full of bitterness. Now, see that table of
   the worldly man, the mere worldling, who lives for gain. Satan brings
   him in a flowing cup, ?There,? says he, ?Young man, you are starting in
   business; you need not care about the conventionalities of honesty, or
   about the ordinary old-fashioned fancies of religion; get rich as quick
   as ever you can. Get money--get money--honestly if you can, but, if
   not, get it anyhow,? says the devil; and down he puts his tankard.
   ?There,? says he, ?is a foaming draught for you.? ?Yes,? says the young
   man, ?I have abundance now. My hopes are indeed realised.? Here, then,
   you see the first and best wine of the worldling's feast, and many of
   you are tempted to envy this man. ?Oh, that I had such a prospect in
   business,? says one, ?I'm not half so sharp as he is, I could not deal
   as he deals; my religion would not let me. But how fast he gets rich! O
   that I could prosper as he does.? Come, my brother, judge not before
   the time, there's a second course to come, the thick and nauseous
   draught of care. The man has got his money, but they that will be rich,
   fall into temptation and a snare. Wealth ill-gotten, or ill-used, or
   hoarded, brings a canker with it, that does not canker the gold and
   silver, but cankers the man's heart, and a cankered heart is one of the
   most awful things a man can have. Ah! see this money-lover, and mark
   the care which sits upon heart. There is a poor old woman, that lives
   near his lodge gate. She has but a pittance a week, but she says,
   ?Bless the Lord, I have enough!? She never asks how she is to live, or
   how she is to die, or how she is to be buried, but sleeps sweetly on
   the pillow of contentment and faith; and here is this poor fool with
   untold gold, but he is miserable because he happened to drop a sixpence
   as he walked along the streets, or because he had an extra call upon
   his charity, to which the presence of some friend compelled him to
   yield; or perhaps he groans because his coat wears out too soon.

   After this comes avarice. Many have had to drink of that cup; may God
   save any of us from its fiery drops. A great American preacher has
   said, ?Covetousness breeds misery. The sight of houses better than our
   own, of dress beyond our means, of jewels costlier than we may wear, of
   stately equipage, and rare curiosities beyond our reach, these hatch
   the viper brood of covetous thoughts; vexing the poor, who would be
   rich; tormenting the rich, who would be richer. The covetous man pines
   to see pleasure; is sad in the presence of cheerfulness; and the joy of
   the world is his sorrow, because all the happiness of others is not
   his. I do not wonder that God abhors him. He inspects his heart as he
   would a cave full of noisome birds, or a nest of rattling reptiles, and
   loathes the sight of its crawling tenants. To the covetous man life is
   a nightmare, and God lets him wrestle with it as best he may. Mammon
   might build its palace on such a heart, and Pleasure bring all its
   revelry there, Honour all its garlands--it would be like pleasures in a
   sepulchre, and garlands on a tomb.? When a man becomes avaricious, all
   he has is nothing to him; ?More, more, more!? says he, like some poor
   creatures in a terrible fever, who cry, ?Drink, drink, drink!? and you
   give them drink, but after they have it, their thirst increases. Like
   the horse-leech they cry, ?Give, give, give!? Avarice is a raving
   madness which seeks to grasp the world in its arms, and yet despises
   the plenty it has already. This is a curse of which many have died; and
   some have died with the bag of gold in their hands, and with misery
   upon their brow, because they could not take it with them into their
   coffin, and could not carry it into another world. Well, then, there
   comes the next course. Baxter, and those terrible old preachers used to
   picture the miser, and the man who lived only to make gold, in the
   middle of hell; and they imagined Mammon pouring melted gold down his
   throat, ?There,? say the mocking devils, ?that is what you wanted, you
   have got it now; drink, drink, drink!? and the molten gold is poured
   down. I shall not, however, indulge in any such terrible imaginations,
   but this much I know, he that liveth to himself here, must perish; he
   who sets his affections upon things on earth, hath not digged deep--he
   has built his house upon the sands; and when the rain descends, and the
   floods come, down must come his house, and great must be the fall
   thereof. It is the best wine first, however; it is the respectable
   man,--respectable and respected,--everybody honours him,--and
   afterwards that which is worse, when meanness has beggared his wealth,
   and covetousness has maddened his brain. It is sure to come, as sure as
   ever you give yourself up to worldliness.

   4. The fourth table is set in a very secluded corner, in a very private
   part of Satan's palace. There is the table set for secret sinners, and
   here the old rule is observed. At that table, in a room well darkened,
   I see a young man sitting to-day, and Satan is the servitor, stepping
   in so noiselessly, that no one would hear him. He brings in the first
   cup--and O how sweet it is! It is the cup of secret sin. ?Stolen waters
   are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant.? How sweet that
   morsel, eaten all alone! Was there ever one that rolled so delicately
   under the tongue? That is the first; after that, he brings in
   another,--the wine of an unquiet conscience. The man's eyes are opened.
   He says, ?What have I done? What have I been doing? Ah,? cries this
   Achan, ?the first cup you brought me, I saw sparkling in that a wedge
   of gold, and a goodly Babylonish garment; and I thought, Oh, I must
   have that;' but now my thought is, What shall I do to hide this, where
   shall I put it? I must dig. Ay, I must dig deep as hell before I shall
   hide it, for sure enough it will be discovered.?

   The grim governor of the feast is bringing in a massive bowl, filled
   with a black mixture. The secret sinner drinks, and is confounded; he
   fears his sin will find him out. He has no peace, no happiness, he is
   full of uneasy fear; he is afraid that he shall be detected. He dreams
   at night that there is some one after him; there is a voice whispering
   in his ear, and telling him ?I know all about it; I will tell it.? He
   thinks, perhaps, that the sin which he has committed in secret will
   break out to his friends; the father will know it, the mother will know
   it. Ay, it may be even the physician will tell the tale, and blab out
   the wretched secret. For such a man there is no rest. He is always in
   dread of arrest. He is like the debtor I have read of; who, owing a
   great deal of money, was afraid the bailiffs were after him: and
   happening one day to catch his sleeve on the top of a palisade, said,
   ?There, let me go; I'm in a hurry. I will pay you to-morrow,? imagining
   that some one was laying hold of him. Such is the position in which the
   man places himself by partaking of the hidden things of dishonesty and
   sin. Thus he finds no rest for the sole of his foot for fear of
   discovery. At last the discovery comes; it is the last cup. Often it
   comes on earth; for be sure your sin will find you out, and it will
   generally find you out here. What frightful exhibitions are to be seen
   at our police courts of men that are made to drink that last black
   draught of discovery. The man who presided at religious meetings, the
   man who was honoured as a saint, is at last unmasked. And what saith
   the judge--and what saith the world of him? He is a jest, and a
   reproach, and a rebuke everywhere. But, suppose he should be so crafty,
   that he passes through life without discovery--though I think it is
   almost impossible--what a cup he must drink when he stands at last
   before the bar of God! ?Bring him forth, jailor! Dread keeper of the
   dungeon of hell, lead forth the prisoner.? He comes! The whole world is
   assembled, ?Stand up, sir! Did you not make a profession of religion?
   did not every body think you a saint?? He is speechless. But many there
   are in that vast crowd who cry, ?We thought him so.? The book is open,
   his deeds are read: transgression after transgression all laid bare. Do
   you hear that hiss? The righteous, moved to indignation, are lifting up
   their voices against the man who deceived them, and dwelt among them as
   a wolf in sheep's clothing. Oh, how fearful it must be to bear the
   scorn of the universe! The good can bear the scorn of the wicked but
   for the wicked to bear the shame and everlasting contempt which
   righteous indignation will heap upon them, will be one of the most
   frightful things, next to the eternal endurance of the wrath of the
   Most High, which, I need not add, is the last cup of the devil's
   terrible feast, with which the secret sinner most be filled, for ever
   and ever.

   I pause now, but it is just to gather up my strength to beg that
   anything I may have said, that shall have the slightest personal
   bearing upon any of my hearers, may not be forgotten. I beseech you,
   men and brethren, if now you are eating the fat, and drinking the sweet
   of hell's banquet, pause and reflect what shall the end be? ?He that
   soweth to the flesh, shall of the flesh reap corruption. He that soweth
   to the spirit, shall of the spirit reap life everlasting.? I cannot
   spare more time far that, most assuredly.

   II. But you must pardon me while I occupy only a few minutes in taking
   you into the HOUSE OF THE SAVIOUR, where he feasts his beloved. Come
   and sit with us at Christ's table of outward providences. He does not
   feast his children after the fashion of the prince of darkness: for the
   first cup that Christ brings to them is very often a cup of bitterness.
   There are his own beloved children, his own redeemed; who have but
   sorry cheer. Jesus brings in the cup of poverty and affliction, and he
   makes his own children drink of it, till they say, ?Thou hast made me
   drunken with wormwood, and thou hast filled me with bitterness.? This
   is the way Christ begins. The worst wine first. When the serjeant
   begins with a young recruit, he gives him a shilling, and then,
   afterwards, come the march and the battle. But Christ never takes his
   recruits so. They must count the cost, lest they should begin to build,
   and not be able to finish. He seeks to have no disciples who are
   dazzled with first appearances. He begins roughly with them, and many
   have been his children who have found that the first course of the
   Redeemer's table has been affliction, sorrow, poverty, and want.

   In the olden time, when the best of God's people were at the table, he
   used to serve them worst, for they wandered about in sheep-skins and
   goat-skins, being destitute, afflicted, tormented, of whom the world
   was not worthy, and they kept on drinking of these bitter cups for many
   a day; but let me tell you afterwards he brought out sweeter cups for
   them, and you that have been troubled have found it so. After the cup
   of affliction, comes the cup of consolation, and, oh, how sweet is
   that! It has been the privilege of these lips to drink that cup after
   sickness and pain; and I can bear witness, that I said of my Master,
   ?Thou hast kept the best wine until now.? It was so luscious, that the
   taste thereof did take away every taste of the bitterness of sorrow;
   and I said, ?Surely the bitterness of this sickness is all past, for
   the Lord has manifested himself to me, and given me his best wine.?
   But, beloved, the best wine is to come last. God's people will find it
   so outwardly. The poor saint comes to die. The master has given him the
   cup of poverty, but now no more he drinks thereof, he is rich to all
   the intents of bliss. He has had the cup of sickness; he shall drink of
   that no more. He has had the cup of persecution, but now he is
   glorified, together with his Master, and made to sit upon his throne.
   The best things have come last to him in outward circumstances. There
   were two martyrs once burned at Stratford-le-Bow; one of them was lame,
   and the other blind, and when they were tied to the stake, the lame man
   took his crutch and threw it down, and said to the other, ?Cheer up,
   brother, this is the sharp physic that shall heal us, I shall not be
   lame within an hour of this time nor shalt thou be blind.? No, the best
   things were to come last. But I have often thought that the child of
   God is very much like the crusaders. The crusaders started of on their
   journey, and they had to tight their way through many miles of enemies
   and to march through leagues of danger. You remember, perhaps, in
   history, the story that when the armies of the Duke of Bouillon came in
   sight of Jerusalem, they sprang from their horses, clapped their hands,
   and cried, ?Jerusalem, Jerusalem, Jerusalem.? They forgot all their
   toils, all the weariness of the journey and all their wounds, for there
   was Jerusalem in their sight. And how will the saint at last cry,
   ?Jerusalem, Jerusalem,? when all sorrow, and all poverty, and sickness
   are past, and he is blest with immortality. The bad wine--bad did I
   say? nay the bitter wine is taken away, and the best wine is brought
   out, and the saint sees himself glorified for ever with Christ Jesus.

   And now, we will sit down at the table of inward experience. The first
   cup that Christ brings to his children, when they sit at that table, is
   one so bitter that, perhaps, no tongue can ever describe it,--it is the
   cup of conviction. It is a black cup, full of the most intense
   bitterness. The apostle Paul once drank a little of it, but it was so
   strong that it made him blind for three days. The conviction of his sin
   overpowered him totally; he could only give his soul to fasting and to
   prayer, and it was only when he drank of the next cup that the scales
   fell from off his eyes. I have drank of it, children of God, and I
   thought that Jesus was unkind, but, in a little while, he brought me
   forth a sweeter cup, the cup of his forgiving love, filled with the
   rich crimson of his precious blood. Oh! the taste of that wine is in my
   mouth this very hour, for the taste thereof is as the wine of Lebanon,
   that abideth in the cask for many a day. Do you not remember, when,
   after you had drunk the cup of sorrow, Jesus came and showed you his
   hands and his side, and said, ?Sinner, I have died for thee, and given
   myself for thee; believe on me?? Do you not remember how you believed,
   and sipped the cup, and bow you believed again and took a deeper
   draught, and said, ?Blessed be the name of God from this time forth and
   for ever; and let the whole earth say, Amen,' for he hath broken the
   gates of brass, and cut the bars of iron in sunder, and let the
   captives go free?? Since then the glorious Master has said to you,
   ?Friend, come up higher!? and he has taken you to upper seats in the
   best rooms, and he has given you sweeter things. I will not tell you,
   to-day, of the wines you have drank. The spouse in Solomon's Song may
   supply the deficiency of my sermon this morning. She drank of the
   spiced wine of his pomegranate; and so have you, in those high and
   happy moments when you had fellowship with the Father, and with his
   Son, Jesus Christ. But tarry awhile, he has kept the best wine yet. You
   shall soon come near the banks of the Jordan, and then you shall begin
   to drink of the old wine of the kingdom, that has been barrelled up
   since the foundation of the world. The vintage of the Saviour's agony;
   the vintage of Gethsemane shall soon be broached for you, the old wine
   of the kingdom. You are come into the land ?Beulah,? and you begin to
   taste the full flavour of the wines on the lees well refined. You know
   how Bunyan describes the state which borders on the vale of death. It
   was a land flowing with milk and honey; a land where the angels often
   came to visit the saints, and to bring bundles of myrrh from the land
   of spices. And now the high step is taken, the Lord puts his finger
   upon your eyelids and kisses your soul out at your lips. Where are you
   now? In a sea of love, and life, and bliss, and immortality. ?O Jesus,
   Jesus, Jesus, thou hast indeed kept the best wine until now! My Master!
   I have seen thee on the Sabbath, but this is an everlasting Sabbath. I
   have met thee in the congregation, but this is a congregation that
   shall ne'er break up. O my Master! I have seen the promises, but this
   is the fulfilment. I have blessed thee for gracious providences, but
   this is something more than all these: thou didst give me grace, but
   now thou hash given me glory; thou wast once my shield, but thou art
   now my sun. I am at thy right hand, where there is fullness of joy for
   ever. Thou hast kept thy best wine until now. All I ever had before was
   as nothing compared with this.?

   And, lastly, for only time fails me, I could preach a week upon this
   subject. The table of communion is one at which God's children must
   sit. And the first thing they must drink of there, is the cup of
   communion with Christ in his sufferings. If thou wouldst come to the
   table of communion with Christ, thou must first of all drink of the
   wine of Calvary. Christian, thy head most he crowned with thorns. Thy
   hands must be pierced, I mean not with nails, but, spiritually thou
   must be crucified with Christ. We must suffer with him, or else we
   cannot reign with him; we must labour with him first, we must sup of
   the wine which his Father gave him to drink, or else we cannot expect
   to come to the better part of the feast. After drinking of the wine of
   his sufferings, and continuing to drink of it, we must drink of the cup
   of his labours, we must be baptized with his baptism, we must labour
   after souls, and sympathise with him in that ambition of his heart--the
   salvation of sinners, and after that he will give us to drink of the
   cup of his anticipated honours. Here on earth we shall have good wine
   in communion with Christ in his resurrection, in his triumphs and his
   victories, but the best wine is to come at last. O chambers of
   communion, your gates have been opened to me; but I have only been able
   to glance within them; but the day is coming when on your diamond
   hinges ye shall turn, and stand wide open for ever and ever; and I
   shall enter into the king's palace and go no more out. O Christian!
   thou shalt soon see the King in his beauty; thy head shall soon be on
   his bosom; thou shalt soon sit at his feet with Mary; thou shalt soon
   do as the spouse did, thou shalt kiss him with the kisses of thy lips,
   and feel that his love is better than wine. I can conceive you,
   brethren, in the very last moment of your life, or rather, in the first
   moment of your life, saying, ?He has kept the best wine until now.?
   When you begin to see him face to face, when you enter into the closest
   fellowship, with nothing to disturb or to distract you, then shall you
   say ?The best wine is kept until now.?

   A saint was once dying, and another who sat by him said--?Farewell,
   brother, I shall never see you again in the land of the living.? ?Oh,?
   said the dying man, ?I shall see you again in the land of the living
   that is up yonder, where I am going; this is the land of the dying.? Oh
   brethren and sisters, if we should never meet again in the land of the
   dying, have we a hope that we shall meet in the land of the living, and
   drink the last wine at last.
     __________________________________________________________________

                             The Feast of the Lord

   A Sermon

   (No. 226)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, November 28th, 1858, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?The governor of the feast called the bridegroom, and saith unto him,
   every man at the beginning doth set forth good wine; and when men have
   well drunk, then that which is worse; but thou hast kept the good wine
   until now.?--John 2:9-10.

   I HAD EXHAUSTED my time this morning by describing the feast of
   Satan--how at the four tables, whereat did sit the profligate, the
   self-righteous, the worldly, and the secretly sinful, the course of
   Satan, was always on this wise,--first, the good wine, and when men had
   well drunken, that which was worse. His feast diminished in its value
   as it proceeded, and went from the bright crackling of the thorn under
   the pot to the blackness of darkness for ever. I had then in my second
   point to show, that the rule of Christ's banquet is just the very
   reverse--that Christ doth always give the best wine last--that he doth
   save the good things until the end of the feast; nay, that sometimes
   the first cups at the table of Christ are full of wormwood and gall,
   and are exceeding bitter, but that if we tarry at the feast, they will
   grow sweeter, and sweeter, and sweeter, until at last, when we shall
   come into the land Beulah, and especially when we shall enter into the
   city of our God, we shall be compelled to say, ?Thou hast kept the good
   wine until now.?

   Now, my dear friends, this is a great fact, that Christ's feast
   increaseth in sweetness. When first the lord Jesus Christ proclaimed a
   feast for the sons of men, the first cup he set upon the table was but
   a very little one, and it had in it but few words of consolation. You
   remember the inscription upon that ancient vessel, the first cup of
   consolation that was ever held to the sons of men--?The seed of the
   woman shall bruise the serpent's head.? There was to them but little
   sweetness there: much to us, because we can understand it better, and
   some to them, because God's Spirit might help them to understand it,
   but still in the revelation of it there seemed but little promise. As
   the world went on, there were greater cups of precious wine brought
   forth, whereof patriarchs and ancient saints did drink; but beloved,
   all the wine they ever had under the Old Testament dispensation was far
   behind that of which we drink. He that is least in the kingdom of
   heaven is more highly favoured than he who is chief under the Old
   Testament dispensation. Our fathers did eat manna, but we do eat the
   bread that came down from heaven; they did drink of water in the
   wilderness, but we drink of that living water whereof if a man drink he
   shall never thirst. It is true they had much sweetness; the cups of the
   ancient tabernacle had precious wine in them; there was in the outward
   symbol the sign and the shadow, much that was delightful to the faith
   of the true believer; but we must remember that we are drinking to-day
   of that wine which prophets and kings desired to drink of, but died
   without a taste thereof. They guessed its sweetness; they could by
   faith foresee what it would be; but lo! we are allowed to sit at the
   table and quaff full draughts of wines on the lees well refined, which
   God hath given to us in this mountain wherein he hath made a feast of
   fat things for all people.

   But, beloved, the text still stands true of us--there is better wine to
   come. We are in our privileges superior to patriarchs, and kings, and
   prophets. God has given us a brighter and a clearer day than they had;
   theirs was but the twilight of the morning, compared with the noon-day
   which we enjoy. But think not that we are come to the best wine yet.
   There are more noble banquets for God's church; and who knoweth how
   long, ere the best of the precious wine shall be broached? Know ye not
   that the King of Heaven is coming again upon this earth; Jesus Christ,
   who came once and broached his heart for us on Calvary, is coming
   again, to flood the earth with glory. He came once with a sin-offering
   in his hand: behold, he comes no more with a sin-offering, but with the
   cup of salvation and of thanksgiving, to call upon the name of the Lord
   and joyously to take unto himself the throne of his father David. You
   and I, if we be alive and remain, shall yet set that cup to our lips;
   and if we die, we have this privilege, this happy consolation, that we
   shall not be behind hand, for ?the trumpet shall sound, and the dead
   shall be raised incorruptible,? and we shall drink of that millennial
   wine which Christ our Saviour hath reserved to the last. Saints! ye
   cannot tell what golden goblets those are of which ye shall drink in
   the thousand years of the Redeemer's triumph. Ye cannot tell what wine,
   sparkling and red, that shall be, which shall come from the vintage of
   the hills of glory, when he whose garments are red with treading the
   wine-press, shall descend in the great day and stand upon the earth.
   Why, the very thought of this cheered Job. ?I know that my Redeemer
   liveth, and that he shall stand at the latter day upon the earth: and
   though after my skin worms destroy this body, yet in my flesh shall I
   see God.? Let this rejoice and cheer thee, Christian, that the good
   wine is kept even unto that time.

   And now, having shown that this is the rule of Christ in the great
   dispensation which he uses to all his Church, I shall come to the
   subject of this evening, which is this: First, The fact that the
   believer shall find that Christ keeps for him the best wine till the
   last; secondly, The reason of Christ for so doing; and thirdly, The
   lesson which we ought to learn therefrom.

   I. First, THE FACT THAT CHRIST KEEPS HIS GOOD WINE TILL THE LAST. I was
   thinking as I rode here how very true this is of some of God's people.
   Why there are some of God's best beloved who have their names upon the
   breastplate of the great high priest, who are purchased with his blood,
   and are very dear to his soul, who have not known from their youth up
   what it is to get out of the depths of poverty. They have to live from
   hand to mouth, not knowing one day whence another meal shall come. How
   many more there are of God's people that are lying on beds of
   affliction. Some of the most precious of God's diamonds are lying on
   the dunghill of disease. Ye may go and climb to many a chamber where ye
   shall see the victims of all kinds of diseases, loathsome, protracted,
   and painful, and ye shall see God's dear ones languishing out a dying
   life. I might point you to others of God's servants, whose days are
   spent in toil. There is needed for the human body, and especially for
   the soul, a little rest and a little of the food of knowledge; but
   these have had so little instruction that they cannot get mental food
   ready for themselves; if they read they can scarce understand, and they
   have hard bondage in this life, which maketh their life bitter and
   hindereth them from knowledge. They have to work from morning to night,
   with scarce a moment's rest. Oh, beloved, will it not be true of them,
   when death shall give them their discharge, when they shall leave this
   world, which has been to them, with an emphasis, a vale of tears? Will
   not they have to say: ?Thou hast kept the good wine until now?? Oh,
   what a change for her who has come limping along these many Sabbath
   days to the sanctuary! for there, she shall go no more up to the Lord's
   house limping and lame, but the ?lame man shall leap like the hart,?
   and like Miriam, she shall dance with the daughters of Israel. Ah, ye
   may have had to suffer sickness and sorrow and pain, blindness and
   deafness, and a thousand of this world's ills: what a change for you,
   when you find them all gone! No racking pains, no pining want, no
   anxious care. Ye shall not have to cry for the sunlight to penetrate
   your abodes, or weep because your sight is failing through incessant
   labour with that murderous needle; but ye shall see the light of God,
   brighter than the light of the sun, and ye shall rejoice in the beams
   that proceed from his countenance. Ye shall have no more infirmities;
   immortality shall have covered and swallowed them up; that which was
   sown in weakness shall be raised in power; that which was sown
   disordered, full of pain and sorrow, and disjointed and full of agony,
   shall be raised full of delectable delights, no wore capable of
   anguish, but quivering with joy and bliss unspeakable. Ye shall no more
   be poor; ye shall be rich, richer than the miser's dream. Ye shall no
   more have to labour; there shall ye rest upon your beds, each one of
   you walking in your uprightness. Ye shall no more suffer from neglect
   and scorn and ignominy and persecution; ye shall be glorified with
   Christ, in the day when he shall come to be admired of them that love
   him. What a change for such! The best wine indeed is kept to the last,
   in their case, for they have never had any good wine here, to the eyes
   of men, though secretly they have had many a drink from the bottle of
   Jesus. He has often put his cordial cup to their lips. They have been
   like the ewe lamb that belonged to the man in Nathan's parable: they
   have drunk out of Christ's own cup on the earth, but still even sweeter
   than that cup shall he the draught which they shall receive at the
   last.

   But, my dear friends, although I put these first, as especially feeling
   the change, because we can see the difference, yet will it be true of
   the most favoured of God's children, all of them shall say, ?The best
   wine is kept till now.? Of all the men whom I might envy, I think I
   should first of all envy the apostle Paul. What a man! How highly
   favoured! how greatly gifted! how much blessed! Ah, Paul, thou couldst
   talk of revelations and of visions from on high. He heard things which
   it was unlawful for a man to utter, and he saw that which few eyes have
   ever seen. He was caught up into the third heaven. What draughts of joy
   the apostle Paul must have had! what lookings into the deep things of
   God! what soarings into the heights of heaven! Perhaps there was never
   a man who was more favoured of God; to have his mind expanded, and then
   to have it filled full with the wisdom and the revelation of the
   knowledge of the Most High. But ask the apostle Paul whether he
   believes there is anything better to come, and he tells you, ?Now we
   see through a glass darkly, but then shall we see face to face; now we
   know in part, hut then shall we know even as we are known.? He was
   evidently expecting something more than he had received; and, beloved,
   he was not disappointed. There was a heaven as much above all the
   enjoyments of Paul, as the enjoyments of Paul were above the
   depressions of his spirit, when he said, ?O wretched man that I am, who
   shall deliver me from the body of this death?? There are children of
   God who have all that they can need of this world's goods; they seem to
   be free from earthly care, and they have faith enough to trust their
   God with regard to the future. Their faith is firm and strong; they
   have much love to the Redeemer; they are engaged in some delightful
   work, and the Holy Spirit attends that work with great success. Their
   days follow steadily one after another, like the waves of the still
   calm sea. God is with them, and they are greatly blessed; they spread
   out their roots by the river, their leaf also doth not wither, and
   whatsoever they do, it prospereth; whichever way they turn their hand
   the Lord their God is with them, in whatsoever land they put their feet
   they are like Joshua, that land is given to them to be an inheritance
   to them for ever. But, beloved, even these shall see greater things
   than they have as yet heheld. High as their Master has taken them into
   the house of banqueting, lofty though the room be in which they now
   feast, the Master shall say to them, ?Come up higher.? They shall know
   more, enjoy more, feel more, do more, possess more. They shall be
   nearer to Christ ; they shall have richer enjoyments and sweeter
   employments than they have had; and they shall feel that their Master
   hath kept his good wine even until now.

   Entering into particulars for a moment, very briefly, I must just
   observe, that there are many aspects under which we may regard the
   heavenly state, and in each of these we shall have to say, that Christ
   hath kept the good wine until then. Here on earth the believer enters
   into rest by faith; the Christian enjoys rest even in the wilderness;
   the promise is fulfilled. ?They shall dwell safely in the wilderness,
   and sleep in the woods.? God giveth to his beloved sleep; there is a
   peace that passeth all understanding, which we may enjoy even in this
   land of turmoil, strife, and alarms,--a peace which the worldling
   knoweth not of, nor can he guess it.

   ?A holy calm within the heart,

   The pledge of glorious rest.

   Which for the church of God remains,

   The end of cares, the end of pains.?

   But beloved, drink as we may of the cup of peace, the good wine is kept
   until a future time. The peace we drink to-day is dashed with some
   drops of bitter. There are disturbing thoughts; the cares of this world
   will come, doubts will arise; live as we may in this world, we must
   have disquietudes; thorns in the flesh must come. But oh! the ?rest
   that remaineth for the people of God.? What good wine shall that be!
   God hath a sun without a spot, a sky without a cloud, a day without a
   night, a sea without a wave, a world without a tear. Happy are they
   who, having passed through this world, have entered into rest, and
   ceased from their own works, as God did from his, bathing their weary
   souls in seas of heavenly rest.

   View heaven under another aspect. It is a place of holy company. In
   this world we have had some good wine of sweet company. We can tell of
   many of the precious sons of Zion with whom we have taken sweet
   counsel; blessed be the Lord; the righteous have not all failed from
   among men. Some of you can remember golden names that were very dear to
   you in the days of your youth--of men and women with whom you used to
   go up to God's house and take sweet counsel. Ah, what words used to
   drop from their lips, and what sweet balm you had in the days of your
   sorrow when they comforted and consoled you: and you have friends still
   left, to whom you look up with some degree of reverence, while they
   look upon you with intense affection. There are some men that are
   comforters to your soul, and when you talk to them you feel that their
   heart answers to your heart, and that you can enjoy union and communion
   with them. But beloved, the good wine is kept till the last. All the
   fellowship with the saints that we have had here, is as nothing
   compared with what we are to enjoy in the world to come. How sweet it
   is for us to recollect, that in heaven we shall be in the company of
   the best men, the noblest men, the most mighty men, the most honourable
   and the most renowned. We shall sit with Moses, and talk with him of
   all his life of wonders; we shall walk with Joseph, and we shall hear
   from him of the grace that kept him in his hour of peril; I doubt not
   you and I shall have the privilege of sitting by the side of David, and
   hearing him recount the perils and the deliverances through which he
   passed. The saints of heaven make but one communion, they are not
   divided into separate classes; we shall be allowed to walk through all
   the glorious ranks, and hold fellowship with all of them; nor need we
   doubt but that we shall be able to know them all. There are many
   reasons which I could not now enumerate, for it would occupy me too
   much time, that seem to my mind to settle the point, that in heaven we
   shall know even as we are known, and shall perfectly know each other;
   and that indeed, makes us long to be there. ?The general assembly and
   church of the first-born, whose names are written in haven.? Oh, to get
   away from this poor church here, that is full of strifes and divisions,
   and bickerings and jealousies and animosities--to get away from the
   society of men that are full of infirmities, although they have much
   grace, and to get into a place where there shall be no infirmities in
   those with whom we talk--no hasty tempers,--where we cannot possibly
   strike a chord that would make a jarring note--when it shall not be in
   our power to raise among those holy birds of Paradise a cause of
   strife--when we shall walk in the midst of them all, and see love
   beaming from every eye, and feel that deep affection is seated in every
   heart. Oh! that will be the best wine. Are you not longing to drink of
   it?--to enter into that great church fellowship, and attend those
   glorious church meetings,

   ?Where all the chosen race

   Shall meet around the throne,

   To bless the conduct of his grace,

   And make his wonders known.?

   Again, look at heaven, if you will, in the point of knowledge. We know
   very much on earth that makes us happy; Jesus Christ hath taught us
   many things that give us joy and gladness. It is a world of ignorance,
   but still through grace we have entered into the school of the gospel,
   and we have learned some sweet truths. It is true we are very much like
   the boy who is beginning to write. We had to make many ugly pothooks
   and hangers, and we have not yet learned to write the sweet running
   hand of joy; but nevertheless, the Lord has taught us some great truths
   to fill our heart with joy;--the great doctrine of election, the
   knowledge of our redemption, the fact of our security in Christ; these
   great but simple doctrines have filled our hearts with bliss. But,
   brethren, the best wine is kept till the last, when the Lord Jesus
   Christ shall take the book and break the seals thereof, and permit us
   to read it all, then shall we rejoice indeed, for the best wine will be
   at our lips. There are old casks of knowledge that contain the richest
   wine, and Christ shall stave them in, and we shall drink of them to the
   full. It is not fit that we should know all things now,--we could not
   bear many things, and therefore Christ keeps them back; but

   ?There shall you see and hear and know

   All you desired or wished below,

   And every power find sweet employ

   In that eternal world of joy.?

   You may, if you please, look at heaven in another sense--as a place of
   manifestations and of joys. Now this world is a place of manifestations
   to the believer. Shall I venture for a moment, or even for a second, to
   talk of manifestations of himself which Christ is pleased to afford to
   his poor children on earth? No, beloved, your own experience shall
   supply my lack. I will only say that there are times when the Lord
   Jesus saith unto his beloved, ?Come, my beloved, let us go forth into
   the field; let us lodge in the villages. Let us get up early to the
   vineyards; let us see if the vine flourish, whether the tender grape
   appear, and the pomegranates bud forth: there will I give thee my
   loves.? But, what must be the fellowship of heaven? I fail to-night in
   attempting to talk to you of the best wine, for this simple reason--I
   believe there are very few men that can preach of heaven so as to
   interest you much, for you feel that all we can say is so far behind
   the reality, that we might as well have let it alone. Baxter might
   write a Saint's Rest, but I am no Baxter--would God I were! The day may
   come perhaps, when I may talk more copiously of these blessings; but at
   present, in my own soul, when I begin to talk of the communion of
   heaven, I seem overcome, I cannot imagine it; for the next thought that
   always succeeds my first attempt to think of it, is a thought of
   overwhelming gratitude, coupled with a kind of fear that this is too
   good for such an unworthy worm as I. It was a privilege for John to put
   his head on the Master's bosom, but that is nothing compared with the
   privilege of lying in his embrace forever. Oh! we must wait until we
   get there, and as one of old said, ?In five minutes you shall know more
   of heaven than I could tell you in all my life.? It needs but that we
   should see our Lord, that we should fly into his arms, that we should
   feel his embrace, that we should fall at his feet, and, was I about to
   say, weep for joy? No, that were impossible, but lie there, as it were
   dissolved away in ecstacy--to feel that we at least have arrived in
   that dear place which he hath spoken to us of when he said: ?Let not
   your heart be troubled; ye believe in God, believe also in me; in my
   Father's house there are many mansions; if it were not so I would have
   told you; I go to prepare a place for you.? Truly he hath kept the best
   wine until the last.

   II. And now, WHAT IS OUR LORD'S REASON FOR DOING THIS? That was the
   second point. Very briefly.

   The Lord might have given us the best wine first, but he will not act
   as the devil doth; he will always make a broad distinction between his
   dealings and the dealings of Satan.

   Again, he will not give us the best wine first, because that is not his
   good pleasure. ?Fear not, little flock, it is your Father's good
   pleasure to give you the kingdom.? That is the only reason why you will
   get it at all; and the reason why you do not receive it now is because
   it is not your Father's good pleasure that you should have it just yet.

   Again; your Father doth not give you the good wine now, because he is
   giving you an appetite for it. At the old feasts of the Romans men used
   to drink bitter things, and all kinds of singular and noxious mixtures,
   to make them thirsty. Now, in this world, God is, as it were, making
   his children thirsty, that they may take deeper draughts of heaven. I
   cannot think that heaven would be so sweet to me if I had not first to
   dwell on earth. Who knoweth best the sweet of rest? Is it not the
   labourer? Who understandeth best the joy of peace? Is it not the man
   who hath dwelt in the land of war? Who knoweth most the sweetness of
   joy? Is it not the man who hath passed through a world of sorrow? Ye
   are having your appetites sharpened by these trials; ye are being made
   ready to receive the fulness of joy that is in the presence of God for
   ever.

   Again, the Lord hath this also in view. He is making you fit for the
   best wine, that he may be glorified by the trial of your faith. If it
   were in my power to go to heaven to-night, and I could enter there, yet
   if I should have a suspicion that there was more to do or more to
   suffer here, I would infinitely prefer to wait my Father's time;
   because, methinks, in heaven we shall bless God for all we have
   suffered. When it is all over, how sweet it will be to talk of it! When
   you and I shall meet each other in the streets of heaven--and there be
   some of you that have had but few trials, but few doubtings and
   fearings, and tribulations and conflicts,--you will talk of how God
   delivered you; but you will not be able to talk as some of the tried
   saints will. Ah! what sweet stories some of them will tell! I should
   like to go by the side of Jonah, and hear how he went down to the
   bottom of the mountains, and how he thought the earth with her bars was
   about him for ever. And Jeremiah,--I often think what a deal we shall
   get out of Jeremiah in eternity,--what he will have to tell, who took
   such plunges into the sea of sorrow! And David, too, the sweet
   Psalmist, so full of experience, he will never have done talking of
   what the Lord has done for him! And I think you and I, when we get to
   heaven, will have enough to think of. As a poor woman once said, when
   she was in great doubt and fear whether she should be saved at all; she
   said in her prayer, ?Lord, if thou wilt save me, only one thing I can
   promise thee. If thou wilt take me to heaven thou shalt never hear the
   last of it, for I will praise thee while immortality lasts, and I will
   tell the angels thou savedst ME.? And this is the constant burden of
   heaven. They are each one wondering that he is there. Beloved, if we
   did not have to pass through these trials and troubles, and these soul
   conflicts, and such like, we should have very little to talk about in
   heaven. I have no doubt that the babes in paradise are as happy as the
   rest, but I do not wish to be a babe in paradise. I bless God I did not
   go to heaven when an infant: I shall have the more to praise God for,
   when I shall look back through a life of mercies, a life of trials, and
   yet a life of sustaining grace. There will be a louder song, because
   the deeper have been our troubles. These, I think, are some of God's
   reasons.

   III. And now, dear brethren and sisters, what shall I say about the
   LESSON WE ARE TO LEARN FROM THIS FACT of Christ keeping the best wine
   until now? Going home the other night I noticed the difference between
   the horse's pace in coming here and going home, and I thought to
   myself, ?Ah! the horse goes well, because he is going home;? and the
   thought struck me, ?How well a Christian ought to go, cause he is going
   home.? You know, if we were going from home, every rough stone in the
   road might check us, and we might need a good deal of whip to make us
   go. But it is going home. Bless God, every step we take is going home.
   It may be knee-deep in trouble, but it is all on the road; we may be
   ancle-deep in fear, but it is going home; I may stumble, but I always
   stumble homewards. All my afflictions and griefs, when they cast me
   down, but cast me onwards towards heaven. The mariner does not mind the
   waves, if every wave sends him nearer his haven, and he does not care
   how loudly howl the winds, if they only blow him nearer port. That is
   the Christian's happy lot: he is going homeward. Let that cheer thee,
   Christian, and make thee travel on joyfully, not needing the whip to
   urge thee to duty, but always going on with alacrity through duty and
   through trial, because thou art going homeward.

   Again: if we have the best things to come dear friends, do not let us
   be discontented. Let us put up with a few of the bad things now, for
   they only seem to be so. A traveller who is on a journey in a hurry, if
   he has to stay for a night at an inn, he may grumble a little at the
   want of accommodation, but he does not say very much, because he is off
   to-morrow, he is only stopping a short time at the inn; he says, ?I
   shall get home to-morrow night,? and then he thinks of the joys of
   home, and does not care about the discomforts of his hard journey. You
   and I are travellers. It will soon be over. We may have had but a very
   few shillings a week compared with our neighbour, but we shall be equal
   with him when we get there. He may have had a large house, with a great
   many rooms, while we had, it may be only one upper room; ah! we shall
   have as large a mansion as he in Paradise. We shall soon be at the
   journey's end, and then the road will not signify, long as we have got
   there. Come! let us put up with these few inconveniences on the road,
   for the best wine is coming; let us pour away all the vinegar of
   murmuring, for the best wine shall come.

   Once more; if the Christian has the best wine to come, why should he
   envy the worldling? David did; he was discontented when he saw the
   prosperity of the wicked, and you and I are often tempted to do it; but
   you know what we ought to say when we see the wicked prosper, when we
   see them happy, and full of delights of sinful pleasure. We ought to
   say, ?Ah! my good wine is to come; I can bear that you should have your
   turn; my turn will tome afterwards; I can be put off with these things,
   and lie with Lazarus at the gate, while the dogs lick my sores; my turn
   is to come, when the angels shall carry me into Abraham's bosom, and
   your turn is to come too, when in hell you lift up your eyes, being in
   torments.

   Christian, what more shall I say to thee?--though there be a thousand
   lessons to learn from this, that the best wine is kept to the last.
   ?Take heed to thyself, that thou also keepest thy good wine until the
   last. The further thou goest on the road, seek to bring to thy Saviour
   the more acceptable sacrifice. Thou hadst little faith years ago: man!
   bring out the good wine now! Seek to have more faith. Thy Master is
   better to thee every day, and thou shalt see him to he the best of all
   Masters and friends. Seek to be better to thy Master every day; be more
   generous to his cause, more active to labour for him, more kind to his
   people, more diligent in prayer; and take heed that as thou growest in
   years thow growest in grace, so that when thou comest at last to the
   river Jordan, and the Master shall give thee the best wine, thou mayest
   also give to him the best wine, and praise him most loudly when the
   battle shall just be over, and when the whirlwind is dying away into
   the everlasting peace of paradise.?

   And now, dear friends, I am conscious that I have totally failed in
   endeavouring to bring forth this good wine; but it is written that God
   hath revealed it unto us by his Spirit, but that ear hath not heard it.
   Now, if I had told it to you to-night your ear would have heard it, and
   the text would not have been true; and as I have unwittingly proved the
   truth of this Scripture, I cannot be very sorry at having helped to
   witness the truth of my Master's word. Only this I say,--the nearer you
   live to Christ the nearer you will be to heaven, for if there is one
   place next door to Pisgah it is Calvary. It may seem strange, but if
   you live much on Calvary you live very near Nebo; for although Moses
   may have seen Canaan from Nebo, I have never seen heaven anywhere but
   close to Calvary. When I have seen my Saviour crucified, then I have
   seen him glorified; when I have read my name written in his blood, then
   I have seen afterwards my mansion which he has prepared for me. When I
   have seen my sins washed away, then I have seen the white robe that I
   am to wear for ever. Live near to the Saviour, man, and you shall not
   be very far off heaven. Recollect, after all, it is not far to heaven.
   It is only one gentle sigh, and we are there. We talk of it as a land
   very far off, but close it is, and who knows but that the spirits of
   the just are here to-night? Heaven is close to us; we cannot tell where
   it is, but this we know, that it is not a far off land. It is so near,
   that, swifter than thought, we shall be there, emancipated from our
   care and woe, and blessed for ever.
     __________________________________________________________________

                             Compel Them to Come In

   A Sermon

   (No. 227)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 5th, 1858, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?Compel them to come in.?--Luke 14:23.

   I FEEL in such a haste to go out and obey this commandment this
   morning, by compelling those to come in who are now tarrying in the
   highways and hedges, that I cannot wait for an introduction, but must
   at once set about my business.

   Hear then, O ye that are strangers to the truth as it is in Jesus--hear
   then the message that I have to bring you. Ye have fallen, fallen in
   your father Adam; ye have fallen also in yourselves, by your daily sin
   and your constant iniquity; you have provoked the anger of the Most
   High; and as assuredly as you have sinned, so certainly must God punish
   you if you persevere in your iniquity, for the Lord is a God of
   justice, and will by no means spare the guilty. But have you not heard,
   hath it not long been spoken in your ears, that God, in his infinite
   mercy, has devised a way whereby, without any infringement upon his
   honour, he can have mercy upon you, the guilty and the undeserving? To
   you I speak; and my voice is unto you, O sons of men; Jesus Christ,
   very God of very God, hath descended from heaven, and was made in the
   likeness of sinful flesh. Begotten of the Holy Ghost, he was born of
   the Virgin Mary; he lived in this world a life of exemplary holiness,
   and of the deepest suffering, till at last he gave himself up to die
   for our sins, ?the just for the unjust, to bring us to God.? And now
   the plan of salvation is simply declared unto you--?Whosoever believeth
   in the Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved.? For you who have violated all
   the precepts of God, and have disdained his mercy and dared his
   vengeance, there is yet mercy proclaimed, for ?whosoever calleth upon
   the name of the Lord shall be saved.? ?For this is a faithful saying
   and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to
   save sinners, of whom I am chief;? ?whosoever cometh unto him he will
   in no wise cast out, for he is able also to save unto the uttermost
   them that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make
   intercession for us.? Now all that God asks of you--and this he gives
   you--is that you will simply look at his bleeding dying son, and trust
   your souls in the hands of him whose name alone can save from death and
   hell. Is it not a marvelous thing, that the proclamation of this gospel
   does not receive the unanimous consent of men? One would think that as
   soon as ever this was preached, ?That whosoever believeth shall have
   eternal life,? every one of you, ?casting away every man his sins and
   his iniquities,? would lay hold on Jesus Christ, and look alone to his
   cross. But alas! such is the desperate evil of our nature, such the
   pernicious depravity of our character, that this message is despised,
   the invitation to the gospel feast is rejected, and there are many of
   you who are this day enemies of God by wicked works, enemies to the God
   who preaches Christ to you to-day, enemies to him who sent his Son to
   give his life a ransom for many. Strange I say it is that it should be
   so, yet nevertheless it is the fact, and hence the necessity for the
   command of the text,--?Compel them to come in.?

   Children of God, ye who have believed, I shall have little or nothing
   to say to you this morning; I am going straight to my business--I am
   going after those that will not come--those that are in the byways and
   hedges, and God going with me, it is my duty now to fulfil this
   command, ?Compel them to come in.?

   First, I must, find you out; secondly, I will go to work to compel you
   to come in.

   I. First, I must FIND YOU OUT. If you read the verses that precede the
   text, you will find an amplification of this command: ?Go out quickly
   into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor,
   the maimed, the halt, and the blind;? and then, afterwards, ?Go out
   into the highways,? bring in the vagrants, the highwaymen, ?and into
   the hedges,? bring in those that have no resting-place for their heads,
   and are lying under the hedges to rest, bring them in also, and ?compel
   them to come in.? Yes, I see you this morning, you that are poor. I am
   to compel you to come in. You are poor in circumstances, but this is no
   barrier to the kingdom of heaven, for God hath not exempted from his
   grace the man that shivers in rags, and who is destitute of bread. In
   fact, if there be any distinction made, the distinction is on your
   side, and for your benefit--?Unto you is the word of salvation sent?;
   ?For the poor have the gospel preached unto them.? But especially I
   must speak to you who are poor, spiritually. You have no faith, you
   have no virtue, you have no good work, you have no grace, and what is
   poverty worse still, you have no hope. Ah, my Master has sent you a
   gracious invitation. Come and welcome to the marriage feast of his
   love. ?Whosoever will, let him come and take of the waters of life
   freely.? Come, I must lay hold upon you, though you be defiled with
   foulest filth, and though you have nought but rags upon your back,
   though your own righteousness has become as filthy clouts, yet must I
   lay hold upon you, and invite you first, and even compel you to come
   in.

   And now I see you again. You are not only poor, but you are maimed.
   There was a time when you thought you could work out your own salvation
   without God's help, when you could perform good works, attend to
   ceremonies, and get to heaven by yourselves; but now you are maimed,
   the sword of the law has cut off your hands, and now you can work no
   longer; you say, with bitter sorrow--

   ?The best performance of my hands,

   Dares not appear before thy throne.?

   You have lost all power now to obey the law; you feel that when you
   would do good, evil is present with you. You are maimed; you have given
   up, as a forlorn hope, all attempt to save yourself, because you are
   maimed and your arms are gone. But you are worse off than that, for if
   you could not work your way to heaven, yet you could walk your way
   there along the road by faith; but you are maimed in the feet as well
   as in the hands; you feel that you cannot believe, that you cannot
   repent, that you cannot obey the stipulations of the gospel. You feel
   that you are utterly undone, powerless in every respect to do anything
   that can be pleasing to God. In fact, you are crying out--

   ?Oh, could I but believe,

   Then all would easy be,

   I would, but cannot, Lord relieve,

   My help must come from thee.?

   To you am I sent also. Before you am I to lift up the blood-stained
   banner of the cross, to you am I to preach this gospel, ?Whoso calleth
   upon the name of the Lord shall be saved;? and unto you am I to cry,
   ?Whosoever will, let him come and take of the water of life freely.?

   There is yet another class. You are halt. You are halting between two
   opinions. You are sometimes seriously inclined, and at another time
   worldly gaiety calls you away. What little progress you do make in
   religion is but a limp. You have a little strength, but that is so
   little that you make but painful progress. Ah, limping brother, to you
   also is the word of this salvation sent. Though you halt between two
   opinions, the Master sends me to you with this message: ?How long halt
   ye between two opinions? if God be God, serve him; if Baal be God,
   serve him.? Consider thy ways; set thine house in order, for thou shalt
   die and not live. Because I will do this, prepare to meet thy God, O
   Israel! Halt no longer, but decide for God and his truth.

   And yet I see another class,--the blind. Yes, you that cannot see
   yourselves, that think yourselves good when you are full of evil, that
   put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter, darkness for light and light
   for darkness; to you am I sent. You, blind souls that cannot see your
   lost estate, that do not believe that sin is so exceedingly sinful as
   it is, and who will not be persuaded to think that God is a just and
   righteous God, to you am I sent. To you too that cannot see the
   Saviour, that see no beauty in him that you should desire him; who see
   no excellence in virtue, no glories in religion, no happiness in
   serving God, no delight in being his children; to you, also, am I sent.
   Ay, to whom am I not sent if I take my text? For it goes further than
   this--it not only gives a particular description, so that each
   individual case may be met, but afterwards it makes a general sweep,
   and says, ?Go into the highways and hedges.? Here we bring in all ranks
   and conditions of men--my lord upon his horse in the highway, and the
   woman trudging about her business, the thief waylaying the
   traveller--all these are in the highway, and they are all to be
   compelled to come in, and there away in the hedges there lie some poor
   souls whose refuges of lies are swept away, and who are seeking not to
   find some little shelter for their weary heads, to you, also, are we
   sent this morning. This is the universal command--compel them to come
   in.

   Now, I pause after having described the character, I pause to look at
   the herculean labour that lies before me. Well did Melanchthon say,
   ?Old Adam was too strong for young Melanchthon.? As well might a little
   child seek to compel a Samson, as I seek to lead a sinner to the cross
   of Christ. And yet my Master sends me about the errand. Lo, I see the
   great mountain before me of human depravity and stolid indifference,
   but by faith I cry, ?Who art thou, O great mountain? before Zerubbabel
   thou shalt become a plain.? Does my Master say, compel them to come in?
   Then, though the sinner be like Samson and I a child, I shall lead him
   with a thread. If God saith do it, if I attempt it in faith it shall be
   done; and if with a groaning, struggling, and weeping heart, I so seek
   this day to compel sinners to come to Christ, the sweet compulsions of
   the Holy Spirit shall go with every word, and some indeed shall be
   compelled to come in.

   II. And now to the work --directly to the work. Unconverted,
   unreconciled, unregenerate men and women, I am to COMPEL YOU TO COME
   IN. Permit me first of all to accost you in the highways of sin and
   tell you over again my errand. The King of heaven this morning sends a
   gracious invitation to you. He says, ?As I live, saith the Lord, I have
   no pleasure in the death of him that dieth, but had rather that he
   should turn unto me and live:? ?Come now, and let us reason together,
   saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as wool;
   though they be red like crimson they shall be whiter than snow.? Dear
   brother, it makes my heart rejoice to think that I should have such
   good news to tell you, and yet I confess my soul is heavy because I see
   you do not think it good news, but turn away from it, and do not give
   it due regard. Permit me to tell you what the King has done for you. He
   knew your guilt, he foresaw that you would ruin yourself. He knew that
   his justice would demand your blood, and in order that this difficulty
   might be escaped, that his justice might have its full due, and that
   you might yet be saved, Jesus Christ hath died. Will you just for a
   moment glance at this picture. You see that man there on his knees in
   the garden of Gethsemane, sweating drops of blood. You see this next:
   you see that miserable sufferer tied to a pillar and lashed with
   terrible scourges, till the shoulder bones are seen like white islands
   in the midst of a sea of blood. Again you see this third picture; it is
   the same man hanging on the cross with hands extended, and with feet
   nailed fast, dying, groaning, bleeding; methought the picture spoke and
   said, ?It is finished.? Now all this hath Jesus Christ of Nazareth
   done, in order that God might consistently with his justice pardon sin;
   and the message to you this morning is this--?Believe on the Lord Jesus
   Christ and thou shalt be saved.? That is trust him, renounce thy works,
   and thy ways, and set thine heart alone on this man, who gave himself
   for sinners.

   Well brother, I have told you the message, what sayest thou unto it? Do
   you turn away? You tell me it is nothing to you; you cannot listen to
   it; that you will hear me by-and-by; but you will go your way this day
   and attend to your farm and merchandize. Stop brother, I was not told
   merely to tell you and then go about my business. No; I am told to
   compel you to come in; and permit me to observe to you before I further
   go, that there is one thing I can say--and to which God is my witness
   this morning, that I am in earnest with you in my desire that you
   should comply with this command of God. You may despise your own
   salvation, but I do not despise it; you may go away and forget what you
   shall hear, but you will please to remember that the things I now say
   cost me many a groan ere I came here to utter them. My inmost soul is
   speaking out to you, my poor brother, when I beseech you by him that
   liveth and was dead, and is alive for evermore, consider my master's
   message which he bids me now address to you.

   But do you spurn it? Do you still refuse it? Then I must change my tone
   a minute. I will not merely tell you the message, and invite you as I
   do with all earnestness, and sincere affection--I will go further.
   Sinner, in God's name I command you to repent and believe. Do you ask
   me whence my authority? I am an ambassador of heaven. My credentials,
   some of them secret, and in my own heart; and others of them open
   before you this day in the seals of my ministry, sitting and standing
   in this hall, where God has given me many souls for my hire. As God the
   everlasting one hath given me a commission to preach his gospel, I
   command you to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; not on my own
   authority, but on the authority of him who said, ?Go ye into all the
   world and preach the gospel to every creature;? and then annexed this
   solemn sanction, ?He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, but
   he that believeth not shall be damned.? Reject my message, and remember
   ?He that despised Moses's law, died without mercy under two or three
   witnesses: of how much sorer punishment, suppose ye, shall he be
   thought worthy, who hath trodden under foot the Son of God.? An
   ambassador is not to stand below the man with whom he deals, for we
   stand higher. If the minister chooses to take his proper rank, girded
   with the omnipotence of God, and anointed with his holy unction, he is
   to command men, and speak with all authority compelling them to come
   in: ?command, exhort, rebuke with all long-suffering.?

   But do you turn away and say you will not be commanded? Then again will
   I change my note. If that avails not, all other means shall be tried.
   My brother, I come to you simple of speech, and I exhort you to flee to
   Christ. O my brother, dost thou know what a loving Christ he is? Let me
   tell thee from my own soul what I know of him. I, too, once despised
   him. He knocked at the door of my heart and I refused to open it. He
   came to me, times without number, morning by morning, and night by
   night; he checked me in my conscience and spoke to me by his Spirit,
   and when, at last, the thunders of the law prevailed in my conscience,
   I thought that Christ was cruel and unkind. O I can never forgive
   myself that I should have thought so ill of him. But what a loving
   reception did I have when I went to him. I thought he would smite me,
   but his hand was not clenched in anger but opened wide in mercy. I
   thought full sure that his eyes would dart lightning-flashes of wrath
   upon me; but, instead thereof, they were full of tears. He fell upon my
   neck and kissed me; he took off my rags and did clothe me with his
   righteousness, and caused my soul to sing aloud for joy; while in the
   house of my heart and in the house of his church there was music and
   dancing, because his son that he had lost was found, and he that was
   dead was made alive. I exhort you, then, to look to Jesus Christ and to
   be lightened. Sinner, you will never regret,--I will be bondsman for my
   Master that you will never regret it,--you will have no sigh to go back
   to your state of condemnation; you shall go out of Egypt and shall go
   into the promised land and shall find it flowing with milk and honey.
   The trials of Christian life you shall find heavy, but you will find
   grace will make them light. And as for the joys and delights of being a
   child of God, if I lie this day you shall charge me with it in days to
   come. If you will taste and see that the Lord is good, I am not afraid
   but that you shall find that he is not only good, but better than human
   lips ever can describe.

   I know not what arguments to use with you. I appeal to your own
   self-interests. Oh my poor friend, would it not be better for you to be
   reconciled to the God of heaven, than to be his enemy? What are you
   getting by opposing God? Are you the happier for being his enemy?
   Answer, pleasure-seeker; hast thou found delights in that cup? Answer
   me, self-righteous man: hast thou found rest for the sole of thy foot
   in all thy works? Oh thou that goest about to establish thine own
   righteousness, I charge thee let conscience speak. Hast thou found it
   to be a happy path? Ah, my friend, ?Wherefore dost thou spend thy money
   for that which is not bread, and thy labour for that which satisfieth
   not; hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let
   your soul delight itself in fatness.? I exhort you by everything that
   is sacred and solemn, everything that is important and eternal, flee
   for your lives, look not behind you, stay not in all the plain, stay
   not until you have proved, and found an interest in the blood of Jesus
   Christ, that blood which cleanseth us from all sin. Are you still cold
   and indifferent? Will not the blind man permit me to lead him to the
   feast? Will not my maimed brother put his hand upon my shoulder and
   permit me to assist him to the banquet? Will not the poor man allow me
   to walk side-by-side with him? Must I use some stronger words. Must I
   use some other compulsion to compel you to come in? Sinners, this one
   thing I am resolved upon this morning, if you be not saved ye shall be
   without excuse. Ye, from the grey-headed down to the tender age of
   childhood, if ye this day lay not hold on Christ, your blood shall be
   on your own head. If there be power in man to bring his fellow, (as
   there is when man is helped by the Holy Spirit) that power shall be
   exercised this morning, God helping me. Come, I am not to be put off by
   your rebuffs; if my exhortation fails, I must come to something else.
   My brother, I entreat you, I entreat you stop and consider. Do you know
   what it is you are rejecting this morning? You are rejecting Christ,
   your only Saviour. ?Other foundation can no man lay;? ?there is none
   other name given among men whereby we must be saved.? My brother, I
   cannot bear that ye should do this, for I remember what you are
   forgetting: the day is coming when you will want a Saviour. It is not
   long ere weary months shall have ended, and your strength begin to
   decline; your pulse shall fail you, your strength shall depart, and you
   and the grim monster--death, must face each other. What will you do in
   the swellings of Jordan without a Saviour? Death-beds are stony things
   without the Lord Jesus Christ. It is an awful thing to die anyhow; he
   that hath the best hope, and the most triumphant faith, finds that
   death is not a thing to laugh at. It is a terrible thing to pass from
   the seen to the unseen, from the mortal to the immortal, from time to
   eternity, and you will find it hard to go through the iron gates of
   death without the sweet wings of angels to conduct you to the portals
   of the skies. It will be a hard thing to die without Christ. I cannot
   help thinking of you. I see you acting the suicide this morning, and I
   picture myself standing at your bedside and hearing your cries, and
   knowing that you are dying without hope. I cannot bear that. I think I
   am standing by your coffin now, and looking into your clay-cold face,
   and saying. ?This man despised Christ and neglected the great
   salvation.? I think what bitter tears I shall weep then, if I think
   that I have been unfaithful to you, and how those eyes fast closed in
   death, shall seem to chide me and say, ?Minister, I attended the music
   hall, but you were not in earnest with me; you amused me, you preached
   to me, but you did not plead with me. You did not know what Paul meant
   when he said, As though God did beseech you by us we pray you in
   Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.'?

   I entreat you let this message enter your heart for another reason. I
   picture myself standing at the bar of God. As the Lord liveth, the day
   of judgment is coming. You believe that? You are not an infidel; your
   conscience would not permit you to doubt the Scripture. Perhaps you may
   have pretended to do so, but you cannot. You feel there must be a day
   when God shall judge the world in righteousness. I see you standing in
   the midst of that throng, and the eye of God is fixed on you. It seems
   to you that he is not looking anywhere else, but only upon you, and he
   summons you before him; and he reads your sins, and he cries, ?Depart
   ye cursed into everlasting fire in hell!? My hearer, I cannot bear to
   think of you in that position; it seems as if every hair on my head
   must stand on end to think of any hearer of mine being damned. Will you
   picture yourselves in that position? The word has gone forth, ?Depart,
   ye cursed.? Do you see the pit as it opens to swallow you up? Do you
   listen to the shrieks and the yells of those who have preceded you to
   that eternal lake of torment? Instead of picturing the scene, I turn to
   you with the words of the inspired prophet, and I say, ?Who among us
   shall dwell with the devouring fire? Who among us shall dwell with
   everlasting burnings?? Oh! my brother, I cannot let you put away
   religion thus; no, I think of what is to come after death. I should be
   destitute of all humanity if I should see a person about to poison
   himself, and did not dash away the cup; or if I saw another about to
   plunge from London Bridge, if I did not assist in preventing him from
   doing so; and I should be worse than a fiend if I did not now, with all
   love, and kindness, and earnestness, beseech you to ?lay hold on
   eternal life,? ?to labour not for the meat that perisheth, but for the
   meat that endureth unto everlasting life.?

   Some hyper-calvinist would tell me I am wrong in so doing. I cannot
   help it. I must do it. As I must stand before my Judge at last, I feel
   that I shall not make full proof of my ministry unless I entreat with
   many tears that ye would be saved, that ye would look unto Jesus Christ
   and receive his glorious salvation. But does not this avail? are all
   our entreaties lost upon you; do you turn a deaf ear? Then again I
   change my note. Sinner, I have pleaded with you as a man pleadeth with
   his friend, and were it for my own life I could not speak more
   earnestly this morning than I do speak concerning yours. I did feel
   earnest about my own soul, but not a whit more than I do about the
   souls of my congregation this morning; and therefore, if ye put away
   these entreaties I have something else:--I must threaten you. You shall
   not always have such warnings as these. A day is coming, when hushed
   shall be the voice of every gospel minister, at least for you; for your
   ear shall be cold in death. It shall not be any more threatening; it
   shall be the fulfillment of the threatening. There shall be no promise,
   no proclamations of pardon and of mercy; no peace-speaking blood, but
   you shall be in the land where the Sabbath is all swallowed up in
   everlasting nights of misery, and where the preachings of the gospel
   are forbidden because they would be unavailing. I charge you then,
   listen to this voice that now addresses your conscience; for if not,
   God shall speak to you in his wrath, and say unto you in his hot
   displeasure, ?I called and ye refused; I stretched out my hand and no
   man regarded; therefore will I mock at your calamity; I will laugh when
   your fear cometh.? Sinner, I threaten you again. Remember, it is but a
   short time you may have to hear these warnings. You imagine that your
   life will be long, but do you know how short it is? Have you ever tried
   to think how frail you are? Did you ever see a body when it has been
   cut in pieces by the anatomist? Did you ever see such a marvelous thing
   as the human frame?

   ?Strange, a harp of a thousand strings,

   Should keep in tune so long.?

   Let but one of those cords be twisted, let but a mouthful of food go in
   the wrong direction, and you may die. The slightest chance, as we have
   it, may send you swift to death, when God wills it. Strong men have
   been killed by the smallest and slightest accident, and so may you. In
   the chapel, in the house of God, men have dropped down dead. How often
   do we hear of men falling in our streets--rolling out of time into
   eternity, by some sudden stroke. And are you sure that heart of your's
   is quite sound? Is the blood circulating with all accuracy? Are you
   quite sure of that? And if it be so, how long shall it be? O, perhaps
   there are some of you here that shall never see Christmas-day; it may
   be the mandate has gone forth already, ?Set thine house in order, for
   thou shalt die and not live.? Out of this vast congregation, I might
   with accuracy tell how many will be dead in a year; but certain it is
   that the whole of us shall never meet together again in any one
   assembly. Some out of this vast crowd, perhaps some two or three, shall
   depart ere the new year shall be ushered in. I remind you, then, my
   brother, that either the gate of salvation may be shut, or else you may
   be out of the place where the gate of mercy stands. Come, then, let the
   threatening have power with you. I do not threaten because I would
   alarm without cause, but in hopes that a brother's threatening may
   drive you to the place where God hath prepared the feast of the gospel.
   And now, must I turn hopelessly away? Have I exhausted all that I can
   say? No, I will come to you again. Tell me what it is, my brother, that
   keeps you from Christ. I hear one say, ?Oh, sir, it is because I feel
   myself too guilty.? That cannot be, my friend, that cannot be. ?But,
   sir, I am the chief of sinners.? Friend, you are not. The chief of
   sinners died and went to heaven many years ago; his name was Saul of
   Tarsus, afterwards called Paul the apostle. He was the chief of
   sinners, I know he spoke the truth. ?No,? but you say still, ?I am too
   vile.? You cannot be viler than the chief of sinners. You must, at
   least, be second worst. Even supposing you are the worst now alive, you
   are second worst, for he was chief. But suppose you are the worst, is
   not that the very reason why you should come to Christ. The worse a man
   is, the more reason he should go to the hospital or physician. The more
   poor you are, the more reason you should accept the charity of another.
   Now, Christ does not want any merits of your's. He gives freely. The
   worse you are, the more welcome you are. But let me ask you a question:
   Do you think you will ever get better by stopping away from Christ? If
   so, you know very little as yet of the way of salvation at all. No,
   sir, the longer you stay, the worse you will grow; your hope will grow
   weaker, your despair will become stronger; the nail with which Satan
   has fastened you down will be more firmly clenched, and you will be
   less hopeful than ever. Come, I beseech you, recollect there is nothing
   to be gained by delay, but by delay everything may be lost. ?But,?
   cries another, ?I feel I cannot believe.? No, my friend, and you never
   will believe if you look first at your believing. Remember, I am not
   come to invite you to faith, but am come to invite you to Christ. But
   you say, ?What is the difference?? Why, just this, if you first of all
   say, ?I want to believe a thing,? you never do it. But your first
   inquiry must be, ?What is this thing that I am to believe?? Then will
   faith come as the consequence of that search. Our first business has
   not to do with faith, but with Christ. Come, I beseech you, on
   Calvary's mount, and see the cross. Behold the Son of God, he who made
   the heavens and the earth, dying for your sins. Look to him, is there
   not power in him to save? Look at his face so full of pity. Is there
   not love in his heart to prove him willing to save? Sure sinner, the
   sight of Christ will help thee to believe. Do not believe first, and
   then go to Christ, or else thy faith will be a worthless thing; go to
   Christ without any faith, and cast thyself upon him, sink or swim. But
   I hear another cry, ?Oh sir, you do not know how often I have been
   invited, how long I have rejected the Lord.? I do not know, and I do
   not want to know; all I know is that my Master has sent me, to compel
   you to come in; so come along with you now. You may have rejected a
   thousand invitations; don't make this the thousandth-and-one. You have
   been up to the house of God, and you have only been gospel hardened.
   But do I not see a tear in your eye; come, my brother, don't be
   hardened by this morning's sermon. O, Spirit of the living God, come
   and melt this heart for it has never been melted, and compel him to
   come in! I cannot let you go on such idle excuses as that; if you have
   lived so many years slighting Christ, there are so many reasons why now
   you should not slight him. But did I hear you whisper that this was not
   a convenient time? Then what must I say to you? When will that
   convenient time come? Shall it come when you are in hell? Will that
   time be convenient? Shall it come when you are on your dying bed, and
   the death throttle is in your throat--shall it come then? Or when the
   burning sweat is scalding your brow; and then again, when the cold
   clammy sweat is there, shall those be convenient times? When pains are
   racking you, and you are on the borders of the tomb? No, sir, this
   morning is the convenient time. May God make it so. Remember, I have no
   authority to ask you to come to Christ to-morrow. The Master has given
   you no invitation to come to him next Tuesday. The invitation is,
   ?To-day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts as in the
   provocation,? for the Spirit saith ?to-day.? ?Come now and let us
   reason together;? why should you put it off? It may be the last warning
   you shall ever have. Put it off, and you may never weep again in
   chapel. You may never have so earnest a discourse addressed to you. You
   may not be pleaded with as I would plead with you now. You may go away,
   and God may say, ?He is given unto idols, let him alone.? He shall
   throw the reins upon your neck; and then, mark--your course is sure,
   but it is sure damnation and swift destruction.

   And now again, is it all in vain? Will you not now come to Christ? Then
   what more can I do? I have but one more resort, and that shall be
   tried. I can be permitted to weep for you; I can be allowed to pray for
   you. You shall scorn the address if you like; you shall laugh at the
   preacher; you shall call him fanatic if you will; he will not chide
   you, he will bring no accusation against you to the great Judge. Your
   offence, so far as he is concerned, is forgiven before it is committed;
   but you will remember that the message that you are rejecting this
   morning is a message from one who loves you, and it is given to you
   also by the lips of one who loves you. You will recollect that you may
   play your soul away with the devil, that you may listlessly think it a
   matter of no importance; but there lives at least one who is in earnest
   about your soul, and one who before he came here wrestled with his God
   for strength to preach to you, and who when he has gone from this place
   will not forget his hearers of this morning. I say again, when words
   fail us we can give tears--for words and tears are the arms with which
   gospel ministers compel men to come in. You do not know, and I suppose
   could not believe, how anxious a man whom God has called to the
   ministry feels about his congregation, and especially about some of
   them. I heard but the other day of a young man who attended here a long
   time, and his father's hope was that he would be brought to Christ. He
   became acquainted, however, with an infidel; and now he neglects his
   business, and lives in a daily course of sin. I saw his father's poor
   wan face; I did not ask him to tell me the story himself, for I felt it
   was raking up a trouble and opening a sore; I fear, sometimes, that
   good man's grey hairs may be brought with sorrow to the grave. Young
   men, you do not pray for yourselves, but your mothers wrestle for you.
   You will not think of your own souls, but your fathers anxiety is
   exercised for you. I have been at prayer meetings, when I have heard
   children of God pray there, and they could not have prayed with more
   earnestness and more intensity of anguish if they had been each of them
   seeking their own soul's salvation. And is it not strange that we
   should be ready to move heaven and earth for your salvation, and that
   still you should have no thought for yourselves, no regard to eternal
   things?

   Now I turn for one moment to some here. There are some of you here
   members of Christian churches, who make a profession of religion, but
   unless I be mistaken in you--and I shall be happy if I am--your
   profession is a lie. You do not live up to it, you dishonour it; you
   can live in the perpetual practice of absenting yourselves from God's
   house, if not in sins worse than that. Now I ask such of you who do not
   adorn the doctrine of God your Saviour, do you imagine that you can
   call me your pastor, and yet that my soul cannot tremble over you and
   in secret weep for you? Again, I say it may be but little concern to
   you how you defile the garments of your Christianity, but it is a great
   concern to God's hidden ones, who sigh and cry, and groan for the
   iniquities of the professors of Zion.

   Now does anything else remain to the minister besides weeping and
   prayer? Yes, there is one thing else. God has given to his servants not
   the power of regeneration, but he has given them something akin to it.
   It is impossible for any man to regenerate his neighbour; and yet how
   are men born to God? Does not the apostle say of such an one that he
   was begotten by him in his bonds. Now the minister has a power given
   him of God, to be considered both the father and the mother of those
   born to God, for the apostle said he travailed in birth for souls till
   Christ was formed in them. What can we do then? We can now appeal to
   the Spirit. I know I have preached the gospel, that I have preached it
   earnestly; I challenge my Master to honour his own promise. He has said
   it shall not return unto me void, and it shall not. It is in his hands,
   not mine. I cannot compel you, but thou O Spirit of God who hast the
   key of the heart, thou canst compel. Did you ever notice in that
   chapter of the Revelation, where it says, ?Behold I stand at the door
   and knock,? a few verses before, the same person is described, as he
   who hath the key of David. So that if knocking will not avail, he has
   the key and can and will come in. Now if the knocking of an earnest
   minister prevail not with you this morning, there remains still that
   secret opening of the heart by the Spirit, so that you shall be
   compelled.

   I thought it my duty to labour with you as though I must do it; now I
   throw it into my Master's hands. It cannot be his will that we should
   travail in birth, and yet not bring forth spiritual children. It is
   with him; he is master of the heart, and the day shall declare it, that
   some of you constrained by sovereign grace have become the willing
   captives of the all-conquering Jesus, and have bowed your hearts to him
   through the sermon of this morning.

   [Mr. Spurgeon concluded with a very interesting anecdote, but as its
   insertion would make the sermon too long for a penny number, the
   publishers have decided to print it as one of the ?New Park Street
   Tracts.?]
     __________________________________________________________________

                                   The Blood

   A Sermon

   (No. 228)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 12th, 1858, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?When I see the blood, I will pass over you.?--Exodus 12:13.

   GOD'S PEOPLE ARE ALWAYS SAFE. ?All the saints are in his hand;? and the
   hand of God is a place for safety, as well as a place of honour.
   Nothing can hurt the man who has made his refuge God. ?Thou hast given
   commandment to save me,? said David; and every believing child of God
   may say the same. Plague, famine, war, tempest,--all these have
   received commandment of God to save his people. Though the earth should
   rock beneath the feet of man, yet the Christian, may stand fast, and
   though the heavens should be rolled up, and the firmament should pass
   away like a scroll that is burned by fervent heat, yet need not a
   Christian fear; God's people shall be saved: if they cannot be saved
   under the heavens, they shall be saved in the heavens; if there be no
   safety for them in the time of trouble upon this solid earth, they
   shall be ?caught up together with the Lord in the air, and so shall
   they be ever with the Lord,? and ever safe.

   Now, at the time of which this Book of Exodus speaks, Egypt was exposed
   to a terrible peril. Jehovah himself was about to march through the
   streets of all the cities of Egypt. It was not merely a destroying
   angel, but Jehovah himself; for thus it is written, ?I will pass
   through the land of Egypt this night, and will smite all the first-born
   in the land of Egypt, both man and beast.? No one less than I AM, the
   great God, had vowed to ?cut Rahab? with the sword of vengeance.
   Tremble, ye inhabitants of the earth, for God has come down among you,
   provoked, incensed, and at last awakened from his seeming sleep of
   patience. He has girded on his terrible sword, and he has come to smite
   you. Quake for fear, all ye that have sin within you, for when God
   walks through the streets, sword in hand, will he not smite you all?
   But hark! the voice of covenant mercy speaks, God's children are safe,
   even though an angry God be in the streets. As they are safe from the
   rod of the wicked, so are they safe from the sword of justice--always
   and ever safe; for there was not a hair of the head of an Israelite
   that was so much as touched; Jehovah kept them safe beneath his wings.
   While he did rend his enemies like a lion, yet did he protect his
   children, every one of them. But, beloved, while this is always true,
   that God's people are safe, there is another fact that is equally true,
   namely, that God's people are only safe through the blood. The reason
   why God spares his people in the time of calamity is, because he sees
   the blood-mark on their brow. What is the basis of that great truth,
   that all things work together for good to them that love God? What is
   the cause that all things so produce good to them, but this, that they
   are bought with the precious blood of Christ? Therefore it is that
   nothing can hurt them, because the blood is upon them, and every evil
   thing must pass them by. It was so that night in Egypt. God himself was
   abroad with his sword; but he spared them, because he saw the
   blood-mark on the lintel and on the two sideposts. And so it is with
   us. In the day when God in his fierce anger shall come forth from his
   dwelling place, to affright the earth with terrors and to condemn the
   wicked, we shall be secure, if covered with the Saviour's
   righteousness, and sprinkled with his blood, we are found in him.

   Do I hear some one say, that I am now coming to an old subject? This
   thought struck me when I was preparing for preaching, that I should
   have to tell you an old story over again; and just as I was thinking of
   that, happening to turn over a book, I met with an anecdote of Judson
   the missionary to Burmah. He had passed through unheard-of hardships,
   and had performed dangerous exploits for his Master. He returned, after
   thirty years' absence, to America. ?Announced to address an assembly in
   a provincial town, and a vast concourse having gathered from great
   distances to hear him, he rose at the close of the usual service, and,
   as all eyes were fixed and every year attent, he spoke for about
   fifteen minutes, with much pathos, of the precious Saviour, of what he
   had done for us, and of what we owed to him; and he sat down, visibly
   affected. ?The people are very much disappointed,? said a friend to him
   on their way home; ?they wonder you did not talk of something else.?
   ?Why what did they want?? he replied: ?I presented, to the best of my
   ability, the most interesting subject in the world.? ?But they wanted
   something different--a story? ?Well, I am sure I gave them a story--the
   most thrilling one that can be conceived of.? ?But they had beard it
   before. They wanted something new of a man who had just come from the
   antipodes.? ?Then I am glad they have it to say, that a man coming from
   the antipodes had nothing better to tell than the wondrous story of the
   dying love of Jesus. My business is to preach the gospel of Christ; and
   when I can speak at all, I dare not trifle with my commission. When I
   looked upon those people to-day, and remembering where I should next
   meet them, how could I stand up and furnish food to vain
   curiosity--tickle their fancy with amusing stories, however decently
   strung together on a thread of religion? That is not what Christ meant
   by preaching the gospel. And then how could I hereafter meet the
   fearful charge, I gave you one opportunity to tell them of ME; you
   spent it in describing your own adventures!'? So I thought. Well, if
   Judson told the old story after he had been thirty years away, and
   could not find anything better, I will just go back to this old
   subject, which is always new and always fresh to us--the precious blood
   of Christ, by which we are saved.

   First, then, the blood; secondly, its efficacy; thirdly, the one
   condition appended to it;--?When I see the blood;? and fourthly, the
   practical lesson.

   I. First, then, THE BLOOD ITSELF. In the case of the Israelites it was
   the blood of the Paschal Lamb. In our case, beloved, it is the blood of
   the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sins of the world.

   1. The blood of which I have solemnly to speak this morning, is, first
   of all, the blood of a divinely appointed victim. Jesus Christ did not
   come into this world unappointed. He was sent here by his Father. This
   indeed is one of the underlying ground-works of the Christian's hope.
   We can rely upon Jesus Christ's acceptance by his Father, because his
   Father ordained him to be our Saviour from before the foundation of the
   world. Sinner! when I preach to thee the blood of Christ this morning,
   I am preaching something that is well pleasing to God; for God himself
   did choose Christ to be the Redeemer; he himself set him apart from
   before the foundation of the world, and he himself, even Jehovah the
   Father, did lay upon him the iniquity of us all. The sacrifice of
   Christ is not brought to you without warrant; it is not a something
   which Christ did surreptitiously and in secret; it was written in the
   great decree from all eternity, that he was the Lamb slain from before
   the foundation of the world. As he himself said, ?Lo I come; in the
   volume of the book it is written of me, I delight to do thy will O
   God.? It is God's will that the blood of Jesus should be shed. Jesus is
   God's chosen Saviour for men; and here, when addressing the ungodly,
   here, I say, is one potent argument with them. Sinner! You may trust in
   Christ, that he is able to save you from the wrath of God, for God
   himself has appointed him to save.

   2. Christ Jesus, too, like the lamb, was not only a divinely appointed
   victim, but he was spotless. Had there been one sin in Christ, he had
   not been capable of being our Saviour; but he was without spot or
   blemish--without original sin, without any practical transgression. In
   him was no sin, though he was ?tempted in all points like as we are.?
   Here, again, is the reason why the blood is able to save, because it is
   the blood of an innocent victim, a victim the only reason for whose
   death lay in us, and not in himself. When the poor innocent lamb was
   put to death, by the head of the household of Egypt, I can imagine that
   thoughts like these ran through his mind. ?Ah? he would say, as he
   struck the knife into the lamb, ?This poor creature dies, not for any
   guilt that it has ever had, but to show me that I am guilty, and that I
   deserved to die like this.? Turn, then, your eye to the cross, and see
   Jesus bleeding there and dying for you. Remember,

   ?For sins not his own, he died to atone;?

   Sin had no foothold in him, never troubled him. The prince of this
   world came and looked, but he said, ?I have nothing in Christ; there is
   no room for me to plant my foot--no piece of corrupt ground, which I
   may call my own.? O sinner, the blood of Jesus is able to save thee,
   because he was perfectly innocent himself, and ?he died the just for
   the unjust, to bring us to God.?

   But some will say, ?Whence has the blood of Christ such power to save??
   My reply is, not only because God appointed that blood, and because it
   was the blood of an innocent and spotless being, but because Christ
   himself was God. If Christ were a mere man, my hearers, you could not
   be exhorted to trust him; were he ever so spotless and holy, there
   would be no efficacy in his blood to save; but Christ was ?very God of
   very God;? the blood that Jesus shed was Godlike blood. It was the
   blood of man, for he was man like ourselves; but the divinity was so
   allied with the manhood, that the blood derived efficacy from it. Can
   you imagine what must be the value of the blood of God's own dear Son?
   No, you cannot put an estimate upon it that should so much as reach to
   a millionth part of its preciousness. I know you esteem that blood as
   beyond all price if you have been washed in it; but I know also that
   you do not esteem it enough. It was the wonder of angels that God
   should condescend to die; it will be the wonder of all wonders, the
   unceasing wonder of eternity, that God should become man to die. Oh!
   when we think that Christ was Creator of the world, and that on his
   all-sustaining shoulders did hang the universe, we cannot wonder that
   his death is mighty to redeem, and that his blood should cleanse from
   sin. Come hither saints and sinners; gather in and crowd around the
   cross, and see this man, overcome with weakness, fainting, groaning,
   bleeding, and dying. This man is also ?God over all, blessed for ever,?
   Is there not power to save? Is there not efficacy in blood like that?
   Can you imagine any stretch of sin which shall out-measure the power of
   divinity--any height of iniquity that shall overtop the topless steeps
   of the divine? Can I conceive a depth of sin that shall be deeper than
   the infinite? or a breadth of iniquity that shall be broader than the
   Godhead? Because he is divine, he is ?able to save to the uttermost,
   them that come unto God by him.? Divinity appointed, spotless, and
   divine, his blood is the blood whereby ye may escape the anger and the
   wrath of God.

   4. Once more; the blood of which we speak today, is blood once shed for
   many for the remission of sin. The paschal lamb was killed every year;
   but now Christ hath appeared to take away sin by the offering up of
   himself and there is now no more mention of sin, for Christ once for
   all hath put away sin, by the offering of himself. The Jew had the lamb
   every morning and every evening, for there was a continual mention of
   sin; the blood of the lamb could not take it away. The lamb availed for
   to-day, but there was the sin of to-morrow, what was to be done with
   that? Why, a fresh victim must bleed. But oh, my hearer, our greatest
   joy is, that the blood of Jesus has been once shed, and he has said,
   ?It is finished.? There is no more need of the blood of bulls or of
   goats, or of any other sacrifice; that one sacrifice hath ?perfected
   for ever them that are sanctified.? Trembling sinner! come to the cross
   again; thy sins are heavy, and many; but the atonement for them is
   completed by the death of Christ. Look then to Jesus, and remember that
   Christ needs nothing to supplement his blood. The road between God and
   man is finished and open; the robe to cover thy nakedness is complete,
   without a rag of thine; the bath in which thou art to be washed is
   full, full to the brim, and needs nothing to be added thereunto. ?It is
   finished!? Let that ring in thy ears. There is nothing now that can
   hinder thy being saved, if God hath made thee willing now to believe in
   Jesus Christ. He is a complete Saviour, full of grace for an empty
   sinner.

   5. And yet I must add one more thought, and then leave this point. The
   blood of Jesus Christ is blood that bath been accepted. Christ died--he
   was buried; but neither heaven nor earth could tell whether God had
   accepted the ransom. There was wanted God's seal upon the great Magna
   Charta of man's salvation, and that seal was put, my hearer, in that
   hour when God summoned the angel, and bade him descend from heaven and
   roll away the stone. Christ was put in durance vile in the prison house
   of the grave, as a hostage for his people. Until God had signed the
   warrant for acquittal of all his people, Christ must abide in the bonds
   of death. He did not attempt to break his prison; be did not come out
   illegally, by wrenching down the bars of his dungeon; he waited: he
   wrapt up the napkin, folding it by itself: he laid the grave-clothes in
   a separate place; he waited, waited patiently; and at last down from
   the skies, like the flash of a meteor, the angel descended, touched the
   stone and rolled it away; and when Christ came out, rising from the
   dead in the glory of his Father's power, then was the seal put upon the
   great charta of our redemption. The blood was accepted, and sin was
   forgiven. And now, soul, it is not possible for God to reject thee, if
   thou comest this day to him, pleading the blood of Christ. God
   cannot--and here we speak with reverence too--the everlasting God
   cannot reject a sinner who pleads the blood of Christ: for if he did
   so, it were to deny himself, and to contradict all his former acts. He
   has accepted blood, and he will accept it; he never can revoke that
   divine acceptance of the resurrection; and if thou goest to God, my
   hearer, pleading simply and only the blood of him that did hang upon
   the tree, God must un-God himself before he can reject thee, or reject
   that blood.

   And yet I fear that I have not been able to make you think of the blood
   of Christ. I beseech you, then, just for a moment try to picture to
   yourself Christ on the cross. Let your imagination figure the motley
   crew assembled round about that little hill of Calvary. Lift now your
   eyes, and see the three crosses put upon that rising knoll. See in the
   centre the thorn-crowned brow of Christ. Do you see the hands that have
   always been full of blessing nailed fast to the accursed wood! See you
   his dear face, more marred than that of any other man? Do you see it
   now, as his head bows upon his bosom in the extreme agonies of death?
   He was a real man, remember. It was a real cross. Do not think of these
   things as figments, and fancies, and romances. There was such a being,
   and he died as I describe it. Let your imagination picture him, and
   then sit still a moment and think over this thought: ?The blood of that
   man, whom now I behold dying in agony, must be my redemption; and if I
   would be saved, I must put my only trust in what he suffered for me,
   when he himself did bear our sins in his own body on the tree.'? If God
   the Holy Spirit should help you, you will then be in a right state to
   proceed to the second point.

   II. THE EFFICACY OF THIS BLOOD. ?When I see the blood I will pass over
   you.?

   1. The blood of Christ hath such a divine power to save, that nothing
   but it can ever save the soul. If some foolish Israelite had despised
   the command of God, and had said, ?I will sprinkle something else upon
   the doorposts,? or, ?I will adorn the lintel with jewels of gold and
   silver,? he must have perished; nothing could save his household but
   the sprinkled blood. And now let us all remember, that ?other
   foundation can no man lay than that which is laid, Jesus Christ,? for
   ?there is none other name given among men whereby we must be saved.? My
   works, my prayers, my tears, cannot save me; the blood, the blood
   alone, has power to redeem. Sacraments, however well they may be
   attended to, cannot save me. Nothing but thy blood, O Jesus, can redeem
   me from the guilt of sin. Though I should give rivers of oil, and ten
   thousand of the fat of fed beasts; yea, though I should give my
   first-born for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my
   soul, all would be useless. Nothing but the blood of Jesus has in it
   the slightest saving-power. Oh! you that are trusting in your infant
   baptism, your confirmation, and your Lord's Supper, you are trusting in
   a lie. Nothing but the blood of Jesus can save. I care not how right
   the ordinance, how true the form, how scriptural the practice, it is
   all a vanity to you if you rely in it. God forbid I should say a word
   against ordinances, or against holy things; but keep them in their
   places. If you make then the basis of your soul's salvation, they are
   lighter than a shadow, and when you need them most you shall find them
   fail you. There is not, I repeat it again, the slightest atom of
   saving-power anywhere but in the blood of Jesus. That blood has the
   only power to save, and aught else that you rely upon shall be a refuge
   of lies. This is the rock, and this is the work that is perfect; but
   all other things are day dreams; they must be swept away in the day
   when God shall come to try our work of what sort it is. THE BLOOD
   stands out in solitary majesty, the only rock of our salvation.

   2. This blood is not simply the only thing that can save, but it must
   save alone. Put anything with the blood of Christ, and you are lost;
   trust to anything else with this and you perish. ?It is true,? says
   one, that the Sacrament cannot save me, but I will trust in that, and
   in Christ too.? You are a lost man, then. So jealous is Christ of his
   honour, that anything you put with him, however good it is, becomes,
   from the fact of your putting it with him, an accursed thing. And what
   is it that thou wouldst put with Christ? Thy good works? What! wilt
   thou yoke a reptile with an angel--yoke thyself to the chariot of
   salvation with Christ? What are thy good works? Thy righteousnesses are
   ?as filthy rags;? and shall filthy rags be joined to the spotless
   celestial righteousness of Christ? It must not, and it shall not be.
   Rely on Jesus only, and thou canst not perish; but rely on anything
   with him, and thou art as surely damned as if thou shouldst rely upon
   thy sins. Jesus only--Jesus only--Jesus only--this is the rock of our
   salvation.

   And here let me stop, and combat a few forms and shapes which our
   self-righteousness always takes. ?Oh,? says one, ?I could trust in
   Christ if I felt my sins more.? Sir, that is a damning error. Is thy
   repentance, thy sense of sin, to be a part-Saviour? Sinner! the blood
   is to save thee, not thy tears, Christ's death, not thy repentance.
   Thou art bidden this day to trust in Christ; not in thy feelings, not
   in thy pangs on account of sin. Many a man has been brought into great
   soul distress, because he has looked more at his repentance than at the
   obedience of Christ--

   ?Could thy tears for ever flow,

   Could thy zeal no respite know;

   All for sin could not atone,

   Christ must save and Christ alone.?

   ?Nay,? says another, ?but I feel that I do not value the blood of
   Christ as I ought, and therefore I am afraid to believe.? My friend,
   that is another insiduous form of the same error. God does not say,
   ?When I see your estimate of the blood of Christ, I will pass over you;
   no, but when I see the blood.? It is not your estimate of that blood,
   it is the blood that saves you. As I said before, that magnificent,
   solitary blood, must be alone.

   ?Nay,? says another, ?but if I had more faith then I should have hope.?
   That, too, is a very deadly shape of the same evil. You are not to be
   saved by the efficacy of your faith, but by the efficacy of the blood
   of Christ. It is not your believing, it is Christ's dying. I bid you
   believe, but I bid you not to look to your believing as the ground of
   your salvation. No man will go to heaven if he trusts to his own faith;
   you may as well trust to your own good works as trust to your faith.
   Your faith must deal with Christ not with itself. The world hangs on
   nothing; but faith cannot hang upon itself, it must hang on Christ.
   Sometimes, when my faith is vigorous, I catch myself doing this. There
   is joy flowing into my heart, and after awhile I begin to find that my
   joy suddenly departs. I ask the causes, and I find that the joy came
   because I was thinking of Christ; but when I begin to think about my
   joy, then my joy fled. You must not think of your faith but of Christ.
   Faith comes from meditation upon Christ. Turn, then, your eye, not upon
   faith but upon Jesus. It is not your hold of Christ that saves you; it
   is his hold of you. It is not the efficacy of your believing in him; it
   is the efficacy of his blood applied to you through the Spirit.

   I do not know how sufficiently to follow Satan in all his windings into
   the human heart, but this, I know, he is alway strying to keep back
   this great truth--the blood, and the blood alone has power to save.
   ?Oh,? says another, ?if I had such-and-such an experience then I could
   trust.? Friend, it is not thine experience, it is the blood. God did
   not say, ?When I see your experience,? but ?When I see the blood of
   Christ.? ?Nay,? says one, ?but if I had such-and-such graces, I could
   hope.? Nay, but he did not say, ?When I see your graces,? but ?When I
   see the blood.? Get grace, get as much as you can of faith, and love,
   and hope, but oh, do not put them where Christ's blood ought to be. The
   only pillar of your hope must be the Cross, and aught else that you put
   to buttress up the cross of Christ is obnoxious to God, and ceases to
   have any virtue in it, because it is an anti-Christ. The blood of
   Christ, then alone, saves; but anything with it, and it does not save.

   3. Yet again we may say of the blood of Christ, it is all-sufficient.
   There is no case which the blood of Christ cannot met; there is no sin
   which it cannot wash away. There is no multiplicity of sin which it
   cannot cleanse, no aggravation of guilt which it cannot remove. Ye may
   be double-dyed like scarlet, ye may have lain in the lye of your sins
   these seventy years, but the blood of Christ can take out the stain.
   You may have blasphemed him almost as many times as you have breathed,
   you may have rejected him as often as you have heard his name; you may
   have broken his Sabbath, you may have denied his existence, you may
   have doubted his Godhead, you may have persecuted his servants, you may
   have trampled on his blood; but all this the blood can wash away. You
   may have committed whoredoms without number, nay, murder itself may
   have defiled your hands, but this fountain filled with blood can wash
   all the stains away. The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us from all
   sin. There is no sort of a man, there is no abortion of mankind, no
   demon in human shape that this blood cannot wash. Hell may have sought
   to make a paragon of iniquity, it may have striven to put sin, and sin,
   and sin together, till it has made a monster in the shape of man, a
   monster abhorred of mankind, but the blood of Christ can transform that
   monster. Magdalen's seven devils it can cast out, the madness of the
   demoniac it can ease, the deep-seated leprosy it can cure, the wound of
   the maimed, yea, the lost limb it can restore. There is no spiritual
   disease which the great Physician cannot heal. This is the great
   Catholicon, the medicine for all diseases. No case can exceed its
   virtue, be it never so black or vile; all-sufficient, all-sufficient
   blood.

   4. But go further. The blood of Christ saves surely. Many people say,
   ?Well, I hope I shall be saved through the blood of Christ;? and
   perhaps, says one here, who is believing in Christ, ?Well, I hope it
   will save.? My dear friend, that is a slur upon the honour of God. If
   any man gives you a promise, and you say, ?Well, I hope he will fulfil
   it;? is it not implied that you have at least some small doubt as to
   whether he will or not. Now, I do not hope that the blood of Christ
   will wash away my sin. I know it is washed away by his blood; and that
   is true faith which does not hope about Christ's blood, but says, ?I
   know it is so; that blood does cleanse. The moment it was applied to my
   conscience it did cleanse, and it does cleanse still.? The Israelite,
   if he was true to his faith, did not go inside, and say, I hope the
   destroying angel will pass by me;? but he said, ?I know he will; I know
   God cannot smite me; I know he will not. There is the blood-mark there,
   I am secure beyond a doubt; there is not the shadow of a risk of my
   perishing. I am, I must be saved.? And so I preach a sure gospel this
   morning: ?Whosoever believeth on the Lord Jesus Christ shall not perish
   but have everlasting life.? ?I give unto my sheep eternal life,? said
   he, ?and they shall never perish, neither shall any pluck them out of
   my hand.? O, sinner, I have not the shadow of a doubt as to whether
   Christ will save you if you trust in his blood. O no, I know he will. I
   am certain his blood can save; and I beg you, in Christ's name, believe
   the same; believe that that blood is sure to cleanse, not only that it
   may cleanse, but that it must cleanse, ?whereby we must be saved,? says
   the Scripture. If we have that blood upon us we must be saved, or else
   we are to suppose a God unfaithful and a God unkind; in fact, a God
   transformed from everything that is God-like into everything that is
   base.

   5. And yet again, he that hath this blood sprinkled upon him is saved
   completely. Not the hair of the head of an Israelite was disturbed by
   the destroying angel. They were completely saved; so he that believeth
   in the blood is saved from all things. I like the old translation of
   the chapter in the Romans. There was a martyr once summoned before
   Bonner; and after he had expressed his faith in Christ, Bonner said
   ?You are a heretic and will be damned.? ?Nay? said he, quoting the old
   version, ?There is therefore now no damnation to them that believe in
   Christ Jesus.? And that brings a sweet thought before us; there is no
   damnation to the man who has the blood of Christ upon him; he cannot be
   condemned of God anyhow. It were impossible. There is no such a thing;
   there can be no such thing. There is no damnation. He cannot be damned;
   for there is no damnation to him that is in Christ Jesus. Let the blood
   be applied to the lintel, and to the door-post, there is no
   destruction. There is a destroying angel for Egypt, but there is none
   for Israel. There is a hell for the wicked, but none for the righteous.
   And if there is none, they cannot be put there. If there is no
   damnation they cannot suffer it. Christ saves completely; every sin is
   washed, every blessing ensured, perfection is provided, and glory
   everlasting is the sure result.

   I think then, I have dwelt sufficiently long upon the efficacy of his
   blood; but no tongue of seraph can ever speak its worth. I must go home
   to my chamber, and weep because I am powerless to tell this story, and
   yet I have laboured to tell it simply, so that all can understand; and
   I pray, therefore, that God the Spirit may lead some of you to put your
   trust simply, wholly, and entirely, on the blood of Jesus Christ.

   III. This brings us to the third point, upon which I must be very
   brief, and the third point is--THE ONE CONDITION. What says one ?Do you
   preach a conditional salvation?? Yes I do, there is the one condition
   ?Where I see the blood I will pass over you.? What a blessed condition!
   it does not say, when you see the blood, but when I see it. Thine eye
   of faith may be so dim, that thou canst not see the blood of Christ.
   Ay, but God's eye is not dim: He can see it, yea he must see it; for
   Christ in heaven is always presenting his blood before his Father's
   face. The Israelite could not see the blood; he was inside the house;
   he could not see what was on the lintel and the doorpost; but God could
   see it; and this is the only condition of the sinner's salvation--God's
   seeing the blood; not your seeing it. O how safe, then, is every one
   that trusts in the Lord Jesus Christ. It is not his faith that is the
   condition, not his assurance; it is the simple fact, that Calvary is
   set perpetually before the eyes of God in a risen and ascended Saviour.
   ?When I see the blood, I will pass over you.? Fall on your knees then
   in prayer, ye doubting souls, and let this be your plea:--?Lord, have
   mercy upon me for the blood's sake. I cannot see it as I could desire,
   but Lord thou seest it, and thou hast said, When I see it, I will pass
   over you.' Lord, thou seest it this day, pass over my sin, and forgive
   me for its dear sake alone.?

   IV. And now, lastly, WHAT IS THE LESSON. The lesson of the text is to
   the Christian this. Christian, take care that thou dost always
   remember, that nothing but the blood of Christ can save thee. I preach
   to myself to-day what I preach to you. I often find myself like
   this:--I have been praying that the Holy Spirit might rest in my heart
   and cleanse out an evil passion, and presently I find myself full of
   doubts and fears, and when I ask the reason, I find it is this:--I have
   been looking to the Spirit's work until I put the Spirit's work where
   Christ's work ought to be. Now, it is a sin to put your own works where
   Christ's should be; but it is just as much a sin to put the Holy
   Spirit's work there. You must never make the Spirit of God an
   anti-Christ, and you virtually do that when you put the Spirit's work
   as the groundwork of your faith. Do you not often hear Christian men
   say, ?I cannot believe in Christ to-day as I could yesterday, for
   yesterday I felt such sweet and blessed enjoyments.? Now, what is that
   but putting your frames and feelings where Christ ought to be.
   Remember, Christ's blood is no more able to save you in a good frame
   than in a bad frame. Christ's blood must be your trust, as much when
   you are full of joy as when you are full of doubt. And here it is that
   your happiness will be in danger, by beginning to put your good frames
   and good feelings in the room of the blood of Christ. O, brethren, if
   we could always live with a single eye fixed on the Cross, we should
   always be happy; but when we get a little peace, and a little joy, we
   begin to prize the joy and peace so much, that we forget the source
   whence they come. As Mr. Brooks says, ?A husband that loves his wife
   will, perhaps, often give her jewels and rings; but suppose she should
   sit down and begin to think of her jewels and rings so much that she
   should forget her husband, it would be a kind husband's business to
   take them away from her so that she might fix her affections entirely
   on him.? And it is so with us. Jesus gives us jewels of faith and love,
   and we get trusting to them, and he takes them away in order that we
   may come again as guilty, helpless sinners, and put our trust in
   Christ. To quote a verse I often repeat--I believe the spirit of a
   Christian should be, from his first hour to his last, the spirit of
   these two lines:--

   ?Nothing in my hand I bring,

   Simply to thy cross I cling.?

   That is the lesson to the saint.

   But another minute; there is a lesson here to the sinner. Poor,
   trembling, guilty self-condemned sinner, I have a word from the Lord
   for thee. ?The blood of Jesus Christ cleanseth us,? that is you and me,
   ?cleanseth us from all sin.? That ?us? includes you, if now you are
   feeling your need of a Saviour. Now that blood is able to save you, and
   you are bidden simply to trust that blood, and you shall be saved. But
   I hear you say, ?Sir,? you said, ?If I feel my need. Now I feel that I
   do not feel, I only wish I did feel my need enough.? Well do not bring
   your feelings then, but trust only in the blood. If you can rely simply
   on the blood of Christ, whatever your feelings may be, or may not be,
   that blood is able to save. But you are saying, ?How am I to be saved?
   What mush I do?? Well there is nothing that you can do. You must leave
   off doing altogether, in order to be saved. There must be a denial of
   all your doings. You must get Christ first, and then you may do as much
   as you like. But you must not trust in your doings. Your business is
   now to lift up your heart in prayer like this:--?Lord, thou hast shown
   me something of myself, show me something of my Saviour.? See the
   Saviour hanging on the cross, turn your eye to him, and say, ?Lord, I
   trust thee I have nothing else to trust to, but I rely on thee; sink or
   swim, my Saviour, I trust thee.? And as surely sinner, as thou canst
   put thy trust in Christ, thou art as safe as an apostle or prophet. Not
   death nor hell can slay that man whose firm reliance is at the foot of
   the cross. ?Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved.?
   ?He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved; he that believeth
   not shall be damned.? He that believeth shall be saved, be his sins
   never so many; he that believeth not shall be damned, be his sins never
   so few, and be his virtues never so many. Trust in Jesus now! Sinner,
   trust in Jesus only.

   ?Not all the blood of beasts

   On Jewish altars slain

   Could give the guilty conscience peace,

   Or wash away the stain.

   But Christ, the heavenly Lamb,

   Takes all our sins away;

   A sacrifice of nobler name

   And richer blood than they.?
     __________________________________________________________________

                                      Love

   A Sermon

   (No. 229)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 19th, 1858, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?We love him, because he first loved us.?--1 John 4:19.

   DURING the last two Sabbath days I have been preaching the gospel to
   the unconverted. I have earnestly exhorted the very chief of sinners to
   look to Jesus Christ, and have assured them that as a preparation for
   coming to Christ, they need no good works, or good dispositions, but
   that they may come, just as they are, to the foot of the cross, and
   receive the pardoning blood and all-sufficient merits of the Lord Jesus
   Christ. The thought has since occurred to me, that some who were
   ignorant of the gospel might, perhaps, put this query:--Is this likely
   to promote morality? If the gospel be a proclamation of pardon to the
   very chief of sinners, will not this be a license to sin? In what
   respects can the gospel be said to be a gospel according to holiness?
   How will such preaching operate? Will it make men better? Will they be
   more attentive to the laws which relate to man and man? Will they be
   more obedient to the statutes which relate to man and God? I thought,
   therefore, that we would advance a step further, and endeavour to show,
   this morning, how the proclamation of the gospel of God, though in the
   commencement it addresses itself to men who are utterly destitute of
   any good, is, nevertheless, designed to lead these very men to the
   noblest heights of virtue, yea, to ultimate perfection in holiness. The
   text tells us, that the effect of the gospel received in the heart is,
   that it compels and constrains such a heart to love God. ?We love him,
   because he first loved us.? When the gospel comes to us it does not
   find us loving God, it does not expect anything of us, but coming with
   the divine application of the Holy Ghost, it simply assures us that God
   loves us, be we never so deeply immersed in sin; and then, the after
   effect of this proclamation of love is, that ?we love him because he
   first loved us.?

   Can you imagine a being placed halfway between this world and heaven?
   Can you conceive of him as having such enlarged capacities that he
   could easily discern what was done in heaven, and what was done on
   earth? I can conceive that, before the Fall, if there had been such a
   being, he would have been struck with the singular harmony which
   existed between God's great world, called heaven, and the little world,
   the earth. Whenever the chimes of heaven rang, the great note of those
   massive bells was love; and when the little bells of earth were
   sounded, the harmonies of this narrow sphere, rang out their note, it
   was just the same--love. When the bright spirits gathered around the
   great throne of God in heaven to magnify the Lord, at the same time,
   there was to be seen the world, clad in its priestly garments, offering
   its sacrifice of purest praise. When the cherubim and seraphim did
   continually cry, ?Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of armies,? there was
   heard a note, feebler, perhaps, but yet as sweetly musical, coming up
   from paradise, ?Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of armies.? There was no
   jar, no discord; the thunder peals of heaven's melodies were exactly in
   accord with the whispers of earth's harmonies. There was ?glory to God
   in the highest,? and on earth there was glory too; the heart of man was
   as the heart of God; God loved man, and man loved God. But imagine that
   same great Spirit to be still standing between the heavens and the
   earth, how sad must he be, when he hears the jarring discard, and feels
   it grate upon the ear! The Lord saith, ?I am reconciled to thee, I have
   put away thy sin;? but what is the answer of this earth? The answer of
   the world is, ?Man is at enmity with God: God may be reconciled, but
   man is not. The mass of men are still enemies to God by wicked works.?
   When the angels praise God, if they list to the sounds that are to be
   heard on earth, they hear the trump of cruel war; they hear the
   bacchanalian shout and the song of the lascivious, and what a discord
   is this in the great harmony of the spheres? The fact is this,--the
   world was originally one great string in the harp of the universe, and
   when the Almighty swept that harp with his gracious fingers there was
   nothing to be heard but praise; now that string is snapped, and where
   it has been reset by grace, still it is not wholly restored to its
   perfect tune, and the note that cometh from it hath but little of
   sweetness, and very much of discord. But, bright Spirit, retain thy
   place, and live on. The day is hastening with glowing wheels, and the
   axle thereof is hot with speed. The day is coming, when this world
   shall be a paradise again. Jesus Christ, who came the first time to
   bleed and suffer, that he might wash the world from its iniquity, is
   coming a second time to reign and conquer, that he may clothe the earth
   with glory; and the day shall arrive, when thou, O Spirit, shall hear
   again the everlasting harmony. Once more the bells of earth shall be
   attuned to the melodies of heaven; once more shall the eternal chorus
   find that no singer is absent, but that the music is complete.

   But how is this to be? How is the world to be brought back? How is it
   to be restored? We answer, the reason why there was this original
   harmony between earth and heaven was, because there was love between
   them twain, and our great reason for hoping that there shall be at last
   re-established an undiscordant harmony between heaven and earth is
   simply this, that God hath already manifested his love towards us, and
   that in return, hearts touched by his grace do even now love him; and
   when they shall be multiplied, and love re-established, then shall the
   harmony be complete.

   Having thus introduced my text, I must now plunge into it. We shall
   notice the parentage, the nourishment, and the walk of love; and shall
   exhort all believers here present, to love God, because he hath first
   loved them.

   1. In the first place,

  THE PARENTAGE OF TRUE LOVE TO GOD

   ?What though the spicy breezes blow soft o'er Java's isle;

   Where every prospect pleases, and only man is vile.?

   Where God is most resplendent in his works, and most lavish in his
   gifts, there man has been the vilest and God is the most forgotten.

   Others have taught, if not exactly in doctrine, yet their doctrine
   necessarily leads to it, that human nature may of itself attain unto
   love to God. Our simple reply is, we have never met with such an
   instance. We have curiously questioned the people of God, and we
   believe that others have questioned them in every age, but we have
   never had but one answer to this question, ?Why hast thou loved God??
   The only answer has been, ?Because he first loved me.? I have heard men
   preach about free-will, but I never yet heard of a Christian who
   exalted free-will in his own experience. I have heard men say, that men
   of their own free-will may turn to God, believe, repent, and love, but
   I have heard the same persons, when talking of their own experience,
   say, that they did not so turn to God, but that Jesus sought them when
   they were strangers, wandering from the fold of God. The whole matter
   may look specious enough, when preached, but when felt it is found to
   be a phantom. It may seem right enough for a man to tell his fellow
   that his own free-will may save him; but when he comes to close dealing
   with his own conscience, he himself, however wild in his doctrine, is
   compelled to say, ?Oh! yes, I do love Jesus, because he first loved
   me.? I have wondered at a Wesleyan brother, who has sometimes railed
   against this doctrine in the pulpit, and then has given out this very
   hymn, and all the members of the church have joined in singing it most
   heartily, while at the same time they were tolling the death-knell of
   their own peculiar tenets; for if that hymn be true Arminianism must be
   false. If it be the certain fact, that the only reason for our loving
   God is that his love has been shed abroad in our hearts, then it cannot
   be true anyhow, that man ever did or ever will love God, until first of
   all God has manifested his love towards him.

   But without disputing any longer, do we not all admit that our love to
   God is the sweet offspring of God's love to us? Ah! beloved, cold
   admiration every man may have; but the warmth of love can only be
   kindled by the fires of God's Spirit. Let each Christian speak for
   himself, we shall all hold this great and cardinal truth, that the
   reason of our love to God is, the sweet influence of his grace.
   Sometimes I wonder that such as we should have been brought to love God
   at all. Is our love so precious that God should court our love, dressed
   in the crimson robes of a dying Redeemer? If we had loved God, it would
   have been no more than he deserved. But when we rebelled, and yet he
   sought our love, it was surprising indeed. It was a wonder when he
   disrobed himself of all his splendours, and came down and wrapt himself
   in a mantle of clay; but methinks the wonder is excelled yet, for after
   he had died for us, still we did not love him; we rebelled against him;
   we rejected the proclamation of the gospel; we resisted his Spirit; but
   he said, I will have their hearts; and he followed us day after day,
   hour after hour. Sometimes he laid us low, and he said, ?Surely they
   will love me if I restore them!? At another time he filled us with corn
   and with wine, and he said ?Surely they will love me now,? but we still
   revolted, still rebelled. At last he said, ?I will strive no longer, I
   am Almighty, and I will not have it that a human heart is stronger than
   I am. I turn the will of man as the rivers of water are turned,? and
   lo! he put forth his strength, and in an instant the current changed,
   and we loved him, because we then could see the love of God, in that he
   sent his Son to be our Redeemer. But we must confess, beloved, going
   back to the truth with which we started, that never should we have had
   any love towards God, unless that love had been sown in us by the sweet
   seed of his love to us. If there be any one here that hath a love to
   Christ, let him differ from this doctrine here, but let him know that
   he shall not differ hereafter; for in heaven they all sing, praise to
   free grace. They all sing, ?Salvation to our God and to the Lamb.?

   II. Love, then, has for its parent the love of God shed abroad in our
   hearts. But after it is divinely born in our heart it must be divinely

  NOURISHED

   The first thing, then, that our love feeds upon, when it is but an
   infant, is a sense of favours received. Ask a young Christian why he
   loves Christ, and he will tell you, I love Christ because he has bought
   me with his blood! Why do you love God the Father? I love God the
   Father because he gave his Son for me. And why do you love God the
   Spirit? I love him because he has renewed my heart. That is to say we
   love God for what he has given to us. Our first love feeds just on the
   simple food of a grateful recollection of mercies received. And mark,
   however much we grow in grace this will always constitute a great part
   of the food of our love.

   But when the Christian grows older and has more grace, he loves Christ
   for another reason. He loves Christ because he feels Christ deserves to
   be loved. I trust I can say, I have in my heart now a love to God,
   These men did not merely love Christ because of what he had done for
   them; but you will find in their sonnets and in their letters--that
   their motive of love was, that he had communed with them, he had showed
   them his hands and his side; they had walked with him in the villages;
   they had lain with him on the beds of spices; they had entered into the
   mystic circle of communion; and they felt that they loved Christ,
   because he was all over glorious, and was so divinely fair, that if all
   nations could behold him, sure they must be constrained to love him
   too.

   This, then, is the food of love; but when love grows rich--and it does
   sometimes--the most loving heart grows cold towards Christ. Do you know
   that the only food that ever suits sick love, is the food on which it
   fed at first. I have heard say by the physicians, that if a man be sick
   there is no place so well adapted for him as the place where he was
   born; and if love grow sick and cold, there is no place so fit for it
   to go to as the place where it was born, namely, the love of God in
   Christ Jesus our Lord. Where was love born? Was she born in the midst
   of romantic scenery, and was she nursed with wondrous contemplations
   upon the lap of beauty? Ah! no. Was she born on the steeps of Sinai,
   when God came from Sinai and the holy one from mount Paran, and melted
   the mountains with the touch of his foot, and made the rocks flow down
   like wax before his terrible presence? Ah! no. Was love born on Tabor,
   when the Saviour was transfigured, and his garment became whiter than
   wool, whiter than any fuller could make it? Ah! no; darkness rushed
   o'er the sight of those that looked upon him then, and they fell
   asleep, for the glory overpowered them. Let me tell you where love was
   born. Love was born in the garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus sweat
   great drops of blood, it was nurtured in Pilate's hall, where Jesus
   bared his back to the ploughing of the lash, and gave his body to be
   spit upon and scourged. Love was nurtured at the cross, amid the groans
   of an expiring God, beneath the droppings of his blood--it was there
   that love was nurtured. Bear me witness, children of God. Where did
   your love spring from, but from the foot of the cross? Did you ever see
   that sweet flower growing anywhere but at the foot of Calvary? No; it
   was when ye saw ?love divine, all loves excelling,? outdoing its own
   self; it was when you saw love in bondage to itself, dying by its own
   stroke, laying down its life, though it had power to retain it and to
   take it up again; it was there your love was born; and if you wish your
   love, when it is sick, to be recovered, take it to some of those sweet
   places; make it sit in the shade of the olive trees, and make it stand
   on the pavement and gaze, while the blood is still gushing down. Take
   it to the cross, and bid it look and see afresh the bleeding lamb; and
   surely this shall make thy love spring from a dwarf into a giant, and
   this shall fan it from a spark into a flame.

   And then, when thy love is thus recruited, let me bid thee give thy
   love full exercise; for it shall grow thereby. You say, ?Where shall I
   exercise the contemplation of my love, to make it grow?? Oh! Sacred
   Dove of love, stretch thy wings, and play the eagle now. Come! open
   wide thine eyes, and look full in the Sun's face, and soar upward,
   upward, upward, far above the heights of this world's creation,
   upwards, till thou art lost in eternity. Remember, that God loved thee
   from before the foundation of the world. Does not this strengthen thy
   love? Ah! what a bracing air is that air of eternity? When I fly into
   it for a moment, and think of the great doctrine of election--of

   ?That vast unmeasured love,

   Which from the days of old,

   Did all the chosen seed embrace,

   like sheep within the fold.?

   It makes the tears run down one's cheeks to think that we should have
   an interest in that decree and council of the Almighty Three, when
   every one that should be blood-bought had its name inscribed in God'a
   eternal book. Come, soul, I bid thee now exercise thy wings a little,
   and see if this does not make thee love God. He thought of thee before
   thou hadst a being. When as yet the sun and the moon were not,--when
   the sun, the moon, and the stars slept in the mind of God, like unborn
   forests in an acorn cup, when the old sea was not yet born, long ere
   this infant world lay in its swaddling bands of mist, then God had
   inscribed thy name upon the heart and upon the hands of Christ
   indelibly, to remain for ever. And does not this make thee love God? Is
   not this sweet exercise for thy love? For here it is my text comes in,
   giving, as it were, the last charge in this sweet battle of love, a
   charge that sweeps everything before it. ?We love God, because he first
   loved us,? seeing that he loved us before time began, and when in
   eternity he dwelt alone.

   And when thou hast soared backward into the past eternity, I have yet
   another flight for thee. Soar back through all thine own experience,
   and think of the way whereby the Lord thy God has led thee in the
   wilderness, and how he hath fed and clothed thee every day--how he hath
   borne with thine ill manners--how he hath put up with all thy
   murmurings, and all thy longings after the flesh-pots of Egypt--how he
   has opened the rock to supply thee, and fed thee with manna that came
   down from heaven. Think of how his grace has been sufficient for thee
   in all thy troubles--how his blood has been a pardon to thee in all thy
   sins--how his rod and his staff have comforted thee. And when thou hast
   flown over this sweet field of love, thou mayest fly further on, and
   remember that the oath, the covenant, the blood, have something more in
   them than the past, for though ?he first loved us,? yet this doth not
   mean that he shall ever cease to, love, for he is Alpha and he shall be
   Omega, he is first, and he shall be last; and therefore bethink thee,
   when thou shalt pass through the valley of the shadow of death, thou
   needest fear no evil, for he is with thee. When thou shalt stand in the
   cold floods of Jordan, thou needest not fear, for death cannot separate
   thee from his love; and when thou shalt come into the mysteries of
   eternity thou needest not tremble, for ?I am persuaded that neither
   principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor
   height, nor depth, nor any other creature shall be able to separate us
   from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.? And now, soul
   is not thy love refreshed? Does not this make thee love him? Doth not a
   flight over those illimitable plains of the ether of love, inflame they
   heart, and compel thee to delight thyself in the Lord thy God? Here is
   the food of love. ?We love him, because he first loved us,? and because
   in that first love there is the pledge and promise that he will love us
   even to the end.

   III. And now comes the third point, the

  WALK OF LOVE

   When we are on our knees in prayer, I fear that when we are praying for
   the church we do not mean all that we say. We are praying for our
   church, our section of it. Now, he that loves Christ, if he be a
   Baptist, he loves the doctrine of baptism, because he knows it to be
   Scriptural; but, at the same time wherever he sees the grace of God to
   be in any man's heart, he loves him because he is a part of the living
   church, and he does not withhold his heart, his hand, or his house from
   him, because he happens to differ on some one point. I pray that the
   church in these days may have a more loving spirit towards herself. We
   ought to delight in the advance of every denomination. Is the Church of
   England rousing from its sleep? Is she springing like a phoenix, from
   her ashes? God be with her, and God bless her! Is another denomination
   leading the van, and seeking by its ministers to entice the wanderer
   into the house of God? God be with it! Is the Primitive Methodist
   labouring in the hedge and ditch, toiling for his Master? God help Him!
   Is the Calvinist seeking to uphold Christ crucified in all his
   splendours? God be with him! And does another man with far less
   knowledge preach much error, but still hold that ?by grace are ye saved
   through faith,? then God bless him, and may success be with him
   evermore. If ye loved Christ better ye would love all Christ's church,
   and all Christ's people.

   Do you not know that Christ hath now a mouth on earth, and hath left a
   hand on earth and a foot on earth still, and that if ye would prove
   your love to him, ye would not think that ye cannot feed him--ye need
   not imagine that ye cannot fill his hand, or that ye cannot wash his
   feet? Ye can do all this to-day. He has left his poor and afflicted
   people, and their mouths are hungry, for they need bread, and their
   tongue is parched for they need water. You meet them; they come to you;
   they are destitute and afflicted. Do ye refuse them? Do you know who it
   was ye denied at your door? ?Inasmuch as ye did it not unto one of the
   least of these, my brethren, ye did it not to me.? In rejecting the
   petition of the poor when you might heve helped them, you rejected
   Christ. Christ was virtually the man to whom you parsimoniously refused
   the needed alms, and your Saviour was thus rejected at the door of one
   for whom he himself had died. Do you want to feed Christ? Open your
   eyes, then, and you shall see him everywhere; in our back streets, in
   our lanes, in our alleys, in all our churches, connected with every
   branch of Christ's people, ye shall find the poor and the afflicted. If
   ye want feed Christ, feed them. But ye say that ye are willing to wash
   Christ's feet Ah! well, and ye may do it. Has he no fallen children?
   Are there no brethren who have sinned, and who are thus defiled? If
   Christ's feet were foul, ye say ye would wash them; then if a Christian
   man has stepped aside, seek to restore him, and lead him once more in
   the way of righteousness. And do you want to fill Christ's hands with
   your liberality? His Church is the treasure-house of his alms, and the
   hand of his church is outstretched for help, for she always needs it.
   She has a work to do which must be accomplished. She is straitened
   because your help is withheld from her; pour your gifts into her
   treasury, for all that ye can give unto her is given to the Lord Jesus
   Christ.

   Finally, to stimulate your love, let me remind you that Christ Jesus
   had two trials of his love, which he endured with firmness, but which
   are often too much for us. When Christ was high, and glorious, I marvel
   that he loved us. I have known many a man who loved his friend when he
   was in the same low estate; but he has risen, and he has disdained to
   know the man at whose table he had fed. A lofty elevation tries the
   love which we bear to those who are inferior to us in rank. Now, Christ
   Jesus, the Lord of heaven and the King of angels, condescended to
   notice us before he came on earth, and always called us brethren: and
   since he has ascended up to heaven, and has re-assumed the diadem. and
   once more sits down at the right hand of God, he never has forgotten
   us. His high estate has never made him slight a disciple. When he rode
   into Jerusalem in triumph, we do not read that he disdained to confess
   that the humble fishermen were his followers. And ?now, though he
   reigns exalted high, his love is still as great;? still he calls us
   brethren, friends; still he recognizes the kinship of the one blood.
   And yet, strange to say, we have known many Christians who have
   forgotten much of their love to Christ when they have risen in the
   world. ?Ah!? said a woman, who had been wont to do much for Christ in
   poverty, and who had had a great sum left her, ?I cannot do as much as
   I used to do.? ?But how is that?? said one. Said she, ?When I had a
   shilling purse I had a guinea heart, and now I have a guinea purse I
   have only a shilling heart.? It is a sad temptation to some men to get
   rich. They were content to go to the meeting-house and mix with the
   ignoble congregation, while they had but little; they have grown rich,
   there is a Turkey carpet in the drawing-room, they have arrangements
   now too splendid to permit them to invite the poor of the flock, as
   once they did, and Christ Jesus is not so fashionable as to allow them
   to introduce any religious topic when they meet with their new friends.
   Besides this, they say they are now obliged to pay this visit and that
   visit, and they must spend so much time upon attire, and in maintaining
   their station and respectability, they cannot find time to pray as they
   did. The houae of God has to be neglected for the party, and Christ has
   less of their heart than ever he had. ?Is this thy kindness to thy
   friend?? And hast thou risen so high that thou art ashamed of Christ?
   and art thou grown so rich, that Christ in his poverty is despised?
   Alas! poor wealth! alas! base wealth! vile wealth! Twere well for thee
   if it should be all swept away, if a descent to poverty should be a
   restoration to the ardency of thine affection.

   But once again: what a trial of love was that, when Christ began to
   suffer for us! There are many men, I doubt not, who are true believers,
   and love their Saviour, who would tremble to come to the test of
   suffering. Imagine yourself my brother, taken to-day into some dark
   dungeon of the Inquistion; conceive that all the horrors of the dark
   ages are revived, you are taken down a long dark staircase, and hurried
   you know not whither, at last you come to a place, far deep in the
   bowels of the earth, and round about you see hanging on the walls the
   pincers, the instruments of torture of all kinds and shapes. There are
   two inquisitors there who say to you, ?Are you prepared to renounce
   your heretical faith, and to return to the bosom of the church?? I
   conceive my brethren and sisters, that you would have strength of mind
   and grace enough to say, ?I am not prepared to deny my Saviour.? But
   when the pincers began to tear the flesh, when the hot coals began to
   scorch, when the rack began to dislocate the bones; when all the
   instruments of torture were wreaking their hellish vengeance, unless
   the supernatural hand of God should be mightily upon you, I am sure
   that in your weakness you would deny your Master, and in the hour of
   your peril would forsake the Lord that bought you. True, the love of
   Christ in the heart, when sustained by his grace, is strong enough to
   bear us through; but I am afraid that with many of us here present, if
   we had no more love than we have now, we should come out from the
   inquisition miserable apostates from the faith. But now, remember
   Christ. He was exposed to tortures, which were really more tremendous,
   far. There is no engine of Romish cruelty that can equal that dreadful
   torture which forced a sweat of blood from every pore. Christ was
   scourged and he was crucified; but there were other woes unseen by us,
   which were the soul of his agonies. Now, if Christ in the hour of sore
   trial had said, ?I disown my disciples, I will not die,? he might have
   come down from the cross; and who could accuse him of evil? He owed us
   nothing; we could do nothing for him. Poor worms would be all that he
   would disown. But our Master, even when the blood-sweat covered him as
   with a mantle of gore, never thought of disowning us--NEVER. ?My
   Father,? said he once, ?if it be possible, let this cup pass from me.?
   But there was always the ?If it be possible.? If it be possible to save
   without it, let the cup pass; but if not thy will be done. You never
   hear him say in Pilate's hall one word that would let you imagine that
   he was sorry he had undertaken so costly a sacrifice for us; and when
   his hands are pierced, and when he is parched with fever, and his
   tongue is dried up like a potsherd, and his whole body is dissolved
   into the dust of death, you never hear a groan or a shriek that looks
   like going back. It is the cry of one determined to go on, though he
   knows he must die on his onward march. It was love that could not be
   stayed by death, but overcame all the horrors of the grave.

   Now, what say we to this? We who live in these gentler times, are we
   about to give up our Master, when we are tried and tempted for him?
   Young man in the workshop! it is your lot to be jeered at because you
   are a follower of the Saviour; and will you turn back from Christ
   because of a jeer? Young woman! you are laughed at because you profess
   the religion of Christ, shall a laugh dissolve the link of love that
   knits your heart to him, when all the roar of hell could not divert his
   love from you. And you who are suffering because you maintain a
   religious principle, are you cast out from men; will you not bear that
   the house should be stripped, and that you shall eat the bread of
   poverty, rather than dishonour such a Lord? Will you not go forth from
   this place, by the help of God's Spirit, vowing and declaring that in
   life, come poverty, come wealth--in death, come pain, or come what may,
   you are and ever must be the Lord's; for this is written on your heart,
   ?We love him, because he first loved us.?
     __________________________________________________________________

                    The Vanguard and Rereward of the Church

   A Sermon

   (No. 230)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 26th, 1858, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens

   ?The Lord will go before you; and the God of Israel will be your
   rereward.?--Isaiah 52:12.

   THE CHURCH OF CHRIST is continually represented under the figure of an
   army; yet its Captain is the Prince of Peace; its object is the
   establishment of peace, and its soldiers are men of a peaceful
   disposition. The spirit of war is at the extremely opposite point to
   the spirit of the gospel. Yet nevertheless, the church on earth has,
   and until the second advent must be, the church militant, the church
   armed, the church warring, the church conquering. And how is this? It
   is in the very order of things that so it must be. Truth could not be
   truth in this world if it were not a warring thing, and we should at
   once suspect that it were not true if error were friends with it. The
   spotless purity of truth must always be at war with the blackness of
   heresy and lies. I say again, it would cast a suspicion upon its own
   nature; we should feel at once that it was not true, if it were not an
   enmity with the false. And so at this present time, the church of
   Christ, being herself the only incarnation of truth left upon this
   world, must be at war with error of every kind of shape; or if she were
   not, we should at once conclude that she was not herself the church of
   the living God. It is but a rule of nature that holiness must be at
   enmity with sin. That would be but a mock purity which could lie side
   by side with iniquity and claim its kinship. ?Shall the throne of
   iniquity have fellowship with thee?? Shall Christ and Belial walk
   together? Shall the holy be linked with the unholy? If it were so,
   beloved, we might then not only suspect that the church was not the
   holy, universal and apostolic church; we might not only suspect it, but
   we might beyond suspicion pronounce a verdict upon her, ?Thou art no
   more Christ's bride; thou art an antichrist, an apostate. Reprobate
   silver shall men call thee, because thou hast not learned to
   distinguish between the precious and the vile.? Thus, you see, if the
   church be a true church, and a holy church, she must be armed: there
   are so many untrue things and unholy things, that she must be
   perpetually with her sword in her hand, carrying on combat against
   them. And every child of God proveth by experience that this is the
   land of war. We are not yet come to the time when every man shall sit
   under his vine and under his fig tree, none daring to make him afraid.
   The mountains do not bring peace to the people, nor the little hills
   righteousness. On the contrary, the children of God hear the sound of
   war; the shrill clarion is constantly sounding in their ears; they are
   compelled to carry with them the sword and the shield, and constantly
   to gird their armor on, for they are not yet come to the land of peace;
   they are in an enemy's country, and every day will convince them that
   such is their position. Now, how comforting is this text to the
   believer who recognizes himself as a soldier, and the whole church as
   an army! The church has its van-guard: ?Jehovah will go before you.?
   The church is also in danger behind; enemies may attack her in her
   hinder part, ?and the God of Israel shall be her rereward.? So that the
   army is safe from enemies in front--and God alone knoweth their
   strength and it is also perfectly secure from any foes behind, however
   malicious and powerful they may be; for Jehovah is in the van, and the
   covenant God of Israel is behind: therefore the whole army is safe.

   I shall first consider this as it respects the church of God; and then,
   in the second place, I shall endeavour to consider it as it respects
   us, as individual believers. May God comfort our hearts while
   considering this precious truth!

   I. First, consider THE WHOLE CHURCH OF GOD AS AN ARMY. Remember that
   part of the host have crossed the flood; a large part of the army are
   standing this day upon the hills of glory; having overcome and
   triumphed. As for the rear, it stretches far into the future; some
   portions are as yet uncreated; the last of God's elect are not perhaps
   yet in existence. The rear-guard will be brought up in that day when
   the last vessel of mercy is full to the brim of grace, the last
   prodigal is restored to his Father's house, and the last of Christ's
   redeemed ones redeemed by power, as they were of old redeemed by blood.
   Now, cast your eyes forward to the front of the great army of God's
   elect, and you see this great truth coming up with great brilliance
   before you: ?Jehovah shall go before you.? Is not this true? Have you
   never heard of the eternal counsel and of the everlasting covenant? Did
   that not go before the church? Yea, my brethren, it went before
   manhood's existence, before the creation of this world that was to be
   the stage whereon the church should play its part, before the formation
   of the universe itself, when as yet all things that we now behold were
   unborn, when God lived alone in solitary majesty without a fellow, when
   there were no creatures. If there were such an eternity, an eternity
   filled with the Creator, and not one creature with him, even then it
   was, that God determined in his mind that he would form a people to
   himself who should show forth his praise; it was then that he settled
   how men should be redeemed; it was then the council of peace was held
   between the three divine persons, and it was determined that the Father
   should give the Son, that the Son should give himself, that the Holy
   Spirit should be the active agent to fetch out all the lost sheep, and
   restore them to the fold. Oh! think, beloved, of that great text which
   says, ?His goings forth were of old, even from everlasting.? Do not
   think that the gospel is a new thing; it is older than your hoary
   mountains, nay, it is older than the firstborn sons of light. Before
   that ?beginning,? when God created the heavens and the earth, there was
   another ?beginning,? for ?In the beginning was the Word, and the Word
   was with God, and the Word was God.? And assuredly, the Gospel was ever
   in the Word, for Jesus was set up front everlasting as the great head
   of the covenant of grace. Behold, then, the glorious Jehovah in the
   Trinity of his persons, treading the pathless depths of eternity, that
   a way for his elect might be prepared herein. He has gone before us.

   Take another view of the case. Jehovah shall go before you. Has he not
   gone before his church in act and deed? Perilous has been the journey
   of the church from the day when first it left Paradise even until now.
   When the church left Paradise, I say, for I believe that Adam and Eve
   were in the church of God, for I believe that both of them were
   redeemed souls, chosen of God, and precious. I see God give the promise
   to them before they leave the garden, and they go out from the garden,
   the church of God. Since that time, what a path has the church had to
   tread, but how faithfully hat Jehovah led the way. We see the floods
   gather round about her, but even then she floats safely in the ark
   which Jehovah had provided for her beforehand, for the Lord had gone
   before her. I see the church going out from Ur of the Chaldees. It is
   but a little church, with the patriarch Abraham at its head. I see that
   little church dwelling in an enemy's country, moving to and fro; but I
   observe how the Lord is its constant leader--?When they went from one
   nation to another, from one kingdom to another people; he suffered no
   man to do them wrong: yea, he reproved kings for their sakes; saying,
   Touch not mine anointed, and do my prophets no harm.? I see the church
   afterwards going down to the land of the cruel Pharaohs. It was a black
   part of her pilgrimage, for she was going to the lash of the taskmaster
   and to the heat of the burning fiery furnace; but I see Joseph going
   down before, Jehovah's great representative; Joseph goeth down into
   Egypt, and he saith, ?God sent me before you to provide a place for you
   in the time of famine.? So sings the Psalmist, ?He sent a man before
   them, even Joseph, who was sold for a servant: whose feet they hurt
   with fetters: he was laid in iron: until the time that his word came:
   the word of the Lord tried him. The king sent and loosed him; even the
   ruler of the people, and let him go free. He made him lord or his
   house, and ruler of all his substance: to bind his princes at his
   pleasure; and teach his senators wisdom. Israel also came into Egypt;
   and Jacob sojourned in the land of Ham.? But now the church has to come
   up out of Egypt, and God goes before her still; ?But made his own
   people to go forth like sheep, and guided them in the wilderness like a
   flock. And he led them on safely so that they feared not: but the sea
   overwhelmed their enemies.? The Red Sea is before them; Jehovah goes in
   front and dries up the sea. The desert must then be trodden; Jehovah
   marches in front, and scatters manna with both his hands; he splits the
   rock, and sends out a living stream. For forty years the church wanders
   there; Jehovah is with them; the fiery cloud-pillar leads them all
   their journey through. And now they come to the banks of Jordan; they
   are about to enter into the promised land; Jehovah goes before them and
   the Jordan is driven back, and the floods are dry. They came into the
   country of the mighty ones, the sons of Anak, men that were of the race
   of giants; but Jehovah had gone before them; the hornet was sent and
   the pestilence, so that when they came they said it was a land that did
   eat up the inhabitants thereof, for God himself with the sword and the
   pestilence was mowing down their foes that they might be an easier
   victory. ?And he brought them to the border of his sanctuary, even to
   this mountain, which his right hand had purchased. He cast out the
   heaten also before them, and divided them an inheritance by line, and
   made the tribes of Israel to dwell in their tents.?

   But why need I go through all the pages of the history of the church of
   God in the days of the old dispensation? Hath it not been true from the
   days of John the Baptist until now? Brethren, how can ye account for
   the glorious triumphs of the church if ye deny the fact that God has
   gone before her? I see the church emerge, as it were, from the bowels
   of Christ. Twelve fishermen--what are these to do? Do? Why they are to
   shake the world, to uproot old systems of paganism that have become
   venerable, and whose antiquity seems a guarantee that men will never
   renounce them. These men are to blot out the name of Jupiter; they are
   to cast Venus from her licentious throne; they are to pull down the
   temple of Delphos, scatter all the oracles, and disrobe the priests:
   these men are to overthrow a system and an empire of error that has
   stood for thousands of years--a system which has brought in to its help
   all the philosophy of learning and all the pomp of power;--these twelve
   fishermen are to do it. And they have done it, they have done it. The
   gods of the heatens are cast clown; they only remain among us as
   memorials of men's folly; but who bows down to Jupiter now? Where is
   the worshipper of Ashtaroth? Who calls Diana a divinity? The twelve
   fishermen have done it; they have erased from the world the old system
   of superstition; it seemed old as the eternal hills, yet have they dug
   up its foundations and scattered them to the winds. Could they have
   accomplished it unless Jehovah had been in the van and led the way? No,
   beloved, if ye read the history of the church, ye will be compelled to
   confess that whenever she went forward she could discern the footsteps
   of Jehovah leading the way. Our missionaries in these later times tell
   us that, when hey went to the South Seas to preach the gospel, there
   was an evident preparedness in the minds of the people for the
   reception of the truth, and I believe that at this time, if the church
   were true to herself, there are nations and people and tribes that are
   just in the condition of the ancient Canaanites: the hornet is among
   them making way for the Lord's army to win an easy conquest. But sure I
   am that never minister ascends the pulpit, if he be a true minister of
   Christ; never missionary crosses the sea, never Sunday school teacher
   goes to his work, but that Jehovah goes before him to help him if he
   goes in earnest prayer and constant faith. If I were a poet I think I
   have a subject that might suggest a grand epic poem--the march of the
   church through the world, with Jehovah in her fore front. See, when
   first she comes forth, ?the kings of the earth stand up, and the rulers
   take counsel together, against the Lord and against his anointed.?
   Alas, poor church, what is now thy fate? But I hear a voice ahead. What
   is it? It is a laugh. Who laughs? Why the leader of the army laughs.
   ?He that sitteth in the heavens shall laugh at them. The Lord shall
   have them in derision.? And shall we that are behind be mourning? Shall
   the church tremble? Let her call to mind the days of old, and comfort
   herself, that the Breaker has gone up before her, and the King at the
   head of her. But the enemy approaches. They bring out the rack, the
   bloody sword, the burning faggot. The march of the church lies through
   the flames, the floods must be forded, torments must be endured. Did
   the church ever stop a moment in its march for all the martyrdoms that
   fell upon her like the drops of a fiery shower? Never, never did the
   church seem to march on with feet so ready, never were her steps so
   firm as when she dipped her foot each time in blood, and every moment
   passed through the fire. It was the marvel of those days that men were
   better Christians then, and more willing to make a profession of Christ
   than they are even now. And whereas this seems to be the day of
   cravens, the time of persecution was the age of heroes, the time of the
   great and the bold. And why? Because God had gone beforehand with his
   church, and provided stores of grace for stores of trouble, shelter and
   mercy for tempests and persecution, abundance of strength for a
   superfluity of trial. Happy is the church because God has gone before
   her. Whether it were over the tops of the mountains, where her pastors
   fell frozen by cold, or whether it were in the depths of the dungeon
   where her confessors expired upon the rack, whether it were in the
   flame or at the block, everywhere God went before his church, and she
   came forth triumphant because her great vanguard had cleared the way.

   And now, beloved, we have come to the sweet part of the text, which
   saith, ?And the God of Israel shall be the rereward.? The original
   Hebrew is, ?God of Israel shall gather you up.? Armies in the time of
   war diminish by reason of stragglers, some of whom desert, and others
   of whom are overcome by fatigue; but the army of God is ?gathered up;?
   none desert from it if they be real soldiers of the cross, and none
   drop down upon the road. The God of Israel gathers them up. He who goes
   before, like a shepherd before the flock, providing pasture for them,
   comes behind that he may gather the lambs in his arms--that he may
   gently lead those that are with young. ?The God of Israel is your
   rereward.? Now the church of Christ has been frequently attacked in the
   rear. It often happens that the enemy, tired of opposing the onward
   march by open persecution, attempts to malign the church concerning
   something that has either been taught, or revealed, or done in past
   ages. Now, the God of Israel is our rereward. I am never at trouble
   about the attacks of infidels or heretics, however vigorously they may
   assault the doctrines of the Gospel, I will leave them alone; I have no
   answer for their logic; if they look to be resisted by mere reason,
   they look in vain; I have the simple answer of an affirmation, grounded
   upon the fact that God had said it. It is the only warfare I will enter
   into with them. If they must attack the rear let them fight with
   Jehovah himself. If the doctrines of the Gospel be as base as they say
   they are, let them cast discredit upon God, who revealed the doctrines;
   let them settle the question between God's supreme wisdom and their own
   pitiful pretensions to knowledge. It is not for Christian men to fear
   about the rear of the church. The doctrines of the Gospel, which are
   like the heavy baggage carried in the rear, or like the great guns kept
   behind against the time when they are wanted in the hour of battle,
   these are quite safe. The Amalekites may fall upon the stuff, or the
   Philistines may attack the ammunition, all is safe, for God is in the
   rereward; and let them but appear against our rear, and they shall
   instantly be put to the rout.

   But I am thinking that perhaps the later trials of the church may
   represent the rereward. There are to come, perhaps, to the church, in
   days that are approaching, fiercer persecutions that she has ever
   known. We cannot tell, we are no pretenders to prophecy, but we know
   that it always has been so with the church--a time of prosperity and
   then a period of persecution. She has a Solomon, and she reigns in all
   her glory under his shadow; hut in after years Antiochus oppresses her,
   and she needs a Judas Maccabæus to deliver her. Perhaps we are living
   in an age too soft for the church. The Capuan holidays that ruined the
   soldiers of Hannibal may rob the church now; ease and lack of
   persecution may put us off our guard. Perhaps, there may come yet
   fiercer times for us. I know not what is meant by the battle of
   Armageddon, but sometimes I fear we are to expect trial and trouble in
   years to come; but certain I am, however fierce those troubles shall
   be, that God, who has gone before his church in olden times, will
   gather up the rear, and she who has been Ecclesia victrix--the church,
   the conqueror, will still be the same, and her rear shall constitute at
   last a part of the church triumphant, even as already glorified.

   Can you now conceive the last great day when Jehovah, the rereward
   shall gather up his people? The time is come; the last of the salt is
   about to be removed; the church of God is now about to be carried up to
   dwell with her husband. Do you see the church moving upwards towards
   heaven? Behind her she leaves a world in flames; she sees the earth
   destroyed, God removes it as a shepherd's tent; the inhabitants thereof
   are gone, and the tent must be folded up; as a vesture shall they be
   folded up, and they shall be changed. But between the church and a
   blazing world, between the church and the terrible destruction of hell,
   there is the bright pillar of God's presence--black to his enemies
   behind, but bright to his church in front. The close of the great
   dispensation of the Mediator shall be that the God of Israel shall be
   all in all, his church shall be completely safe; he shall have gathered
   up all things in one, whether they be things in heaven or things on
   earth. Then shall the sonnet of the poet be more than fulfilled to the
   rejoicing and perfected church.

   ?Daughter of Zion, awake from thy sadness,

   Awake, for thy foes shall oppress thee no more;

   Bright o'er thy hills dawns the day-star of gladness:

   Arise, for the night of thy sorrow is o'er.

   Strong were thy foes, but the arm that subdued them,

   And scatter'd their legions, was mightier far;

   They fled, like the chaff, from the scourge that pursued them,

   Vain were their steeds, and their chariots of war.

   Daughter of Zion, the power that hath saved thee

   Extoll'd with the harp and the timbrel should be:

   Shout, for the foe is destroy'd that enslaved thee,

   The oppressor is vanquish'd, and Zion is free.?

   II. Let us turn to the second part of the sermon. We are now come to
   the last Sabbath of the year. Two troubles present themselves, the
   future and the past. We shall soon launch into another year, and
   hitherto we have found our years, years of trouble. We have had
   mercies, but still we find this house of out pilgrimage is not an
   abiding city, not a mansion of peace and comfort. Perhaps we are
   trembling to go forward. Foreseeing trouble, we know not how we we
   shall be able to endure to the end. We are standing here and pausing
   for a while, sitting down upon the stone of our Ebenezer to rest
   ourselves, gazing dubiously into the future, saying, ?Alas! what shall
   I do? Surely, I shall one day fall by the hand of the enemy.? Brother,
   arise, arise; anoint your head, and wash your face, and fast no longer;
   let this sweet morsel now cheer you; put this bottle to your lips, and
   let your eyes be enlightened: ?The Lord Jehovah will go before you.? He
   has gone before you already. Your future path has all been marked out
   in the great decrees of his predestination. You shall not tread a step
   which is not mapped out in the great chart of God's decree. Your
   troubles have been already weighed for you in the scales of his love;
   your labour is already set aside for you to accomplish by the hand of
   his wisdom. Depend upon it.

   ?Your times of trial and of grief,

   Your times of joy and sweet relief,

   All shall come and last and end

   As shall please your heavenly Friend.?

   Remember, you are not a child of chance. If you were, you might indeed
   fear. You will go nowhere next year except where God shall send you.
   You shall be thrust into the hot coals of the fire, but God shall put
   you there. You shall perhaps be much depressed in spirit, but that
   heaviness shall be for your good, and shall come from your Father; you
   shall have the rod, but it shall not be the rod of the wicked--it shall
   be in God's hand. Oh! how comfortable the thought that everything is in
   the hand of God, and that all that may occur to me during the future
   years of my life is fore-ordained and overruled by the great Jehovah,
   who is my Father and my friend! Now stop, Christian, a moment, and
   realize the idea that God has gone before, mapping the way; and then
   let me ask you if you could now this morning be allowed to draw a fresh
   map, would you do it? If he should condescend to say, ?Now your
   circumstances next year shall be just what you like; you shall have
   your own way, and go your own route to heaven, would you dare, even
   with God's permission, to draw a new chart?? If you should have that
   presumption, I know the result: you would find that you had gone the
   wrong way; you would soon be glad enough to retrace your step, and with
   many tears you would go to your heavenly Father, and say, ?My Father, I
   have had enough to do with the helm of this ship; it is hard work to
   hold it; do what thou wilt with it; steer which way thou pleasest,
   though it be through the deepest floods and the hottest flame. I am
   weary, I sleep at the tiller, I cannot guide the ship, my tears fall
   fast from my eyes, for when I think to be wise I find myself to have
   committed folly; when I thought I was promoting my own advantage in my
   scheme, I find I am rushing into a sea of losses.? God, then, has gone
   before you in the decree of his predestination.

   And recollect, God has gone before you in all your future journey in
   the actual preparations of his providence.

   I do not think I am capable this morning, for my mind seems to wander
   far more than I could desire, of sketching how it is, but so it is,
   that God always makes a providence beforehand ready for his people when
   they get to the place. My God does not hastily erect a tent over me
   when I come to a certain spot. No; he builds an inn of mercy, and
   before I get there he provides a bed of comfort, and stores up the old
   wines of grace, that I may feast upon them. And all this is done long
   before I come to the actual necessity. None of us can tell how the
   future leans on the past, how a simple act of to-day shall bring about
   a grand event in a hundred years. We do not know how the future lies in
   the bowels of the post, and how what is to be is the child of that
   which is. As all men spring from their progenitors, so the providence
   of to-day springs from the providence of a hundred years past. The
   events of next year have been forestalled by God in what he has done
   this year and years before. I am certain of this, that on the road I am
   to travel during the next year, everything is ready for me. I am not
   going a road of hills and deep valleys, but I have heard the voice of
   one crying in the wilderness, ?Prepare ye the way of the Lord, make
   straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every valley shall be
   exalted, and every mountain and hill shall be made low: and the crooked
   shall be made straight, and the rough places plain: and the glory of
   the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together for the
   mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.? ?I will open rivers in high places,
   and fountains in the midst of the valleys: I will make the wilderness a
   pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.? ?And I will bring
   the blind by a way that they know not; I will lead them in paths that
   they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and
   crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not
   forsake them.? I say again, you are not going through a land that God
   has not prepared for you. O Israel, there is a well of Elim made for
   you long before you came out of Egypt, and there are palm trees that
   have been growing there that they might just come to the fruit-bearing
   state, and have fruit upon them, when you come there. O Israel, God is
   not going to extemporize a Canaan for you; it is ready made, it is even
   now flowing with milk and honey; the vines that are to bear you grapes
   of Eshcol are already there and coming to perfection. God has
   forestalled your trials and troubles for the next year. The Lord
   Jehovah has gone before you.

   There is also another phase of this subject. Jehovah has gone before us
   in the incarnation of Christ. As to our future troubles for next year
   and the remnant of our days, Jesus Christ has borne them all before. As
   for temptation, he ?has been tempted in all points like as we are, yet
   without sin.? As for trials and sorrows, he has felt all we can
   possibly feel, and infinitely more. As for our difficulties, Christ has
   trodden the road before. We may rest quite sure that we shall not go
   anywhere where Christ has not gone. The way of God's people in
   providence is the exact track of Christ himself. The footsteps of the
   flock are identical with the footsteps of the shepherd, so far as they
   follow the leading and guidings of God.

   And there is this reflection also, that, inasmuch as Christ has gone
   before us, he has done something in that going before, for he has
   conquered every foe that lies in his way. Cheer up now thou
   faint-hearted warrior. Not only has Christ travelled the road, but he
   has slain thine enemies. Dost thou dread sin? he has nailed it to his
   cross. Dost thou dread death? he has been the death of Death. Art thou
   afraid of hell? he has barred it against the advent of any of his
   children; they shall never see the gulf of perdition. Whatever foes may
   be before the Christian, they are all overcome. There are lions, but
   their teeth are broken; there are serpents, but their fangs are
   extracted; there rivers but they are bridged or fordable; there are
   flames, but we have upon us that matchless garment which renders us
   invulnerable to fire. The sword that has been forged against us is
   already blunted; the instruments of war which the enemy is preparing
   have already lost their point. God has taken away in the person of
   Christ all the power that anything can have to hurt us. Well then, the
   army may safely march on and you may go joyously along your journey,
   for all your enemies are conquered beforehand. What shall you do but
   march on to take the prey? They are beaten, they are vanquished; all
   you have to do is to divide the spoil. Your future life shall be only
   the dividing of the spoil. You shall, it is true, often dread combat;
   and you shall sometimes have to wield the spear, but your fight shall
   be with a vanquished foe. His head is broken; he may attempt to injure
   you, but his strength shall not be sufficient for his malicious design.
   Your victory shall he easy, and your treasure shall be beyond all
   count. Come boldly on then, for Jehovah shall go before you. This shall
   be our sweet song when we come to the river of death: Black are its
   streams, and there are terrors there of which I cannot dream. But shall
   I fear to go through the dark stream if Jehovah goes before me? There
   may be goblins of frightful shape, there may be horrors of a hellish
   hue, but thou, Jehovah, shalt clear the way, thou shalt bid each enemy
   begone, and each fiend shall flee at thy bidding. I may march safely
   on. So confident would I feel in this great vanguard, that shouldst
   thou bid me go through hell itself, I need not fear all the terrors of
   the place of doom; for if Jehovah went before, he would tread out even
   to the last spark the fire; he would quench even to the last flame that
   burning; and the child of God might march safely through the flame that
   had been quenched and the ashes that were extinguished. Let us
   therefore never be troubled about the future. It is all safe, for
   Jehovah has gone before.

   Now I hear one say, ?The future seldom troubles me, sir; it is the
   past--what I have done and what I have not done--the years that are
   gone--how I have sinned, and how I have not served my master as I
   ought. These things grieve me, and sometimes my old sins start up in my
   recollection and accuse me; What! shalt THOU be saved?' say they,
   Remember us.' And they spring up in number like the sands of the sea. I
   cannot deny that I have committed all these sins, nor can I say that
   they are not the most guilty of iniquities. Oh! it is the rereward that
   is most unsafe. I dead most the sins of the past.? O beloved, the God
   of Israel shall be your rereward. Notice the different titles. The
   first is ?the Lord,? or properly ?Jehovah?--?Jehovah will go before
   you.? That is the I am, full of omniscience and omnipotence. The second
   title is ?God of Israel,? that is to say, the God of the Covenant. We
   want the God of the Covenant behind, because it is not in the capacity
   of the I am, the omnipotent, that we require him to pardon sin, to
   accept our persons, to blot out the past, and to remove iniquity by the
   blood of Christ; it is as the God of the Covenant that he does that. He
   goes behind; here he finds that his child has left a black mark, and he
   takes that away; he finds here a heap of rubbish, a mass of broken good
   works, and here another load of evil, of filth, and he carefully
   removes all, so that in that track of his children there is not a spot
   or a blemish; and though they have trodden the road the most observant
   of their foes at the last great day shall not be able to find that they
   have done any mischief on the journey, or one wrong thing in all their
   march, for the God of Israel hath so swept the way that he has taken
   away their iniquities and cast their sins behind his back.

   Now let me always think, that I have God behind me as well as before
   me. Let not the memories of the past, though they cause me grief, cause
   me despair. Let me never bemoan because of past trial or past
   bereavement; let me never be cast down on account of past sin; but let
   me look to Christ for the pardon of the past, and to God for the
   sanctification of my past troubles. Let me believe that he who has
   cleared the way before me, has removed all enemies from behind me, that
   I am and must he perpetually safe. And now, are there any here to-day
   whose hearts God hath touched, who desire to join this great army? Have
   I one here who has been enlisted in the black army of the devil, and
   has long been fighting his way against God and against right? I pray
   that he may be compelled this day to ground his arms, and surrender at
   discretion to God. Sinner, if the Lord inclines thine heart this day to
   yield up thyself to him, the past shall all be blotted out; God shall
   be thy rereward. As for thy innumerable sins, leave them to Christ; he
   will make short work of them; by his blood he will slay them all; they
   shall not be mentioned against thee for ever. And as for the future,
   thou chief of sinners, if now thou enlistest into the army of Christ by
   faith, thou shalt find the future shall be strewn with the gold of
   God's grace, and the silver of his temporal mercies; thou shalt have
   enough and to spare, from this day forth even to the end, and at the
   last thou shalt be gathered in by the great arms of God, that
   constitute the rear guard of his heavenly army. Come ye chief of
   sinners, come away to Christ. He now invites you to come to him; he
   asks nothing of you as a preparation. Christ's regiment is made up of
   men that are in debt and are discontented: the rag-tag of the world
   Christ will take; the scum, the dross, the offal of the universe Christ
   loves; the sweepings of our dens of iniquity, the very leavings of the
   devil's mill Christ is willing to receive, the chief of sinners, those
   who have been ministers in guilt, abortions of iniquity. Come to him;
   lay hold of him by faith; look to him as he hangs upon the tree;
   believe in his merits, and then shalt this promise be yours with
   innumerable others that are rich beyond all estimation; and you shall
   rejoice that Jehovah is gone before you, and that the God of Israel
   shall be your rereward.
     __________________________________________________________________

                              Faith in Perfection

   A Sermon

   (No. 231)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 2nd, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens

   ?The Lord will perfect that which concerneth me. Thy mercy, O Lord,
   endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine own hands.?--Psalm
   138:8.

   I HAVE SELECTED THIS TEXT, or, rather, it has been given to me to
   furnish a motto for the whole year to all the believing family of God
   now present. It was brought under my notice from the fact that I have a
   very dear friend, a venerable minister of the Church of England, and an
   earnest lover of the truth as it is in Jesus, who always sends me, at
   the beginning of the year, or a day or two previously, a little
   envelope sealed up, that I am not to open till New Year's day,
   containing a printed text of Scripture, which he desires to be
   preserved during the remainder of the year, to act as a staff whereon
   we may rest through the pilgrimage of the next twelve months. When I
   opened my envelope I found this text, and it charmed me. It contains in
   itself the very essence of the grace of God. It reads like music to the
   soul, and is like a bottle of water in the desert to the thirsty lip.
   Let me read it again, and remember it, and dwell upon it, and digest it
   during all the year. ?The Lord will perfect that which concerneth me.
   Thy mercy, O Lord, endureth for ever: forsake not the works of thine
   own hands.?

   In the opening, I must remark that this is not the heritage of all
   mankind. The word, ?me,? in the text, cannot be appropriated by any
   man, unless he, in some respects, resembles the character of David, who
   penned this psalm. The text, however, itself, is its own guard. If you
   look at it, you will see that there is in its bowels a full description
   of a true Christian. I will ask you three questions suggested by the
   words themselves, and according to your answer to these three
   questions, shall be my reply, yes or no, as to whether this promise
   belongs to you.

   To begin, let us read the first sentence--?The Lord will perfect that
   which concerneth me.? Now, have you a concern in and a concern about
   heavenly things? Have you ever felt that eternity concerns you more
   than time; that the mansions of heaven are more worthy your
   consideration than the dwelling-places of earth? Have you felt that you
   ought to have a greater concern about your immortal soul than about
   your perishing body? Remember, if you are living the life of the
   butterfly, the life of the present, a sportive and flowery life,
   without making any preparation or taking any thought for a future
   world, this promise is not yours. If the things of God do not concern
   you, then God will not perfect them for you. You must have in your own
   soul a concern about these things, and afterwards you must have a
   belief in your heart that you have an interest in heavenly things, or
   otherwise it would be a perversion of Holy Scripture for you to
   appropriate these precious things to yourselves. Can we then, each of
   us put our hand upon our heart and say, without stammering, which
   suggests a hypocrite--can we say honestly, as in the sight of God; ?I
   am concerned about the things of God, of Christ, of salvation, of
   eternity! I may not have assurance, but I have concern. If I cannot
   say, I know in whom I have believed, yet I can say I know in whom I
   desire to believe. If I cannot say, I know that my Redeemer liveth, yet
   I can say I desire that I may be found in him at last, without spot or
   wrinkle, or any such thing.? Well soul, if thou hast a concern about
   the things of God, this is thy promise, and let not Master Clip-promise
   take it away from thee; suffer him not to take any part of its
   preciousness; it is all thine, ?The Lord will perfect that which
   concerneth thee.?

   Another question is suggested by the second clause, ?Thy mercy, O Lord,
   endureth forever.? Have we then tasted of God's mercy? Have you and I
   gone to the throne of grace conscious of our lost estate? Have we made
   confession of our sins? Have we looked to the blood of Jesus; and do we
   know that the mercy of God has been manifested to us? Have we breathed
   the dying thief's petition, and have we had the gracious answer of
   Jesus? Have we prayed as the publican did? and have we gone to our
   house justified by God's mercy? Remember, O man! if thou hast never
   received God's pardoning mercy and his forgiving grace, this text is a
   divine enclosure, into which thou hast no right to intrude; this is a
   banquet, of which thou hast no right to eat; this is a secret place,
   into which thou hast no right to enter. We must first taste God's mercy
   and, having tasted that, we may believe that he will perfect that which
   concerneth us.

   A third question, and I beseech you put these questions to your heart,
   lest you should be misled, by any comfortable words that I shall
   hereafter speak, into the foul delusion, that this promise signifies
   yourself, when it does not. The last question is suggested by the
   prayer, ?Forsake not the works of thine own hands.? Have you then a
   religion which is the work of God's hands? Many men have a religion
   which is their own work, there is nothing supernatural about it; human
   nature began it, human nature has carried it on, and as far they have
   any hope they trust that human nature will complete it. Remember there
   is no spring on earth that has force enough in it to spout a fountain
   into paradise, and there is no strength in human nature that shall ever
   suffice to raise a soul to heaven. You may practice morality, and I
   beseech you do so; you may attend to ceremonies and you have a right to
   do so, and must do so; you may endeavour to do all righteousness, but
   since you are a sinner condemned in the sight of God, you can never be
   pardoned apart from the blood of Christ; and you can never be purified
   apart from the purifying operations of the Holy Ghost. That man's
   religion which is born on earth, and born of the will of the flesh or
   of blood, is a vain religion. Oh! beloved, except a man be born again,
   or from above, as the original has it, he cannot see the kingdom of
   God. That which is born of the flesh is flesh and cannot enter heaven;
   only that which is born of the Spirit is spirit, and is, therefore,
   capable of inheriting a spiritual inheritance, which God reserves for
   spiritual men. Have I then the work of God in my heart? am I sure it is
   not my own work? If I am, experimentally, an Arminian, and if I think I
   have proved the truth of Arminian religion, then I have no religion
   that will carry me to heaven. But if, experimentally, I am compelled to
   confess that grace begins, that grace carries on, and that grace must
   perfect my religion, then God having began the good work in me, I am
   the person for whom this verse is intended, and I may sit down at this
   celestial banquet and eat and drink to my very full.

   Let each hearer, then, pause and put these three questions to
   himself,--Am I concerned about religion? Have I tasted the mercy of
   God? Is my religion God's work? They are solemn questions; answer them!
   and if ye can even humbly say ?Yes,? then come ye to this text, for the
   joy and comfort of it is yours.

   We have three things here. First, the believer's confidence,--?The Lord
   will perfect that which concerneth me.? Secondly, the ground of that
   confidence,--?Thy mercy, O Lord, endureth for ever;? and thirdly, the
   result and outgrowth of his confidence expressed in the
   prayer,--?Forsake not the works of thine own hands.?

   I. First, then, THE BELIEVER'S CONFIDENCE,--?The Lord will perfect that
   which concerneth me.? I think, perhaps, the best way to preach upon a
   text, if we would have it remembered, is to take it word by word. Let
   us spell it over then, as Uncle Tom did, when he was on board of the
   steamer, and could not read the long words, but sucked more sweetness
   out of the text by spelling it over, than he could have done in any
   other way.

   ?The Lord.? Well then the Psalmist's confidence was a divine
   confidence. He did not say, ?I have grace enough to perfect that which
   concerneth me;? ?my faith is so strong that I shall not fail;? ?my love
   is so warm that it will never grow cold;? ?my resolution is so firmly
   set that nothing can move it;?--no, his dependance was on the
   Lord--?The Lord will perfect that which concerneth me.? And O
   Christian, if thou hast any confidence which is not grounded on the
   Lord and rooted in the rock of ages, thy confidence is worse than a
   dream; it shall deceive thee, pierce thee, wound thee, and cast thee
   down to thine own future sorrow and grief. But here, our Psalmist
   himself builds upon nothing else than upon the Lord's works. Sure I am
   the Lord began the good work in our souls, he has carried it on, and if
   he does not finish it, it never will be complete. If there be one
   stitch in the celestial garment of my righteousness, which I am to
   insert myself, then I am lost. If there be one drachma in the price of
   my redemption which I am to make up, then must I perish. If there be
   one contingency--one ?if,? or ?though,? or ?but,? about my soul's
   salvation, then am I a lost man. But this is my confidence, the Lord
   that began will perfect. He has done it all, must do it all, he will do
   it all. My confidence must not be in what I can do, or in what I have
   resolved to do, but entirely in what the Lord will do. ?The Lord will
   perfect that which concerneth me.? ?Oh,? says unbelief, ?you will never
   be able to purify yourself from sin. Look at the evil of your heart,
   you can never sweep that away: look at the evil fashions and
   temptations of the world that beset you, you will surely be lured aside
   and led astray.? Ah! yes, I should indeed perish if it depended upon
   myself. I am but as clay upon the wheel. If I had to fashion myself
   into a vessel of honour, fit for the Master's use, I might give up the
   work in despair. I am but as a little lamb; and if I had to travel
   through the wilderness by myself, I might indeed lie down and die. Yet
   if I be clay, he is my potter, and he will not suffer me to be marred
   upon the wheel; and if I be a lamb he is my shepherd, and he carrieth
   the lambs in his bosom--he wardeth off the wolf, he smiteth the
   destroyer, and he bringeth every sheep into the fold upon the hilltop
   of glory. The Lord, then, is the Christian's divine confidence. We can
   never be too confident when we confide in the Lord. ?Jehovah will
   perfect that which concerneth me.?

   Take the next word, ?will.? So the Psalmist's confidence was a
   confidence for the future; it is not only what the Lord does, but what
   the Lord will do. I have heard people say that they could trust a man
   as far as they could see him; and I have often thought that is about as
   far as many professors trust God, so far as they can see him, and no
   farther. They believe God is good when the meat is on the table, and
   the drink is in the cup, but would they believe God if the table were
   bare, and the cup were empty? No; they have good faith when they see
   the ravens coming, that they shall have their bread and meat; but if
   the ravens did not come, would they believe that even then their bread
   should be given them and their water should be sure? They can believe
   the thing when they get it, but until they get it they are doubting.
   The Psalmist's faith, however, deals with the future, not merely with
   the present. The ?Lord will,? says he, the ?Lord will.? He looks on all
   through his life, and he feels sure that what God has done and is doing
   he will carry on even to the end. And now you that are afraid about the
   future, rest with us in this sweet promise. How often do you and I
   stand star-gazing into the future, and trembling, because we think we
   see divers portents, and strange sights, which portend some future
   trouble. O child of God! leave the future to thy God. O leave
   everything that is to come in the hand of him to whom the future is
   already present, and who knows beforehand everything that shalt befall
   thee. Draw from the present living water with which to moisten the arid
   desert of the future; snatch from the altar-fires of to-day a torch
   with which to light up the darkness of that which is to come. Depend on
   it, that He who is to-day thy sun, shall be thy sun for ever--even in
   the darkest hour he shall shine upon thee; and he who is to-day thy
   shield shall be thy shield for evermore; and even in the thickest part
   of the battle he shall catch the dart, and thou shalt stand unharmed.

   Let us turn to this word ?will? once again. There is a little more in
   it; it does not say the ?Lord may,? it does not say, ?I hope he will; I
   trust he will,? but it says he will; ?The Lord will perfect that which
   concerneth me.? A few months after I first sought and found salvation,
   I enjoyed the sweet privilege of full assurance, and in talking with a
   godly Christian I expressed myself very confidently concerning the
   great truth that God would ne'er forsake his people, nor leave his work
   undone. I was at once child, I was told I had no right to speak so
   confidently, for it was presumptuous. The longer I live, the more I
   feel persuaded that confidence was proper, and the chiding was not
   deserved. I believe that the happiest of Christians and the truest of
   Christians are those who never dare to doubt God, but who take his word
   simply as it stands, and believe it and ask no questions, just feeling
   assured that if God has said it it will be so. The Psalmist in our text
   had no more doubt about his own ultimate perfection, than he had about
   his existence. He says, ?the Lord will perfect that which concerneth
   me.? There are many things that may or may not happen, but this I know
   shall happen,

   ?He shall present my soul,

   Unblemish'd and complete,

   Before the glory of his face,

   With joys divinely great.?

   All the purposes of man have been defeated, but not the purposes of
   God. The promises of man may be broken, many of them are made to be
   broken, but the purposes of God shall stand, and his promises shall be
   fulfilled. He is a promise maker, but he never was a promise breaker:
   he is a promise-keeping God, and his people shall prove it so. Come
   then, ye that are always hoping amidst trembling, and fear, but are
   never confident, for once take that doubting note out of your mouth,
   and say assuredly ?the Lord will perfect that which concerneth me.? If
   I be really his child, though full of sin, I shall one day be perfect;
   if I have really set my heart towards him, I shall one day see his face
   with joy; and let whatever foes obstruct, I shall conquer through the
   Lamb's redeeming blood. He ?will perfect that which concerneth me.? I
   like to hear God's people speak diffidently of themselves, but
   confidently of their God. Doubts are the greatest of sins, and even
   though Christians have doubts, yet doubts are unchristian things. The
   spirit of Christ is not a spirit of doubting, but a spirit of
   believing. Doubts may exist in the hearts of spiritual men, but doubts
   are unspiritual, carnal, and sinful. Let us seek to get rid of them,
   and speak confidently where God's word is confident.

   Now, take the next word, ?The Lord will perfect.? That is a large word.
   Our Wesleyan brethren have a notion that they are going to be perfect
   here on earth. I should be very glad to see any of them when they are
   perfect; and if any of them happen to be in the position of servants
   and want a situation, I would be happy to give them any amount of wages
   I could spare, for I should feel myself greatly honoured and greatly
   blessed in having a perfect servant; and what is more, if any of them
   are masters and want servants, I would undertake to come and serve them
   without wages at all if I could but find a perfect master. I have had a
   perfect master ever since I first knew the Lord, and if I could find
   that there is another perfect master, I should be greatly pleased in
   having him as an under-master, while the great Supreme must ever be
   chief of all. Did you ever see a perfect man? I did once. He called
   upon me, and wanted me to come and see him, for I should get great
   instruction from him if I did. I said, ?I have no doubt of it, but I
   should not like to come into your house; I think I should be hardly
   able to get into your room.? How is that? ?Well, I suppose your house
   would be so full of angels that there would not be room for me.? He did
   not like that; so I broke another joke or two upon his head; whereupon
   he went into a perfect furor. ?Well friend,? I said to him, ?I think I
   am as perfect as you after all; for perfect men get angry?? He denied
   that he was angry, although there was a peculiar redness about his
   cheeks that is very common to persons when they are angry; at any rate
   I think I rather spoiled his perfection, for he evidently went home
   less satisfied with himself than when he went out. I met another man
   who considered himself perfect, but he was thoroughly mad; and I do not
   believe that any of your pretenders to perfection are better than good
   maniacs, superior bedlamites; that is all I believe they are. For while
   a man has got a spark of reason left in him, he cannot, unless he is
   the most impudent of imposters, talk about his being perfect. What
   would I not give to be perfect myself! And you can say also, what would
   you not give to be perfect. If I must be burnt in fire, or dragged
   through the sea by the hair of my head; if I must be buried in the
   bowels of the earth, or hung up to the stars for ever--if I might but
   be perfect, I would rejoice in any price I might have to pay for
   perfection. But I feel perfectly persuaded, that perfection is
   absolutely impossible to any man beneath the sky; and yet, I feel sure,
   that to every believer future perfection is an absolute certainty. The
   day shall come, beloved, when the Lord shall not only make us better,
   but shall make us perfectly good; when he shall not merely subdue our
   lusts, but when he shall cast the demons out; when he shall make us not
   only tolerable, and bearable, and endurable, but make us holy and
   acceptable in his sight. That day however, I believe, shall not come
   until we enter into the joy of our Lord, and are glorified together
   with Christ in heaven.

   Say, Christian, is not this a large confidence? ?The Lord will make me
   perfect.? He will most assuredly, beyond a doubt, bring to perfection
   my faith, my love, my hope, and every grace. He will perfect his
   purposes; he will perfect his promises; he will perfect my body, and
   perfect my soul. ?He will perfect that which concerneth me.?

   And now there is the word ?that?--?that which?--?The Lord will perfect
   that which concerneth me.? Very indefinite, it seems; but how broad it
   is. What a broad faith the Psalmist had! ?Whatever concerns me,? says
   he, ?the Lord will perfect.? Once pardon of sin concerned me; that he
   has perfected. Then imputed righteousness concerned me; that he
   perfected. Now, sanctification troubles me; that he will perfect. One
   day, deliverance was my fear; now it is support. But whatever is laid
   upon my heart to be concerned about, this comprehensive term, ?that?
   embraces all, be it what it may, if I have a spiritual concern upon my
   soul about any heavenly thing, that will God perfect.

   Go on a step further. Here is a trial of faith. ?The Lord will perfect
   that which concerneth me.? Alas, beloved, we cannot say we have any
   good thing without having concern for it. I suppose God never gave us a
   blessing, but we doubted whether we should have it before we obtained
   it. Somehow or other, our doubts always go before God's mercies;
   whereas we ought to believe, and not to feel any anxiety and
   distrustful concern. My faith is sometimes tried and concerned about
   heavenly things now. But though that faith be tried by an inward
   concern about the things of God, yet it surmounts even its own doubts,
   and cries, ?The Lord will perfect even this.? Have you learnt this
   lesson aright--being troubled about a thing and yet believing about it?
   A christian man will find his experience to be very much like the sea.
   Upon the surface there is a storm, and the mountain-waves are rolling,
   but down in the depths there are caverns where quietude has reigned
   supreme ever since the foundations of the earth were digged; where
   peace, undisturbed, has had a solitary triumph. Beloved, it is so with
   the Christian's heart. Outwardly, he is concerned about these things.
   He doubts, he fears, he trembles; but in his inmost heart, down in the
   depths of his soul, he is without a fear, and he can say confidently,
   ?The Lord will perfect that which concerneth me.?

   But I hasten to dwell upon the last word. The faith of our text is a
   personal faith. ?The Lord will perfect that which concerneth me.? Here
   is the loudest note of all; this is the handle whereby we must lay hold
   of this sword if we would use it aright--?that which concerneth me.?
   Oh, it is a sweet truth to know and believe that God will perfect all
   his saints; tis sweeter still to know that ?he will perfect me.? It is
   blessed to believe that all God's people shall persevere; but the
   essence of delight is to feel that I shall persevere through him. Many
   persons are contented with a kind of general religion, an universal
   salvation. They belong to a Christian community; they have joined a
   Christian church, and they think they shall be saved in the lump--in
   the mass; but give me a personal religion. What is all the bread in the
   world, unless I myself feed upon it? I am starved, though Egypt be full
   of corn. What are all the rivers that run from the mountains to the
   sea, if I be thirsty? Unless I drink myself, what are all these? If I
   be poor and in rags, ye do but mock me if ye tell me that Potosi's
   mines are full of treasure? You do but laugh at me if you speak of
   Golconda's diamonds. What care I for these, unless I have some
   participation for myself? But if I can say even of my crust, ?It is my
   own,? then I can eat it with a grateful heart. That crust which is my
   own is more precious than all the granaries of Egypt if they are not my
   own, and this promise even if it were smaller would be more precious
   than the largest promise that stands in the Bible, if I could not see
   my right to it personally myself. But now, by bumble faith, sprinkled
   with the blood of Christ, resting in his merits, trusting in his death,
   I come to the text, and say throughout this year, and every year, ?The
   Lord will perfect that which concerneth me?--unworthy me. Lost and
   ruined me. He will yet save me; and

   ?I, among the blood-wash'd throng,

   Shall wave the palm, and wear the crown,

   And shout loud victory.?

   This, then, is the believer's confidence. May God grant you the same!

   II. The second thing is THE GROUND OF THIS CONFIDENCE. The ground of it
   is this--?Thy mercy, O Lord, endureth for ever.? The believer is sure
   he shall be saved. Why? Because of his merits? No. Because of the
   strength of his own faith? No. Because he has something which will
   recommend him to God? No; he believes he shall be perfected because of
   God's mercy. Is it not a strange thing that the advanced believer, when
   he reaches to the very height of piety, just comes to the spot where he
   commenced? Do we not begin at the cross, and when we have climbed over
   so high, is it not at the cross that we end? I know my pilgrimage shall
   never end to my heart's content till at his cross again I cast my
   wreath and lay my honours down. My sins I laid there, and aught else
   that he has given me I would lay there too. Ye began there and your
   watchword is the cross. While yet the hosts are preparing for the
   battle, it is the cross. And ye have fought the fight and your sword is
   red with blood, and your head is crowned with triumph. And what is the
   watchword now? The cross. That which is our strength in battle is our
   boast in victory. Mercy must be the theme of our song here; and mercy
   enduring for ever must be the subject of the sonnets of paradise. None
   other can be fit sinners; nay, and none other can be fit, grateful
   saints.

   Come then, beloved, let us just look at this ground of our confidence,
   and see whether it will bear our weight. It is said that elephants when
   they are going to cross a bridge are always very careful to sound it,
   to see whether it will bear them. If they see a horse going over safely
   that is not enough, for they say to themselves, ?I am an elephant, and
   I must see whether it will bear me.? Now, we should always do the same
   with a promise and with the groundwork of a promise. The promise may
   have been proved by others before you, but if you feel yourselves to be
   like huge elephantine sinners, you want to be quite certain whether the
   arches of the promise are quite strong enough to bear the weight of
   your sins. Now, I say, here is God's mercy. Ah! this is indeed
   all-sufficient. What was it that first led the Lord to bring you and me
   into the covenant at all? It was mercy, pure mercy. We were dead in
   sin. We had not any merits to recommend us, for some of us used to
   curse and swear like infidels; some of us were drunkards, sinners of
   the deepest dye. And why did God save us? Simply because he has said,
   ?I will have mercy upon whom I will have mercy.?

   ?What was there in you that could merit esteem,

   Or give the Creator delight??

   'Twas mercy. Well, then, if mercy made God choose me, if he chose me
   from no other motive than mercy, if that mercy always is the same, he
   always will choose me, and always will love me. Do you not know it is a
   rule which none can dispute, that the same cause must always produce
   the same effect. We are told that the volcano is caused by certain
   fires within the earth, which must find their vent. Now, as long as
   there are those inward fires, and they are in a condition to require
   the vent, the vent they must have. When the cause is the same, the
   effect must be the same.

   The sole cause then, of the salvation of any man is the mercy of God,
   and not his merits. God does not look at you whether you are a good man
   or a bad man; he does not save you because of anything in yourself, but
   because he will do as he pleases, and because he loves to act
   mercifully: that is his only reason. Oh! my God, if thou lovedst me
   when I had not any faith, thou wilt not cast me away because my faith
   is weak now. If thou lovedst me when I had all my sin about me, thou
   wilt not leave off loving me now thou hast pardoned me. If thou lovedst
   me when I was in my rags, and beggary, and filth, when there was
   nothing to recommend me; at least, my God, I am not further fallen than
   I was then, or, if I am, the same boundless mercy that loved me when I
   was lost, will love me, lost though I be even now. Do you not see it is
   because the basis of eternal love is that on which we build we derive
   this inference, that if the base cannot move, the pyramid will not.
   ?The mercy of God endureth for ever: the Lord will perfect that which
   concerneth me.?

   Note the very words of the text: ?Thy mercy, O Lord.? David brings his
   confidence into the court of Divine inspection, in order that it may
   there be proved. He says, ?The Lord will perfect that which concerneth
   me.? It is very well for you and I to speak thus here this morning, but
   dare we go up to the very temple of God, and there, feeling his
   presence, actually present our confidence before him, and ask him to
   try it. There are many hypocrites in the world that would tremble to
   play the hypocrite if they felt that they were in the presence of God.
   But here we have a man that dares to bring his faith to God's tribunal;
   he puts it in the scales of infinite justice, and waits the decision.
   ?Thy mercy, O Lord.? Can you do the same? Who among us can cry out with
   Toplady--

   ?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.?

   Can you come into God's presence and say this, or, to quote Hart's
   words, can you say

   ?Great God I'm clean,

   Through Jesu's blood I'm clean.?

   He that can say that is blessed indeed; the Lord shall perfect that
   which concerneth him.

   Ah, what if God's mercy towards men should change? Blessed be his name
   it cannot; it endureth for ever. But what if he should remove his mercy
   from one man to another? That also he will never do; it endureth for
   ever. But suppose we should sin so much that God's mercy should give
   way? It cannot give way; it endureth all the weight of sin; it endureth
   for ever. But what if we should live in sin so long that at last God
   denied mercy to us even though we believed in him? That cannot be; we
   cannot sin longer than for ever--his mercy cannot be tried longer, and
   even if it could be tried for ever it would endure for ever. All the
   weight of my trouble, all the weight of my backsliding, all the weight
   of my evil heart of unbelief--all these the everlasting arches of
   divine mercy can and will sustain. Those arches never shall rock; the
   stone never shall be crumbled; it never shall be swept away by even the
   floods of eternity itself. Because his mercy endureth for ever, God
   will most assuredly perfect the work of his hands.

   And now I come to the third and last point, and here may the Holy
   Spirit help me to stir up your minds to prayer.

   III. The third particular is--THE RESULT OF THE BELIEVER'S
   CONFIDENCE--it leads him to prayer. Out upon those men who have a
   confidence that helps them to live without prayer. There are men that
   live in this world who say we do not need evidences, we do not need
   prayer, we do not need good works. ?The Lord has appeared of old unto
   me, and said unto me, Thou art one of God's elect, an thou mayest live
   in sin, and do whatever thou pleasest, I will save thee at last.? Such
   characters I hope are getting rare. Alas! there are certain places of
   worship where such a religion as that is fostered, if it be not
   begotten. There are some ministers--I trust they hardly know what they
   are about--who by leaving out the doctrine of man's responsibility,
   naturally lead men into that guilty and abominable doctrine of
   Antinomianism which has done so much to injure the cause of Christ.
   Hear then, ye seed of the presumptuous, and ye that bear the whore's
   forehead, hear and tremble. The Lord hath not chosen you, neither has
   he cast your name into his lap. He has chosen no man who lives and dies
   presumptuously, trusting that he is chosen when he has no evidence of
   it. Do you live without prayer? Ah! soul; election hath nought to do
   with thee. What is intended by the doctrine of reprobation is far more
   likely to be thy lot than the glorious inheritance of election. Dost
   thou live in sin, that grace may abound! Every man's damnation is just,
   but thine shall be emphatically so. What! dost thou dare to palm
   thyself off as a child of God when thou art a brat of hell? Dost thou
   claim that thou art a heir of light, when the damning mark of Cain is
   on thy very forehead? What! when thou art like Balaam, presumptuous and
   abominable, dost thou dare still to claim a lot in the inheritance of
   the saints in light? Away with thy confidence; ?Hail shall sweep away
   thy refuge of lies.? The true-born child of God has a spot that is not
   like thy spot; he is of a different mould and make from thee. Thou art
   a deceiver--not the legitimate child of God.

   Mark, my friends, in the text, that a genuine confidence in God does
   not lead us to give up prayer, but leads us to prayer. ?The Lord will
   perfect me.? Am I, therefore to say, ?He will do it, and I will not
   pray?? No, because he will do it, therefore will I pray. Many persons
   have such shallow minds that they cannot perceive how God's
   determination and our own free action can go together. I never find
   these people making the same mistake in common life they do on
   religious subjects. A man says to me, ?Now, sir, if God intends to save
   me, I need do nothing.? He knows he is a fool when he says it; or if he
   does not know it, I will soon make him see it. Suppose he says, again,
   ?If the Lord intends to feed me, he will feed me, and I will go without
   my dinner. If the Lord intends to give me a harvest, he will give me a
   harvest, and I shall not sow any wheat, and I shall not plough.?
   Suppose another were to say, ?If the Lord intends to keep me warm
   to-day, he will do it; so I will not put on my coat.? Suppose a man
   should say, again, ?If the Lord intends me to go to bed to-night, I
   shall go to bed; and, therefore, I shall not walk towards home, but sit
   here as long as I like.? You smile at once, because the folly is
   self-convicting. But is it not just the same in religion? Because ?the
   Lord will perfect that which concerneth me,? am I to say I shall not
   pray? Why, no, my dear friends, the fact is, that a knowledge that a
   thing is certain prompts a wise man to action. What made Oliver
   Cromwell fight so bravely, but because he felt convinced that he should
   conquer? He did not say, ?I know that I shall conquer, therefore I will
   not fight;? no, he said, ?I know that I shall conquer; therefore keep
   your powder dry, trust in God, and at em!? So with you; if you believe
   the Lord will perfect that which concerneth us, begin with prayer;
   trust the promise, and let us go on cheerfully through the world,
   rejoicing in the Lord our God. Confidence must not lead to idleness,
   but to diligent activity.

   And now, note this prayer,--?Forsake not the works of thine own hands.?
   The prayer is full of confession; it must be that, or else it is never
   true prayer. The Psalmist confesses, that if God did forsake him it
   would be all over with him, and this is a truth, brethren, that you and
   I ought ever to keep in mind. We sometimes pray that God will not
   forsake us in temptation; do you not know we should be as much lost if
   he were to forsake us in communion as if he were to forsake us in
   temptation. When God puts you on the pinnacle of the temple, you need
   say, ?Lord, hold me up and I shall be safe; do not forsake me here.?
   When you are down on the ground, if the Lord were to forsake you, there
   you would perish just as easily as on the pinnacle of the temple. I
   have known the Christian on his knees in the den of leopards, cry,
   ?Lord, save me now,? but do you know that he has as great a need of
   help when he is on the top of Pisgah? for he still wants to be kept.
   Every moment of our life we are on the brink of hell, and if the Lord
   should forsake us, we should certainly perish. Let him but withdraw the
   salt of his grace, and the proudest believer must be cast into the
   depths of hell, and fall, like Lucifer, never to rise again. Oh! let
   this always make us cry aloud, ?Forsake us not, O God.?

   There is yet another confession in the text--the Psalmist's confession
   that all he has he has from God. ?Forsake not the works of thine own
   hands.? I will not however dwell upon it, but urge you who are
   believers, to go home and cry aloud to God in prayer. Let this be a new
   year's-day prayer. ?Forsake not the work of thine hands. Father,
   forsake not thy little child, lest he die by the hand of the enemy.
   Shepherd, forsake not thy lamb, lest the wolves devour him. Great
   husbandman, forsake not thy little plant, lest the frost should nip it,
   and it should be destroyed. Forsake me not, O Lord now, and when I am
   old and grey headed, O Lord, forsake me not. Forsake me not in my joys,
   lest I curse God. Forsake me not in my sorrows, lest I murmur against
   him. Forsake me not in the day of my repentance, lest I lose the hope
   of pardon, and fall into despair; and forsake me not in the day of my
   strongest faith, lest my faith degenerate into presumption, and so I
   perish by mine own hand.? Cry out to God, that he would not forsake you
   in your business, in your family; that he would not forsake you either
   upon your bed by night, or in your business by day. And may God grant,
   when you and I shall come to the end of this year, we may have a good
   tale to tell concerning the faithfulness of God in having answered our
   prayers, and having fulfilled his promise.

   I would now this day crave a part in your prayers. My dear friends, I
   am confident that God will perfect that which concerneth me. There has
   been a work done in this place, and God has blessed the congregation;
   but the work is not perfect yet. It is not enough to rouse other
   ministers to preach the word. I hope I shall never, while I live, cease
   to have another project always in hand. When one thing is done, we will
   do something else. If we have tried to make ministers more diligent in
   preaching, we must try to make the churches more earnest in praying.
   When we have built our new chapel, we must build something else; we
   must always have something in hand. If I have preached the Gospel in
   England, it must be my privilege to preach it across the sea yet; and
   when I have preached it there, I must solicit longer leave of absence
   that I may preach it in other countries, and act as a missionary
   throughout the nations. I am confident that God will perfect that which
   concerneth me; I rely on that. Do I therefore say that you need not
   pray? Oh, no. Pray that he would not forsake the work of his own hands.
   This work is not of our own hands. This labour of love is not mine, but
   God's. I have done nothing, except as the instrument; he has done it
   all. Oh, my dear friends, you that love me, as a brother in Christ, and
   as your pastor in the church, go home and plead with God for me this
   day and henceforth, that he would not forsake his work; but that the
   fire which has been kindled here may run along the ground, till all
   England shall be in a blaze with a revival of grace and godliness. Be
   not content to warm your hands at the sparks of this fire. Ask that the
   breath of God's Spirit may blow the sparks across the sea, that other
   lands may catch the flames, till the whole earth burning as a holocaust
   to heaven, shall be accepted as whole burnt offering before the throne
   of God Most High.

   ?May the Lord bless you, and keep you, and cause his face to shine upon
   you and lift up the light of his countenance upon you, and give you
   peace,? and unto the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost, shall be glory
   for ever!
     __________________________________________________________________

                              Perfection in Faith

   A Sermon

   (No. 232)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, January 2nd, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   ?For by one offering he hath perfected for ever them that are
   sanctified.?--Hebrews 10:14.

   THINK OF THIS MORNING'S TEXT--?The Lord WILL perfect that which
   concerneth me.? Is it not very grateful to observe, that what is just
   in one part of Scripture presented to us as a matter of faith, is in
   another place states as a matter of fact? Think of this evening's
   text--?He HATH perfected us for ever.? This morning we went downwards,
   from faith to prayer. After having said in confidence, ?The Lord will
   perfect that which concerneth me,? we meekly besought him--?Forsake not
   the works of thine own hands,?--sinking as it were to a lower note in
   the scale of music. Then we beheld Perfection in the dim obscurity of
   the future, like the sun veiled behind a cloud. Our faith rested on it
   as a thing at present unseen, our hearts yearned after it as an
   inheritance yet in reserve for us. Now to-night, this perfection is
   brought nigh to us, I thing accomplished, as an ever-present fact,
   whose eternal reality shines upon us with unclouded lustre. It is thus
   I read this verse--?By one offering our Lord Jesus Christ HATH
   perfected for ever them that are sanctified.?

   I have been turning this text over, and over, and over in my mind, and
   praying about it, and looking into it, and seeking illumination from
   the Holy Spirit; but I was a long time before I could be clear about
   its exact meaning. It is very easy to select a meaning, and then to
   say, that is what the text means, and very easy also to look at
   something which lies upon the surface; but I am not quite so sure that
   after several hours of meditation any brother would be able to
   ascertain what is the Spirit's mind in this particular verse, ?By one
   offering Christ hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified.? When
   I was trying to find out what this meant, I thought I would read the
   chapters before it, and if I should happen to find out any word that
   should seem to be the key to this verse, I would then under the
   Spirit's guidance, seek to open this lock and mystery with the
   pick-lock which was there furnished to me. Well, I read the chapters,
   and I did find out a word which seemed to me to explain the whole of
   this verse. You must have patience with me, while I try to show you
   what I think it means; and then I think it will stand out in a very
   clear and glorious light.

   First, the condition of the child of God--what he is. He is a
   sanctified person ?Them that are sanctified.? Secondly, what Christ has
   done for him: ?He hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified.?

   I. First, then, THE CHILDREN OF GOD ARE HERE INTENDED, UNDER THE TERM
   ?SANCTIFIED;? they are described as sanctified persons. What does this
   mean? We usually say there are two meanings to the term ?sanctified.?
   One is, ?set apart.? God has set apart his people from before the
   foundation of the world, to be his chosen and peculiar inheritance. We
   are sanctified by God the Father. There is a second signification,
   which implies not the decree of the Father, but the work of the Holy
   Spirit. We are sanctified in Christ Jesus by the Holy Spirit when he
   subdues our corruptions, imparts to us graces, and leads us onward in
   the divine walk and life of faith. But the word here, I think, includes
   both of these senses; and I must try if I can to find a figure which
   will embrace them both. And what is the apostle speaking about? In the
   ninth chapter he is speaking about the tabernacle, and the candlestick,
   and the table, and the shewbread, and the sanctuary, and the golden
   censer, and the ark of the covenant overlaid with gold, and the pot of
   manna; he is talking about priests, and about priestly things, and holy
   things; and he is declaring that all these things of which he speaks
   were sanctified things, but that though they were sanctified things,
   they wanted to be made perfect by the sprinkling of blood. Now, I
   believe, the sanctification of our text is to be understood in this
   sense. There were certain golden vessels that were used in the
   sanctuary which were never used for anything else but for the service
   of God. They were set apart, they were made holy, and they were kept
   strictly to be the vessels of the sanctuary of the Lord God. They were
   sanctified things. Again, in the sanctuary there were persons who did
   nothing else but wait upon the Lord. These were consecrated to their
   offices; for God chose the tribe of Levi, and out of the tribe of Levi
   he chose the house of Aaron. These persons were chosen, and then they
   were prepared. They underwent certain ceremonies, and divers washings,
   and so they were made ceremonially holy; and these priests were
   therefore sanctified persons, because they were set apart, dedicated
   and reserved to the special service of the Lord God. Now, brethren,
   that is just what you and I are, and what we ought to be. We are
   sanctified persons: that is to say, we are chosen by God to be the
   peculiar vessels which he will use in pouring out his mercy, and to be
   the special priests whom he shall employ in his divine worship in this
   world. No man had any right to take wine for his own drinking, and
   drink it out of the golden cups of the sanctuary. If he did so, he did
   it to his own destruction--witness Belshazzar. He took the cups, and
   the golden candlesticks, and so forth, and used them in his
   debaucheries, and lo! he was swept away, and the handwriting on the
   wall foretold his doom. Even so, beloved brethren, Christian men are
   not to be used for anything but for God. They are a set-apart people;
   they are vessels of mercy, they are not for the devil's use, not for
   their own use, not for the world's use, but for their Master's use. He
   has made them on purpose to be used entirely, solely and wholly for
   him. Now, that is what is meant in this text by ?sanctified.? We are
   sanctified persons, set apart for God's use, consecrated, just as the
   vessels, the cups, the candlesticks, and the tables, and the altars of
   the sanctuary, were sanctified unto God and set apart for his service;
   and I said, we that are priests are sanctified persons, not because of
   any holiness in our character, seeing there were some of them that were
   not holy in their character. My text does not touch character--it
   touches position in the sight of God. We are not perfect in character,
   any one of us--we are only perfect in position. There were two men who
   officiated as priests before God, namely the sons of Eli, who committed
   sin and iniquity before God; and yet they were set apart for God's
   service, mark you; and when they offered the sacrifices as priests,
   because they had been washed with water and sprinkled with blood, they
   were officially accepted as being sanctified persons. Now, brethren,
   the children of God are sanctified persons, to offer spiritual
   sacrifices unto God through Jesus Christ, and we have no right to do
   anything else but serve God. ?What!? say you, ?have not I to attend to
   my business?? Yes, and serve God in your business. ?Am I not to look
   after my family?? Assuredly you are, and serve God in your family, but
   still you are to be a set-apart person; you are not to wear the white
   robe nor the breastplate, but still you are to think of yourself as
   being as much a priest as if the breastplate were on your breast, and
   the white robe about your loins; for ye are priests unto God and his
   Father. He hath made you a peculiar generation, a royal priesthood, and
   hath set you apart for himself.

   Now, I think that this first head of my sermon gives you an inkling of
   what the rest must mean. I have already hinted at what I think is the
   sense of the text. I have explained, I suppose, clearly enough in what
   sense God's people are a sanctified people, as understood in this
   verse. They are chosen and set apart and reserved to be God's
   instruments and God's servants, and thus they are sanctified.

   II. Now comes the second thing: IN WHAT SENSE ARE WE TO UNDERSTAND THAT
   CHRIST HAS PERFECTED THESE THAT ARE SANCTIFIED? Why, just this: When
   the golden vessels were brought into the temple or into the sanctuary,
   they were sanctified the very first moment that they were dedicated to
   God. No one dared to employ them for anything but holy uses. But they
   were not perfect. What did they need, then to make then perfect? Why,
   to have blood sprinkled on them; and, as soon as the blood was
   sprinkled on them, those golden vessels were perfect vessels,
   officially perfect. God accepted them as being holy and perfect things,
   and they stood in his sight as instruments of an acceptable worship.
   Just so was it with the Levites and the priests. As soon as ever they
   were set apart to their office; as soon as ever they were born, in
   fact, they were consecrated, they belonged to God; they were his
   peculiar priesthood. But they were not perfect until they had passed
   through divers washings, and had the blood sprinkled upon them. Then
   God looked upon them in their official priestly character, as being
   perfect persons. They were not perfect in character, I repeat, they
   were only perfect officially; perfect in the sight of God; and they
   stood before him to offer sacrifice as acceptably, as if they had been
   pure as Adam himself. Now, then, how does this refer to us, and what is
   the meaning of this text, that ?by one offering he hath perfected for
   ever them that are sanctified?? Turn back a moment or two. You will
   find in the 9th chapter of the Hebrews, at the 6th verse, ?Now when
   these things were thus ordained, the priests went always into the first
   tabernacle, accomplishing the service of God. But into the second went
   the high priest alone once every year, not without blood, which he
   offered for himself, and for the errors of the people.? Mark here. The
   first meaning of my text is this. The child of God is a priest, and as
   a priest he is sanctified to enter within the vail. He is now permitted
   to go into the place which was once within the vail, but which is not
   so now, because the vail is rent in twain; but the high priest could
   not go within the vail, because he was not perfect; he had to be
   sprinkled with the blood, and that made him officially perfect. It
   would not make him perfect merely to put on the breast-plate, or to
   wear the ephod; he was not perfect till the blood had been sprinkled
   upon him, and then he went within the vail. But when next year came
   round he was not fit to go within the vail till blood was sprinkled on
   him again; and the next year, though he was always a sanctified man, he
   was not always, officially, a perfect man. He had to be sprinkled with
   blood again. And so, year after year, the high priest who went within
   the vail, needed afresh to be made perfect, in order that he might
   obtain access to God.

   Here is one sense of the text. The apostle says that we who are the
   priests of God have a right as priests to go to God's mercy-seat that
   is within the vail; but it were to our death to go there unless we were
   perfect. But we are perfect, for the blood of Christ has been sprinkled
   on us, and, therefore, our standing before God is the standing of
   perfection. Our standing, in our own conscience, is imperfection, just
   as the character of the priest might be imperfect. But that has nothing
   to do with it. Our standing in the sight of God is a standing of
   perfection; and when he sees the blood, as of old the destroying angel
   passed over Israel, so this day, when he sees the blood, God passes
   over our sins, and accepts us at the throne of his mercy, as if we were
   perfect. Therefore, brethren, let us come boldly; let us ?draw near
   with a true heart in full assurance of faith, having our hearts
   sprinkled from an evil conscience, and our bodies washed with pure
   water.? The apostle brings in, in the twenty-second verse of this tenth
   chapter, one inference which I have just drawn from my text. In having
   access to God, perfection is absolutely necessary. God cannot talk with
   an imperfect being. He could talk with Adam in the garden but he could
   not talk with you or with me, even in paradise itself, as imperfect
   creatures. How, then, am I to have fellowship with God, and access to
   his throne? Why, simply thus:--?The blood of Christ hath perfected for
   ever them that are sanctified,? and consequently we have access with
   boldness to the throne of the heavenly grace, and may come boldly in
   all our time of need. And what is better still, we are always perfect,
   always fit to come to the throne, whatever our doubts, whatever our
   sins. I say not this of the priest's character. We have nothing to do
   with that at present. We come before God in our station, not in our
   character, and therefore, we may come as perfect men at all times,
   knowing that God seeth no sin in Jacob, and no iniquity in Israel; for
   in this sense Christ hath perfected for ever, every consecrated vessel
   of his mercy. Oh! is not this a delightful thought, that when I come
   before the throne of God, I feel myself a sinner, but God does not look
   upon me as one? When I approach him to offer my thanksgivings, I feel
   that I am unworthy in myself; but I am not unworthy in that official
   standing in which he has placed me. As a sanctified and perfected thing
   in Christ, I have the blood upon me; God regards me in my sacrifice, in
   my worship, ay, and in myself, too as being perfect.

   Oh how joyful this is! And there is no need a second time to repeat
   this perfecting. It is an everlasting perfection; it allows a constant
   access to the throne of the heavenly grace. That is one meaning of the
   text.

   Again, a little further on, our apostle, in the 9th chapter of the
   Hebrews, says, at the 21st verse, ?He sprinkled with blood both the
   tabernacle, and all the vessels of the ministry,? They were all
   sanctified vessels, you know, but they were not perfect vessels till
   they were sprinkled with the blood. ?And almost all things are by the
   law purged with blood; and without shedding of blood is no remission.
   It was therefore necessary that the patterns of things in the heavens
   should be purified with these; but the heavenly things themselves with
   better sacrifices than these,? and so forth. Now, beloved, the vessels
   of the sanctuary, as I have said, were sanctified the moment they were
   put there, but they were not perfect; God could not therefore accept
   any sacrifice that was touched with the golden tongs or that lay upon
   the brazen altar, so long as those golden tongs and the brazen altar
   were imperfect. What was done to make them perfect? Why, they were
   sprinkled with blood; but they had to be sprinkled with blood ever so
   many times--once, twice, thrice, multitudes of times, because
   continually they wanted making perfect. Now you and I are this day, if
   we are consecrated persons, like the vessels of the sanctuary.
   Sometimes we are like the censer--God fills us with joy, and then the
   smoke of incense ascends from us; sometimes we are like the
   slaughter-knife that the priests used; we are enabled to deny our
   lusts, to deny ourselves, and put the knife to the neck of the victim,
   and sometimes we are like the altar, and upon us God is pleased to lay
   a sacrifice of labour, and there it smokes acceptably to heaven. We are
   made like sanctified things of his house. But, beloved, we, though we
   are sanctified, and he has chosen us to be the vessels of his spiritual
   temple, are not perfect till the blood is on us. Yet blessed be his
   name, that blood has once been put upon us, and we are perfected for
   ever. Is it not delightful to think that when God uses us in his
   service he could not use unhallowed instruments? The Lord God is so
   pure that he could not use anything but a perfect tool to work with.
   ?Then surely he could never use me or use you.? Nay, but don't you see,
   the blood is on us, and we are the sanctified instruments of his grace;
   and moreover, we are the perfect instruments of his grace through the
   blood of Jesus. Oh! I delight to think that although in preaching the
   gospel I am in my own estimation and in yours rightly enough,
   imperfect; yet when God makes use of me in conversion, he does not make
   use of an imperfect man; no, he looks upon me in Christ as being
   perfect in Him, and then he says, ?I can use this tool; I could not put
   my hand to an unholy thing, but I will look upon him as being perfected
   for ever in Christ, and therefore I can use him. Oh! Christian, do try
   to digest this precious thought: it has indeed been precious to my soul
   since I first laid hold upon it. You cannot tell what God may do with
   you, because if he uses you at all he does not use you as a sinner--he
   uses you as a sanctified person; nay more, as a perfect person. I will
   repeat it; I do not see how a holy God could use an unholy instrument;
   but he puts the blood on us, and then he makes us perfect--perfects us
   for ever, and then he uses us. And so I see the work of God tarried on
   by men whom we think are imperfect; but I never see God doing any of
   his deeds except with a perfect instrument; and if you ask me how he
   has done it, I tell you that all his consecrated ones, all whom he has
   sanctified to his use, he has first of all perfected for ever through
   the sacrifice of Jesus Christ.

   And now we will have use more thought, and then I shall have given you
   the full meaning of the text. In the seventh chapter, the nineteenth
   verse, there is a word that is a key to the meaning of my text, and
   that helped me all through it; and I will give you the key now. ?For
   the law made nothing perfect, but the bringing in of a better hope did,
   by the which we draw nigh unto God.? Then with this, compare the tenth
   chapter and first verse, ?The law having a shadow of good things to
   come, and not the very image of the things, can never with those
   sacrifices which they offered year by year, continually make the comers
   thereunto perfect.? There is the word ?perfect;? and we have got it in
   the text; ?for then,? says he, if they had been perfect, ?would they
   not have ceased to be offered.? Why offer any more, if you are a
   perfect man? ?If the sacrifice made is perfect, the worshippers, once
   purged, should have had no more conscience of sin.? Now mark. The
   Jewish sacrifice was never intended to make the Jews' moral character
   any better, and it did not; it had no effect upon what we call his
   sanctification; all the sacrifice dealt with was his justification, and
   the perfection would be sought after; the perfection is not of
   sanctification, which the Arminian talks about, but the perfection of
   official standing, as he stood justified before God. Now that is the
   meaning of the word ?perfect? here. It does not mean that the sacrifice
   did not make the man perfectly holy, and perfectly moral, and so forth;
   the sacrifice had no tendency to do that; it was quite another matter.
   It means that it did not perfectly make him justified in his own
   conscience and in the sight of God, because he had to come and offer
   again. Now, here comes a man who is troubled in his conscience. He
   comes sighing up the temple, and he must speak to the priest. He says
   to the priest, ?I have committed such-and-such a sin.? ?Ah! says the
   priest, ?You will never have any ease to your conscience unless you
   bring a sin offering. He brings a sin offering, and it is offered, and
   the man sees it burn and goes away. He has got faith--faith in the
   great sin offering that is to come--and his conscience is easy. A day
   or two after, the same feelings arise; and what does he do? he goes to
   the priest again. ?Ah!? says the priest, ?you must bring another
   offering; you most bring a trespass offering.? He does that, and his
   conscience grows easier for a time; but the more his conscience gets
   quickened, the more he sees the unsatisfactory character of the
   offering he brings. At last, he says, ?I am so uneasy; oh! that I could
   have a sacrifice every hour! For do you know,? says he, ?while I can
   put my hand on the head of the victim, I feel so happy: when I come to
   see it slaughtered, and the blood flowing, I feel so easy; but I do not
   feel perfect. I will even go up to the temple,? he says, ?that there I
   may live.? He sees a lamb slaughtered in the morning, and tears of joy
   are in his eye. ?Oh!? says he ?I have seen that lamb; and when I saw
   the blood of that lamb flowing, I felt so rejoiced,? Noon comes. ?Ah!?
   says he, ?my sins arise again; I have got a conscience, and where can I
   get relief for it?? And off he went to the temple; and there was
   another lamb in the evening, because God well knew that the sacrifices
   were themselves imperfect, only a shadow of the great substance, and
   that his people would need to have the service renewed, not only every
   year, but every day; nay, every morning and every evening.

   But now, beloved, behold the glory of Christ Jesus as revealed to us in
   our text. ?Those sacrifices could not make the comers thereunto
   perfect.? They could not feel in their own conscience that they were
   perfectly justified, and they wanted fresh offerings; but here to-day I
   see the slaughtered Lamb on Calvary, and it was but yesterday I
   rejoiced in him, and I can rejoice in him again to-day. Years ago I
   sought him and I found him. I do not want another Lamb; I do not want
   another sacrifice. I can still see that blood flowing, and I can feel
   continually that I have no more conscience of sin. The sins are gone; I
   have no more remembrance of them; I am purged from them: and as I see
   the perpetual flowing blood of Calvary, and the ever rising merits of
   his glorious passion, I am compelled to rejoice in this fact, that he
   hath perfected for ever me--made me completely perfect through his
   sacrifice.

   And now, Christian, try and lay hold opon this meaning of the text.
   Christ has made your conscience at ease for ever; and if it disturbs
   you, recollect it has no cause to do so, if you are a believer in
   Christ; for hath not he given you that which will put away all
   conscience of sin? Oh! rejoice! It has purged you so entirely that you
   may sit down and rest. You may sing with the poet--

   ?Turn, then, my soul, unto thy rest;

   The merits of thy great High Priest

   Speak peace and liberty.

   Trust in his efficacious blood,

   Nor fear thy banishment from God,

   Since Jesus died for thee.?

   Look at the text. Once again I am going to say the same things, lest I
   should not be quite understood. Dear brethren, we could not have access
   to God, unless on the footing of perfection; for God cannot walk and
   talk with imperfect creatures. But we are perfect; not in character,
   mark, for we are still sinners; but we are perfected through the blood
   of Jesus Christ, so that God can allow us to have access to him as
   perfected creatures. We may come boldly, because being sprinkled with
   the blood, God does not look on us as unholy and unclean, otherwise he
   could not allow us to come to his mercy seat; but he looks upon us as
   being perfected for ever through the one sacrifice of Christ. That is
   one thing. The other was this. We are the vessels of God's temple; he
   has chosen us to be like the golden pots of his sanctuary; but God
   could not accept a worship which was offered to him in unholy vessels.
   Those vessels, therefore, were made perfect by being sprinkled with
   blood. God could not accept the praise which comes from your unholy
   heart; he could not accept the song which springs from your
   uncircumcised lips, nor the faith which arises from your doubting soul,
   unless he had taken the great precaution to sprinkle you with the blood
   of Christ; and now, whatever he uses you for, he uses you as a perfect
   instrument, regarding you as being perfect in Christ Jesus. That,
   again, is the meaning of the text, and the same meaning, only a
   different phase of it. And, the last meaning is, that the sacrifices of
   the Jews did not give believing Jews peace of conscience for any length
   of time; they had to come again, and again, and again, because they
   felt that those sacrifices did not present to them a perfect
   justification before God. But behold, beloved, you and I are complete
   in Jesus. We have no need of any other sacrifice. All others we
   disclaim. He hath perfected us for ever. We may set our conscience at
   ease, because we are truly, really, and everlastingly accepted in him.
   ?He hath perfected for ever them that are sanctified.?

   Now, what have I to do, but to turn to you and ask this one question,
   and I have done. Are you a sanctified person? I have known a man say
   sometimes to a believer, ?Well, you look so sanctified: ah! you are one
   of those sanctified fellows.? Well, if they said so to me, I should
   say, ?I wish you would prove it.? What can be a more holy thing than to
   be a sanctified man? and what a more happy thing! Let me ask you, then,
   are you sanctified? Says one, ?I feel so sinful.? That I do not ask
   you: I ask you whether you are set apart to God's service. Can you say,

   ?Dear Lord, I give myself away,

   'Tis all that I can do??

   Take me just as I am, and make use of me; I desire to be wholly thine?
   Do you feel that for you to live is Christ; that there is not any
   object you are living for but Christ--that Christ is the great aim of
   your ambition, the great object of all your labours; that you are like
   Samson, a Nazarite, consecrated to God? Oh! then, remember that you are
   perfected in Christ. But, my hearer, if thou art not sanctified to God
   in this sense, if thou livest to thyself, to pleasure, and to the
   world, thou art not perfected in Christ, and what is to become of thee?
   God will give thee no access to him; God will not use thee in his
   service; thou hast no rest in thy conscience, and in the day when God
   shall come to separate the precious from the vile, he will say, ?Those
   are my precious ones, who have the blood on them; but these have
   rejected Christ, they have lived to themselves, they were dead while
   they lived, and they are damned now they are dead.? Take heed of that!
   May God give you grace to be sanctified to God, and then shall you be
   for ever perfected through Christ.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                   Free Grace

   A Sermon

   (No. 233)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 9th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?Not for your sakes do I this, saith the Lord God, be it known unto
   you: be ashamed and confounded for your own ways, O house of
   Israel.?--Ezekiel 36:32.

   There are two sins of man that are bred in the bone, and that
   continually come out in the flesh. One is self-dependence and the other
   is self-exaltation. It is very hard, even for the best of men, to keep
   themselves from the first error. The holiest of Christians, and those
   who understand best the gospel of Christ, find in themselves a constant
   inclination to look to the power of the creature, instead of looking to
   the power of God and the power of God alone. Over and over again, Holy
   Scripture has to remind us of that which we never ought to forget, that
   salvation is God's work from first to last, and is not of man, neither
   by man. But so it is, this old error--that we are to save ourselves, or
   that we are to do something in the matter of salvation--always rises
   up, and we find ourselves continually tempted by it to step aside from
   the simplicity of our faith in the power of the Lord our God. Why, even
   Abraham himself was not free from the great error of relying upon his
   own strength. God had promised to him that He would give him a
   son--Isaac, the child of promise. Abraham believed it, but at last,
   weary with waiting, he adopted the carnal expedient of taking to
   himself Hagar, to wife, and he fancied that Ishmael would most
   certainly be the fulfillment of God's promise; but instead of Ishmael's
   helping to fulfill the promise, he brought sorrow unto Abraham's heart,
   for God would not have it that Ishmael should dwell with Isaac. ?Cast
   out,? said the Scripture, ?the bondwoman and her son; for the son of
   the bondwoman shall not be heir with the son of the free woman.? Now
   we, in the matter of salvation, are apt to think that God is tarrying
   long in the fulfillment of His promise, and we set to work ourselves to
   do something, and what do we do?sink ourselves deeper in the mire and
   pile up for ourselves a store of future troubles and trials. Do we not
   read that it grieved Abraham's heart to send Ishmael away? Ah! and many
   a Christian has been grieved by those works of nature which he
   accomplished with the design of helping the God of grace. Oh, beloved,
   we shall find ourselves very frequently attempting the foolish task of
   assisting Omnipotence and teaching the Omniscient One. Instead of
   looking to grace alone to sanctify us, we find ourselves adopting
   Philosophic rules and principles which we think will effect the Divine
   work. We shall but mar it; we shall bring grief into our own spirits.
   But if, instead thereof, we in every work look up to the God of our
   salvation for help, and strength, and grace, and succor, then our work
   will proceed to our own joy and comfort, and to God's glory. That
   error, then, I say is in our bone, and will always dwell with us, and
   hence it is that the words of the text are put as an antidote against
   that error. It is distinctly stated in our text that salvation is of
   God. ?Not for your sakes do I this.? He says nothing about what we have
   done or can do. All the preceding and all the succeeding verses speak
   of what God does. ?I will take you from among the heathen.? ?I will
   sprinkle clean water upon you.? ?I will give you a new heart.? ?I will
   put my Spirit within you.? It is all of God: therefore, again recall to
   our recollection this doctrine, and give up all dependence upon our own
   strength and power.

   The other error to which man is very prone, is that of relying upon his
   own merit. Though there is no righteousness in any man, yet in every
   man there is a proneness to truth in some fancied merit. Strange that
   it should be so, but the most reprobate characters have yet some virtue
   as they imagine, upon which they rely. You will find the most abandoned
   drunkard pride himself that he is not a swearer. You will find the
   blaspheming drunkard pride himself that at least he is honest. You will
   find men with no other virtue in the world, exalt what they imagine to
   be a virtue--the fact that they do not profess to have any; and they
   think themselves to be extremely excellent, because they have honesty
   or rather impudence enough to confess that they are utterly vile.
   Somehow the human mind clings to human merit; it always will hold to
   it, and when you take away everything upon which you think it could
   rely, in less than a moment it fashions some other ground for
   confidence out of itself. Human nature with regard to its own merit, is
   like the spider, it bears its support in its own bowels, and it seems
   as if it would keep spinning on to all eternity. You may brush down one
   web, but it soon forms another, you may take the thread from one place,
   and you will find it clinging to your finger, and when you seek to
   brush it down with one hand you find it clinging to the other. It is
   hard to get rid of; it is ever ready to spin its web and bind itself to
   some false ground of trust. It is against all human merit that I am
   this morning going to speak, and I feel that I shall offend a great
   many people here. I am about to preach a doctrine that is gall and
   vinegar to flesh and blood, one that will make righteous moralists
   gnash their teeth, and make others go away and declare that I am an
   Antinomian, and perhaps scarcely fit to live. However, that consequence
   is one which I shall not greatly deplore, if connected with it there
   should be in other hearts a yielding to this glorious truth, and a
   giving up to the power and grace of God, who will never save us, unless
   we are prepared to let Him have all the glory.

   First, I shall endeavor to expound at large the doctrine contained in
   this text; in the next place I shall endeavour to show its force and
   truthfulness; and then in the third place I shall seek God's Holy
   Spirit to apply the useful, practical lessons which are to be drawn
   from it.

   I. I shall endeavour to EXPOUND THIS TEXT. ?Not for your sakes do I
   this saith the Lord God.? The motive for the salvation of the human
   race is to be found in the breast of God, and not in the character or
   condition of man. Two races have revolted against God--the one angelic,
   the other human. When a part of this angelic race revolted against the
   Most High, justice speedily overtook them; they were swept from their
   starry seats in Heaven, and henceforth they have been reserved in
   darkness unto the great day of the wrath of God. No mercy was ever
   presented to them, no sacrifice ever offered for them; but they were
   without hope and mercy, forever consigned to the pit of eternal
   torment. The human race, far inferior in order of intelligence, sinned
   as atrociously; at any rate, if the sins of manhood that we have heard
   of be put together and rightly weighed, I can scarcely understand how
   even the sins of devils could be much blacker than the sin of mankind.
   However, the God who in His infinite justice passed over angels, and
   suffered them forever to expiate their offences in the fires of hell,
   was pleased to look down on man. Here was election on a grand scale;
   the election of manhood, and the reprobation of fallen angelhood. What
   was the reason for it? The reason was in God's mind, an inscrutable
   reason which we do not know, and which if we knew probably we could not
   understand. Had you and I been put upon the choice of which should have
   been spared, I do think it probable we should have chosen that fallen
   angels should have been saved. Are they not the brightest? Have they
   not the greatest mental strength? If they had been redeemed, would it
   not have glorified God more, as we judge, than the salvation of worms
   like ourselves? Those bright beings--Lucifer, son of the morning, and
   those stars that walked in his train--if they had been washed in His
   redeeming blood, if they had been saved by sovereign mercy, what a song
   would they have lifted up to the Most High and everlasting God! But
   God, who doeth as He wills with His own, and giveth no account of His
   matters, but who deals with His creatures as the potter deals with his
   clay, took not upon Him the nature of angels, but took upon Him the
   seed of Abraham, and chose men to be the vessels of His mercy. This
   fact we know, but where is its reason? certainly not in man. ?Not for
   your sakes do I this. O house of Israel, be ashamed and be confounded
   for your own ways.?

   Here, very few men object. We notice that if we talk about the election
   of men and the non-election of fallen angels, there is not a cavil for
   a moment. Every man approves of Calvinism till he feels that he is the
   loser by it; but when it begins to touch his own bone and his own flesh
   then he kicks against it. Come, then, we must go further. The only
   reason why one man is saved, and not another, lies not, in any sense,
   in the man saved, but in God's bosom. The reason why this day the
   gospel is preached to you and not the heathen far away, is not because,
   as a race, we are superior to the heathen; it is not because we deserve
   more at God's hands; His choice of Britain, in the election of outward
   privilege, is not caused by the excellency of the British nation, but
   entirely because of His own mercy and His own love. There is not reason
   in us why we should have the gospel preached to us more than any other
   nation. Today, some of us have received the gospel, and have been
   changed by it, and have become the heirs of light and immorality,
   whereas others are left still to be the heirs of wrath. But there is no
   reason in us why we should have been taken and others left.

   ?There was nothing in us to merit esteem,

   Or give the Creator delight.

   'Twas Even so, Father!' we ever must sing,

   Because it seem'd good in thy sight.?

   And now, let us review this doctrine at length. We are taught in Holy
   Scripture that, long before this world was made, God foreknew and
   foresaw all the creatures He intended to fashion; and there and then
   foreseeing that the human race would fall into sin, and deserve His
   anger, determined, in His own sovereign mind, that an immense portion
   of the human race should be His children, and should be brought to
   Heaven. As to the rest, He left them to their own deserts. to sow the
   wind and reap the whirlwind, to scatter crime and inherit punishment.
   Now, in the great decree of election, the only reason why God selected
   the vessels of mercy must have been because He would do it. There was
   nothing in any one of them which caused God to choose them. We all were
   alike, all lost, all ruined by the fall; all without the slightest
   claim upon His mercy; all, in fact, deserving His utmost vengeance. His
   choice of any one, and His choice of all His people, are causeless, so
   far as anything in them was concerned. It was the effect of His
   sovereign will, and of nothing which they did, could do, or even would
   do; for thus saith the text: ?Not for your sakes do I this, O house of
   Israel!?

   As for the fruit of our election, in due time Christ came into this
   world, and purchased with His blood all those whom the Father hath
   chosen. Now come ye to the cross of Christ; bring this doctrine with
   you, and remember that the only reason why Christ gave up His life to
   be a ransom for His sheep was because He loved His people, but there
   was nothing in His people that made Him die for them. I was thinking as
   I came here this morning, if any man should imagine that the love of
   God to us was caused by anything in us, it would be as if a man should
   look into a well to find the springs of the ocean, or dig into an
   anthill to find an Alp. The love of God is so immense, so boundless and
   so infinite, that you cannot conceive for a moment that it could have
   been caused by anything in us. The little good that is in us--the no
   good that is in us--for there is none, could not have caused the
   boundless, bottomless, shoreless, summitless love which God manifests
   to His people. Stand at the foot of the cross, ye merit-mongers, ye
   that delight in your own works; and answer this question: Do you think
   that the Lord of life and glory could have been brought down from
   Heaven, could have been fashioned like a man, and have been led to die
   through any merit of yours? Shall these sacred veins be opened with any
   lancet less sharp than His own infinite love? Do you conceive that your
   poor merits, such as they are, could be so efficacious as to nail the
   Redeemer to the tree, and make Him bend His shoulders beneath the
   enormous load of the world's guilt? You cannot imagine it. The
   consequence is so great, compared with what you suppose to be the case,
   that your logic fails in a moment. You may conceive that a coral insect
   rears a rock by its multitude, and by its many years of working; but
   you cannot conceive that all the accumulated merits of manhood, if
   there were such things, could have brought the Eternal from the throne
   of His majesty, and bowed Him to the death of the cross: that is a
   thing as clearly impossible to any thoughtful mind, as impossibility
   can be. No; from the cross comes the cry--?Not for your sakes do I
   this, O house of Israel.?

   After Christ's death, there comes, in the next place, the work of the
   Holy Spirit. Those whom the Father hath chosen, and whom the Son has
   redeemed, in due time the Holy Spirit calls ?out of darkness into
   marvelous light.? Now, the calling of the Holy Spirit is without any
   regard to any, merit in us. If this day the Holy Spirit shall call out
   of this congregation a hundred men, and bring them out of their estate
   of sin into a state of righteousness, you shall bring these hundred
   men, and let them march in review, and if you could read their hearts,
   you would be compelled to say, ?I see no reason why the Spirit of God
   should have operated upon these. I see nothing whatever that could have
   merited such grace as this--nothing that could have caused the
   operations and motions of the Spirit to work in these men.? For, look
   ye here. By nature, men are said to be dead in sin. If the Holy Spirit
   quickens, it cannot be because of any power in the dead men, or any
   merit in them, for they are dead, corrupt and rotten in the grave of
   their sin. If then, the Holy Spirit says, ?Come forth and live,? it is
   not because of anything in the dry bones, it must be for some reason in
   His own mind, but not in us. Therefore, know ye this, men and brethren,
   that we all stand upon a level. We have none of us anything that can
   recommend us to God; and if the Spirit shall choose to operate in our
   hearts unto salvation, He must be moved to do it by His own supreme
   love, for He cannot be moved to do it by any good will, good desire, or
   good deed, that dwells in us by nature.

   To go a little further: this truth, which holds good so far, holds good
   all the way. God's people, after they are called by grace, are
   preserved in Christ Jesus; they are ?kept by the power of God through
   faith unto salvation;? they are not suffered to sin away their eternal
   inheritance, but as temptations arise they have strength given with
   which to encounter them, and as sin blackens them they are washed
   afresh, and again cleansed. But mark, the reason why God keeps His
   people is the same as that which made them His people--His own free
   sovereign grace. If, my brother, you have been delivered in the hour of
   temptation, pause and remember that you were not delivered for your own
   sake. There was nothing in you that deserved the deliverance. If you
   have been fed and supplied in your hour of need, it is not because you
   have been a faithful servant of God, nor because you have been a
   prayerful Christian; it is simply and only because of God's mercy. He
   is not moved to anything He does for you by anything .that you do for
   Him; His motive for blessing you lies wholly and entirely in the depths
   of His own bosom. Blessed be God, His people shall be kept.

   ?Nor death, nor Hell shall e'er remove

   His favourites from His breast;

   In the dear bosom of His love

   They must forever rest.?

   But why? Because they are holy? Because they are sanctified? Because
   they serve God with good works? No, but because he in his sovereign
   grace has loved them, does love them, and will love them, even to the
   end.

   And to conclude my exposition of this text. This shall hold good in
   Heaven itself. The day is coming when every blood-bought, blood-washed
   child of God shall walk the golden streets arrayed in white. Our hands
   shall soon bear the palm; our ears shall be delighted with celestial
   melodies, and our eyes filled with the transporting visions of God's
   glory. But mark, the only reason why God shall bring us to Heaven shall
   be His own love, and not because we deserved it. We must fight the
   fight, but we do not win the victory because we fight it; we must
   labour, but the wage at the days' end shall be a wage of grace, and not
   a debt. We must honour God here, looking for the recompense of the
   reward; but that recompense will not be given on a legal ground,
   because we merited it, but given to us entirely because God had loved
   us, for no reason that was in us. When you and I and each of us shall
   enter Heaven, our song shall be, ?Not unto us, not unto us, but unto
   thy name be all the glory;? and that shall be true, it shall not be a
   mere exaggeration of gratitude. It shall be true; we shall be compelled
   to sing it, because we could not sing anything else. We shall feel that
   we did nothing, and that we were nothing, but that God did it all--that
   we had nothing in us to be the motive of his doing it, but that His
   motive lay in Himself; therefore unto Him shall be every particle of
   the honour forever and ever.

   Now, this, I take it, is the meaning of the text; distasteful it is to
   the great majority, even of professing Christians in this age. It is a
   doctrine that requires a great deal of salt, or else few people will
   receive it. It is very unsavory to them. However, there It stands. ?Let
   God be true, and every man a liar.? His truth we must preach, and this
   we must proclaim. Salvation is ?not of men, neither by man; not of the
   will of the flesh, nor of blood,? nor of birth, but of the sovereign
   will of God, and God alone.

   II. And now, in the second place, I have to ILLUSTRATE AND ENFORCE THIS
   TEXT.

   Consider a moment man's character. It will humble us, and it will tend
   to confirm this truth in our minds. Let me take an illustration. I will
   consider man as a criminal. He certainly is such in the sight of God,
   and I shall not slander him. Suppose now that some great criminal is at
   last overtaken in his sin, and shut up in Newgate. He has committed
   high treason, murder, rebellion, and every possible iniquity. He has
   broken all the laws of the realm--every one of them. The public cry is
   everywhere--?This man must die; the laws cannot be maintained unless he
   shall be made an example of their rigour. He who beareth not the sword
   in vain must this time let the sword taste blood. The man must die; he
   richly deserves it.? You look through his character: you cannot see one
   solitary redeeming trait. He is an old offender; he has so long
   persevered in his iniquity that you are compelled to say, ?The case is
   hopeless with this man; his crimes have such aggravation we cannot make
   an apology for him, even should we try. Not jesuitical cunning itself
   could devise any pretence of excuse, or any hope of a plea for this
   abandoned wretch; let him die!? Now, if her Majesty the Queen, having
   in her hands the sovereign power of life and death, chooses that this
   man shall not die, but that he shall be spared, do you not see as plain
   as daylight, that the only reason that can move her to spare that man,
   must be her own love, her own compassion? For, as I have supposed
   already that there is nothing in that man's character that can be a
   plea for mercy, but that, contrariwise, his whole character cries aloud
   for vengeance against his sin. Whether we like it or not, this is just
   the truth concerning ourselves. This is just our character and position
   before God. Ah! my hearer, you may turn upon your heel, disgusted and
   offended; but there are some here who feel it to be solemnly true in
   their own experience, and they will therefore drink in the doctrine,
   for it is the only way whereby they can be saved. My hearer, your
   conscience perhaps is telling you this morning that you have sinned so
   heinously that there is not an inlet for a solitary ray of hope in your
   character. You have added to your sins this great one, that you have
   rebelled against the Most High wantonly and wickedly. If you have not
   committed all the sins in the calendar of crime, It has been because
   providence has stayed your hand, Your heart has been black enough for
   it all. You feel that the vileness of your imagination and desires has
   achieved the consummation of human guilt, and further you could not go.
   Your sins have prevailed against you, and have gone over your head.
   Now, man, the only ground upon which God can save you is His own love.
   He cannot save you because you deserve it, for you do not deserve it,
   because there is no excuse that might be made for your sin. No, you are
   without any excuse, and you feel it. Oh! bless His dear name, that He
   has devised this way, whereby He can save you upon the basis of His own
   sovereign love and unbounded grace, without anything in you. I want you
   to go back to Newgate again to this criminal. We suppose now that this
   criminal is visited by her Majesty in person. She goes to him, and she
   says to him, ?Rebel, traitor, murderer, I have in my heart compassion
   for you; you deserve it not; but I am come this day to you, to tell you
   that if you repent you shall have mercy at my hands.? Suppose this man,
   springing up, should curse her--curse this angel of mercy to her face,
   spit upon her, and utter blasphemies, and imprecate curses upon her
   head. She retires; she is gone; but so great is her compassion, that
   the next day she sends a messenger, and days, and weeks, and months,
   and years, she continually sends messengers, and these go to him, and
   they say, ?If you will repent of your transgressions you shall have
   mercy; not because you deserve it, but because her Majesty is
   compassionate, and out of her gracious soul she desires your salvation.
   Will you repent?? Suppose this man should curse at the messenger, stop
   his ears against the message, spit upon him, tell him he does not care
   for him at all. Or to suppose a better case--suppose he turns upon his
   seat and says, ?I don't care whether I am hanged or not; I'll take my
   chance along with other people; I shall take no notice of you.? And
   suppose more than that, rising from his seat, he indulges again in all
   the crimes for which he has already been condemned, and plunges
   headlong afresh into the very sins which have brought his neck under
   the rope of the gallows. Now, if her Majesty would spare such a man as
   that, on what terms can she do it? You say, ?Why, she cannot, unless
   she does it out of love; she cannot because of any merit in him,
   because such a beast as that ought to die.? And now what are you and I
   by nature but like this? And my unconverted hearer, what is this but a
   picture of you? Has not God Himself visited your conscience? and has He
   not said to you, ?Sinner! come now, let us reason together; though your
   sins be as scarlet they shall be as wool.? And what have you done?
   Stopped your ear against the voice of conscience--cursed and swore at
   God, blasphemed His holy name, despised His Word, and railed against
   His ministers. And this day, again, with tears in his eyes, a servant
   of God is come to you, and his message is, ?Believe on the Lord Jesus
   Christ and thou shalt be saved; as I live, saith the Lord, I have no
   pleasure in the death of him that dieth, but had rather that he should
   turn unto me and live.? And what will you do. Why, if left to
   yourselves you will laugh at the message--despise it. It will glance
   off from you like an arrow from a man that is girt about with mail, and
   you will go away to despise God again, as you have done before. Do you
   not see, then, that if God ever shall save you, it cannot be for your
   sakes; but must be from His own infinite love; it cannot be from any
   other reason, since you have rejected Christ, despised His gospel,
   trodden under foot the blood of Jesus, and have refused to be saved. If
   He saves you, it must be free grace, and free grace alone.

   But now picture a little more about this criminal at Newgate. Not
   content with having added sin to sin, and having rejected mercy for
   himself, this wretch industriously employs himself in going round to
   all the cells where others are confined, and hardening their hearts
   also against the mercy of the Queen. He can scarce see a person but he
   begins to taint him with the blasphemy of his own heart; he utters
   injurious things against the majesty that spares him, and endeavours to
   make others as vile as himself. Now, what does justice say? If this man
   ought not to die on his own account, yet he ought to die for the sake
   of others; and if he be spared, is it not as plain as a pike--staff
   that he cannot be spared because of any reason in him? It must be
   because of the unconquerable compassion of the Sovereign. And now look
   you here: is not this the case of some here present? Not only do you
   sin yourselves, but lead others into sin? I know this was one of my
   plagues and torments, when first God brought me to Himself, that I have
   led others into temptation. Are there not men here that have taught
   others to swear? Are there not fathers here that have helped to destroy
   their own children's souls? Are there not some of you that are like the
   deadly Upas tree? You stretch out your branches, and from every leaf
   there drops poison upon those who come beneath its deadly range. Are
   there not some here who have seduced the virtuous, that have misled
   those who were seemingly pious, and that are perhaps so hardened that
   they even glory in it? Not content with being damned yourselves, you
   are seeking to lead others to the pit also. Thinking it not enough
   yourselves to be at enmity with God, you want to imitate Satan by
   dragging others with you. O my hearer, is not this thy case? Does not
   thy heart confess it? And does not the tear flow down thy cheek?
   Remember, then, this must be true: if God shall save thee, it must be
   because He will do it. It cannot be because there is anything good in
   thee, for thou deservedst now to die, and if He spare thee it must be
   sovereign love and sovereign grace.

   I will just use one other illustration, and then, I think I shall have
   made the text clear enough. There is not so much difference between
   black and a darker shade of black as there is between pure white and
   black. Every one can see that. Then there is not so much difference
   between man and the devil as there is between God and man. God is
   perfection; we are black with sin. The devil is only a darker shade of
   black; and great as may be the difference between our sin and the sin
   of Satan, yet it is not so great as the difference between the
   perfection of God and the imperfection of man. Now, imagine for a
   minute that somewhere in Africa there should be a tribe of devils
   living, that you and I had it in our power to save these devils from
   some threatened wrath which must overtake them. If you or I should go
   there and die to save those devils, what could be our motive? From what
   we know of the character of a devil, the only motive that could make us
   do that must be love. There could not be any other. It must be simply
   because we had such big hearts that we could even embrace fiends within
   them. Well, now, there is not so much difference between man and the
   devil as between God and man. If, then, the only motive that could make
   men save a devil must be man's love, does it not follow with
   irresistible force, that the only motive that could lead God to save
   men must be God's own love. At any rate, if that reason be not cogent
   the fact is indisputable--?Not for your sakes do I this, O house of
   Israel.? God sees us, abandoned, evil, wicked, and deserving His wrath;
   if He saves us, it is His boundless, fathomless love that leads Him to
   do it--nothing whatever in us.

   III. And now, having thus preached this doctrine, and enforced it, I
   come to a very solemn PRACTICAL APPLICATION. And here may God the Holy
   Spirit help me labour with your hearts!

   First, since this doctrine is true, how humble a Christian man ought to
   be. If thou be saved, thou hast had nought to do with it; God has done
   it. If thou be saved, thou hast not deserved it. It is mercy undeserved
   which thou hast received. I have sometimes been delighted when I have
   seen the gratitude of abandoned characters to any who have assisted
   them. I remember visiting a house of refuge. There was a poor girl
   there who had fallen into sin long, and when she found herself kindly
   addressed and recognized by society, and saw a Christian minister
   longing after her soul's good, it broke her heart. What should a man of
   God care about her? she was so vile. How could it be that a Christian
   should speak to her? Ah! but how much more should that feeling rise in
   our hearts? My God! I have rebelled against thee, and yet thou hast
   loved me, unworthy me! How can it be? I cannot lift myself up with
   pride, I must bow down before Thee in speechless gratitude. Remember,
   my dear brethren, that not only is the mercy which you and I have
   received undeserved, but it was unasked. It is true you prayed, but not
   till free grace made you pray. You would have been, to this day,
   hardened in heart, without God, and without Christ, had not free grace
   saved you. Can you be proud then?--proud of mercy which, if I may use
   the term, has been forced upon you?--proud of grace which has been
   given you against your will, until your will was changed by sovereign
   grace? And think again. All the mercy you have you once refused, Christ
   sups with you; be not proud of His company. Remember, there was a day
   when He knocked, and you refused--when He came to the door and said,
   ?My head is wet with dew, and my locks with the drops of the night;
   open to me, my beloved;? and you barred it in His face and would not
   let Him enter. Be not proud, then, of what thou hast, when thou
   rememberest that thou didst once reject Him. Does God embrace Thee in
   His arms of love? Remember, once thou liftedst up thine hand of
   rebellion against Him. Is thy name written in His book? Ah! there was a
   time when, if it had been in thy power, thou wouldst have erased the
   sacred lines that contained thine own salvation. Can we, dare we, lift
   up our wicked head with pride, when all these things should make us
   hang our heads down in the deepest humility? That is one lesson: let us
   learn another.

   This doctrine is true, and therefore it should be a subject of the
   greatest gratitude. When meditating upon this text yesterday, the
   effect it had upon me was one of transport and joy. Oh! I thought, upon
   what other condition could I have been saved? And I looked back upon my
   past estate; I saw myself piously trained and educated, but revolting
   against all that. I saw a mother's tears shed over me in vain, and a
   father's admonition lost upon me, and yet I found myself saved by
   grace, and I could only say, ?Lord, I bless Thee that it is by grace,
   for if it had been by merit I had never been saved. If thou hadst
   waited till there was something good in me, thou wouldst have waited
   till I sank into the hopeless perdition of hell, for good in man there
   never would have been, unless thou hadst first put it there.? And then
   I thought immediately, ?Oh! how I could go and preach that to the poor
   sinner!? Ah! let me try if I cannot. O sinner! you say you dare not
   come to Christ because you have nothing to recommend you. He does not
   want anything to recommend you; He will not save you, if you have
   anything to recommend you, for His says, ?Not for you sake do I this.?
   Go to Christ with earrings in your ears, and jewels upon you; wash your
   face, and array yourself with gold and silver, and go before Him and
   say, ?Lord, save me; I have washed myself and clothed myself; save me!?
   ?Get you gone! Not for your sakes will I do this.? Go to Him again, and
   say, ?Lord, I have put a rope about my neck, and sackcloth about my
   loins; see how repentant I am, see how I feel my need; now save me!?
   ?No,? saith He, ?I would not save you on account of your flaunting
   robes, and now I will not save you because of your rags; I will save
   you for nothing about you; if I do save you, it will be from something
   in my heart, not from anything you feel. Get ye gone!? But if today you
   go to Christ and say, ?Lord Jesus, there is no reason in the world why
   I should be saved--there is one in Heaven; Lord, I cannot urge any
   plea, I deserve to be lost, I have no excuse to make for all my sins,
   no apology to offer; Lord, I deserve it, and there is nothing in me why
   I should be saved, for if thou wouldst save me I should make but a poor
   Christian, after all; I fear that my future works will be no honour to
   Thee--I wish they could be, but thy grace must make them good, else
   they will still be bad. But, Lord, thou I have nothing to bring, and
   nothing to say for myself, I do say this: I have heard that thou hast
   come into the world to save sinners--O Lord, save me!

   'I the chief of sinners am.'

   I confess I do not feel this as I ought, I do not mourn it as I ought;
   I have no repentance to recommend me; nay, Lord, I have no faith to
   recommend me either, for I do not believe thy promise as I ought; but
   oh! I cling to this text. Lord, thou hast said thou wilt not do it for
   my sake. I thank Thee thou hast said that. Thou couldst not do it for
   my sake, for I have no reason why thou shouldst. Lord, I claim thy
   gracious promise. Be merciful to me, a sinner.?' Ah! you good people,
   this doctrine does not suit some of you; it is too humbling, is it not?
   You that have kept your churches regularly, and been to meetings so
   piously, you that never broke the Sabbath, or never swore an oath, or
   did anything wrong, this does not suit you. You say it will do very
   well to preach to harlots, and drunkards, and swearers, but it will not
   suit such good people as we are. Ah! well, this is your text--?I have
   not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.? You are
   ?whole?--you are; you ?need not a physician, but they that are sick.?
   Go your way. Christ came to save such as you are. You think you can
   save yourselves. Do it, and perish in the doing of it. But I feel that
   the same gospel that suits a harlot suits me, and that that free grace
   which saved Saul of Tarsus must save me, else I am never saved. Come,
   let us all go together. We are all guilty--some more, some less, but
   all hopelessly guilty. Let us go together to the footstool of His
   mercy, and though we dare not look up, let us lie there in the dust,
   and sigh out again, ?Lord have mercy upon us for whom Jesus died.?

   ?Just as I am, without one plea,

   But that thy blood was shed for me,

   And that thou bidst me come to Thee,

   O Lamb of God, I come, I come.?

   Sinner, come now; come now, I beseech thee; I entreat thee, come now. O
   Spirit of the living God, draw them now! Let these feeble weak words be
   the means of drawing souls to Christ. Will you reject my Master again?
   Will you go out of this house hardened once more? You may never again
   have such feelings as those which are aroused in your soul. Come, now,
   receive His mercy; now bend your willing necks to His yoke; and then I
   know you shall go away to taste His faithful love, and at last to sing
   in Heaven the song of the redeemed--?Unto him that loved us, and washed
   us from our sins in his own blood, unto him be glory forever. Amen.?

   ?O thou great eternal Jesus,

   High and mighty Prince of Peace,

   How Thy wonders shine resplendent,

   In the wonders of Thy grace:

   Thy rich gospel scorns conditions,

   Breathes salvation free as air;

   Only breathes triumphant mercy,

   Baffling guilt, and all despair.

   ?O the grandeur of the gospel,

   How it sounds the cleansing blood;

   Shows the bowels of a Saviour,

   Shows the tender heart of God.

   Only treats of love eternal,

   Swells the all-abounding grace,

   Nothing knows but life and pardon,

   Full redemption, endless peace.?
     __________________________________________________________________

                                 Corn in Egypt

   A Sermon

   (No. 234)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 16th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?Now when Jacob saw that there was corn in Egypt, Jacob said unto his
   sons,Why do ye look one upon another? And he said, Behold, I have heard
   that there is corn in Egypt: get you down thither, and buy for us from
   thence; that we may live, and not die.?--Genesis 42:1, 2.

   GOD in his wisdom hath so made the outward world, that it is a strange
   and wonderful picture of the inner world. Nature has an analogy with
   grace. The wonders that God does in the heart of man, each of them
   finds a parallel, a picture, a metaphor, an illustration, in the
   wonders which God performs in providence. It is the duty of the
   minister always to look for these analogies. Our Saviour did so. He is
   the model preacher: his preaching was made up of parables, pictures
   from the outer world, accommodated to teach great and mighty truths.
   And so is man's mind constituted that we can always see a thing better
   through a picture than anyhow else. If you tell a man a simple truth,
   he does not see it nearly so well as if you told it to him in an
   illustration. If I should attempt to describe the flight of a soul from
   sin to Christ, you would not see it one half so readily as if I should
   picture John Bunyan's pilgrim running out of the city of destruction,
   with his fingers in his ears, and hastening with all his might to the
   wicket gate. There is something tangible in a picture, a something
   which our poor flesh and blood can lay hold of; and therefore the mind,
   grasping through the flesh and the blood, is able to understand the
   idea, and to appropriate it. Hence the necessity and usefulness of the
   minister always endeavonring to illustrate his sermon, and to make his
   discourse as much as possible like the parables of Jesus Christ.

   Now, there are very few minds that can make parables. The fact is, I do
   not know of but one good allegory in the English language, and that is,
   the ?Pilgrim's Progress in Parables, pictures, and analogies are not so
   easy as some think; most men can understand them, but few can create
   them. Happy for us who are ministers of Christ, we have no great
   trouble about this matter; we have not to make parables; they are made
   for us. I believe that Old Testament history has for one of its designs
   the furnishing of the Christian minister with illustrations; so that a
   truth which I find in the New Testament in its naked form taught me as
   a doctrine, I find in the Old Testament cast into a parable. And so
   would we use this most excellent ancient book, the Old Testament, as an
   illustration of the New, and as a means of explaining to our minds the
   truth that is taught to us in a more doctrinal form in the New
   Testament.

   What, then, do we see in these two verses of the forty-second chapter
   of Genesis? We have here a picture of man's lost estate, he is in a
   sore soul-devouring famine. We discover here man's hope. His hope lies
   in that Joseph whom he knows not, who has gone before him and provided
   all things necessary, that his wants may be supplied. And we have here
   practical advice, which was preeminently wise on the part of Jacob to
   his sons in his case, and which, being interpreted, is also the wisest
   advice to you and to me. Seeing that there is mercy for sinners, and
   that Jesus our brother has gone before us to provide for us an
   all-sufficient redemption, ?why sit we here and look one upon another??
   There is mercy in the breast of God, there is salvation in Christ; ?get
   you down thither, and buy for us from thence; that we may live, and not
   die.?

   Three things, then, this morning: first, a pitiful plight; secondly,
   good news; and thirdly, excellent advice.

   I. First, A PITIFUL PLIGHT. These sons of Jacob were overtaken by a
   famine. We may talk of famines, friends, but none of us know what they
   are. We have heard of a famine in Ireland, and some dreadful stories
   have been related to us that have harrowed our hearts and almost made
   our hair stand up on end; but even there the full fury of famine was
   not known. We have heard too, to our great grief, that there are still
   in this city, dark and hideous spots, where men and women are
   absolutely perishing from hunger, who have sold from off their backs
   the last rags that covered them, and are now unable to leave the house,
   and positively perishing of famine. Such cases we have seen in our
   daily journals, and our hearts have been sick to think that such things
   should now occur. But we cannot any of us guess what is the terror of
   an universal famine, when all men are poor, because all men lack bread,
   when gold and silver are as valueless as the stones of the street,
   because mountains of silver and gold would scarce suffice to buy a
   single sheaf of wheat. Read the history of the famine of Samaria, and
   see the dreadful shifts to which women were driven, when they did even
   eat their own offspring. Famines are hells on earth. The famine which
   had overtaken Jacob was one which, if it had not at the moment of which
   this passage speaks, exactly arrived at that dreadful pitch, was sure
   to come to it; for the famine was to last for seven years; and if,
   through the spendthrift character of Eastern nations, they had not
   saved in the seven years of plenty enough even for one year, what would
   become of them during the sixth or seventh year of famine? This was the
   state of Jacob's family. They were cast into a waste, howling
   wilderness of famine with but one oasis, and that oasis they did not
   hear of till just at the time to which our text refers, when they
   learned to their joy that there was corn in Egypt. Permit me now to
   illustrate the condition of the sinner by the position of these sons of
   Jacob.

   First, the sons of Jacob had a very great need of bread. There was a
   family of sixty-six of them. We are apt, when we read these names of
   the sons of Jacob, to think they were all lads. Are you aware, that
   Benjamin, the youngest of them, was the father of ten children, at the
   time he went into Egypt, so that he was not so very small a lad at any
   rate, and all the rest had large families, so that there were sixty-six
   to be provided for. Well, a famine is frightful enough when there is
   one man who is starving--when there is one brought down to a skeleton
   through leanness and hunger: but when sixty-six mouths are craving for
   bread, that is indeed a horrible plight to be in. But what is this
   compared with the sinner's needs! His necessities are such that only
   Infinity can supply them; he has a demand before which the demands of
   sixty-six mouths are as nothing. He has before him the dreadful
   anticipation of a hell, from which there is no escape; he has upon him
   the heavy hand of God, who has condemned him on account of his sins.
   What needs he? Why, all the manna that came down from heaven in the
   wilderness would not supply a sinner's necessities, and all the water
   that gushed from the rock in the desert would not be sufficient to
   quench his thirst. Such is the need of the sinner, that all the
   handsfull of Egypt's seven years would be lost upon him. He needs great
   mercy; the greatest of mercy, nay, he needs an infinity of mercy, and
   unless this be given him from above, he is worse than starved, for he
   dies the second death, and lives in eternal death, without the hope of
   annihilation or escape. The demands of a hungry man are great; but the
   demands of a hungry soul are greater still; until that soul gets the
   love and mercy of God manifested to it, it will always hunger and
   always thirst, though it had worlds given it for mouthfulls, its hungry
   stomach would be still unsatisfied, for nothing but the Trinity can
   fill the heart of man; nothing but an assurance of the everlasting,
   immutable love of God, and an application of the most precious blood of
   Jesus, can ever stay the terrible hunger of the sinner's soul.

   Mark, again: what these people wanted was an essential thing. They did
   not lack clothes, that were a want, but nothing like the lack of bread;
   for a man might exist with but scanty covering. They did not need
   luxuries,--these they might want, and our pity would not be so much
   excited; they did not need tents,--without these they might be able to
   satisfy the cravings of nature: but they lacked bread--that without the
   fire of life would dwindle to a spark, which at last must die out in
   the darkness of death. ?Bread! bread!? what a cry is that, when men
   gather together, and in the days of scarcity make that their war-cry.
   ?Bread! bread!? what is a more dreadful sound than that? ?Fire! fire!?
   may be more alarming, but ?Bread! bread!? is more piercing to the
   heart. The cry of ?Fire!? rolls like thunder; but the cry of ?Bread!?
   flashes like lightning, and withers one's soul. O that men should cry
   for bread,--the absolute necessary for the sustenance of the body! But
   what is the sinner's want? Is it not exactly this?--he wants that
   without which the soul must perish. Oh! sinner, if it were health, if
   it were wealth, if it were comfort, which thou wert seeking, then thou
   mightest sit down content, and say, ?I can do without these,? but in
   this matter it is thy soul, thy never-dying soul, that is hungering,
   and it is its salvation, its rescue from the flames of hell, which now
   demands thy attention. Oh! what a need is that,--the need of the soul's
   salvation! Talk we of bread and of skeleton bodies? These are frightful
   things to look upon; but when we speak of a lack of bread, and of dying
   perishing souls, there is something more frightful here. See, then,
   your case, ye who are without the grace of God; ye have great
   necessity,--necessity for essential things.

   Yet again; the necessity of the sons of Jacob was a total one. They had
   no bread; there was none to be procured. So long as they had some of
   their own, they could stint themselves, and diminish their rations, and
   so, by moderation, maintain themselves. But they looked into the
   future, and saw their children dying with hunger, and not one crust
   with which to palliate their pangs. They saw their wives sickening
   before them, and their babes at their breasts, unable to obtain
   nourishment from those dry fountains. They saw themselves at length,
   solitary, miserable men, with their hands on their loins, bundles of
   bones, crawling about the tents where their children lay dead, and
   themselves without strength enough to bury them. They had a total lack
   of bread. They might have borne with scarceness: but a total lack of
   bread was horrible in the extreme. Such is the sinner's case. It is not
   that he has a little grace, and lacks more; but he has none at all. Of
   himself he has no grace. It is not that he has a little goodness, and
   needs to be made better, but he has no goodness at all, no merits, no
   righteousness--nothing to bring to God, nothing to offer for his
   acceptance; he is penniless, povertystricken; everything is gone
   whereon his soul might feed. He may gnaw the dry bones of his own good
   works; but if the Lord hath sent conviction into his heart, he will
   gnaw them in vain; he may try to break the bones of ceremonies, but he
   shall find that instead of marrow they contain gall and bitterness. He
   may hunger and hunger, because he has positively nothing with which he
   could stay his stomach. Such is your case, then. How abject is such a
   necessity as this: a total lack of an essential thing for which you
   have an immense need.

   But yet worse; with the exception of Egypt, the sons of Jacob were
   convinced that there was no food anywhere. I believe the reason why
   they looked one upon another was this. At first one looked at the other
   as much as to say, ?Haven't you some to spare? Couldn't you give me
   some for my family?? Perhaps Dan appealed to Simeon, ?Haven't you some?
   my child is starving this day; cannot you help me?? Another might look
   at Judah; and perhaps they might fancy that Benjamin the favourite
   would surely have some morsel stored up. So they looked one to another.
   But soon alas! the look of hope changed into the look of despair. They
   were quite certain that the necessities of each house had been so
   great, that no one could help the other. They had all come to poverty;
   and how can beggars help each other, when all are penniless? And then
   they began to look upon one another in despair. In speechless silence
   they resigned themselves to the woe which threatened to overwhelm them.
   Such is the sinner's condition, when first he begins to feel a
   hungering and thirsting after righteousness, he looks to others. He
   thinks, ?Surely the minister can help me, the priest may assist me.?
   ?Give us of your oil, for our lamps are gone out.? But after awhile he
   discovers that the state of all men is the same, that all are without
   grace, that ?none can save his brother, or give to God a ransom for
   him.? And apart from Christ we, my dear friends, this morning might
   look one on another, aghast and in despair--might try the wide world
   over, and say ?Where is salvation to be found!? Oh! if it lay in the
   very center of the earth we could dig through the rocks and into the
   very bowels of the earth to find it. If it were in heaven, we would
   seek to scale it with some Babel-tower, that we might reach the boon.
   If we had to walk through fire to gain it, we should gladly accept the
   burning pilgrimage. Or if we had to walk through the depths of the sea,
   we should be content to let all its billows roll over us, if we might
   find it. But if every man had to say to his fellow ?there is no hope
   for us; we have all been condemned, we have all been guilty, we can do
   nothing to appease the Most High;? what a wretched world were ours, if
   we were equally convinced of sin, and equally convinced that there was
   no hope of mercy! This, then, was the condition of Jacob's sons
   temporally, and it is our condition by nature spiritually. We are in a
   land of famine; we have nothing of our own; we are hungering, we are
   dying of hunger, and our case seems totally hopeless, for on earth
   there is nothing to be found to satisfy the raving hunger of the soul.

   II. Now we come, in the second place, to the GOOD NEWS. Jacob had
   faith, and the ears of faith are always quiet; faith can hear the tread
   of mercy, though the footfall be as light as that of the angel among
   the flowers. Though mercy should be a thousand leagues away, and its
   journey should occupy ten thousand years, yet faith could hear its
   footsteps, for it is quick of ear and quick of eye. Nay, more, if God
   should give a promise which should never be fulfilled till the old
   rolling skies were dissolved, faith would look through all the
   generations, along the vista of the centuries, and see the spirit of
   promise afar off, and rejoice therein. Jacob had the ears of faith. He
   had been at prayer, I doubt not, asking God to deliver his family in
   the time of famine; and by-and-bye he hears, first of his household,
   that there is corn in Egypt. Do you see the gathering? The venerable
   patriarch sits in the tent. his sons come to pay him their morning
   obeisance; there is despair in their faces, they bring their little
   children with them. All that the patriarch has he gives; but this
   morning he adds good news to his benediction, he says to them, ?There
   is corn in Egypt.? Can you conceive how their hearts leaped? He
   scarcely needs to add, ?Get you down thither, and buy for us from
   thence; that we may live and not die.? Jacob heard the good news, and
   communicated it as speedily as possible to his descendants.

   Now, we also have heard the good news. Good news has been sent to us in
   the Gospel of the Lord Jesus Christ. ?There is corn in Egypt.? We need
   not die. There is salvation with God. We need not perish--there is
   mercy in the Most High. We need not think that we must necessarily be
   lost; there is a way of salvation; there is a hope of escape--do we not
   receive the tidings in joy? Do not our hearts rejoice within us at the
   thought that we are not hopelessly condemned, but that the Lord may yet
   have mercy upon us? Now, we have better news than even Jacob had;
   although the news is similar, understanding it in a spiritual sense.

   First, we are told to-day by sure and certain witnesses, that there is
   corn in Egypt, there is mercy in God. Jacob's messenger might have
   deceived him--idle tales are told everywhere, and in days of famine men
   are very apt to tell a falsehood, thinking that to be true which they
   wish were so. The hungry man is apt to hope that there may be corn
   somewhere; and then he thinks there is; and then he says there is; and
   then, what begins with a wish comes to be a rumor and a report. But
   this day, my friends, it is no idle talk; no dream, no rumor of a
   deceiver. There is mercy with God, there is salvation with him, that he
   may be feared. The fountain is filled to the brim; the granaries are
   full of the good old corn of the kingdom. There is no reason why we
   should perish. By sure infallible, and certain witness, we are told
   upon the very oath of God himself; that there is salvation for the sons
   of men. But Jacob did not know how much corn there was in Egypt. He
   said there was corn, but he did not know bow much. Now, today, we are
   something like Jacob. There is mercy with God; we do not know, any of
   us, how much. ?Oh,? says one sinner, ?I am such a hungry soul, that all
   the granaries of Egypt would not be enough for me.? Ah, but, poor soul.
   God is all that you could want, even though you should want an infinite
   supply. The sixty-six in the family of Jacob would make a heavy draw
   upon the granaries of any nation; but yet, so abundant were the
   storehouses in every city, that we do not read that Joseph missed all
   that he gave them. So it is with you. Your necessities are immense, but
   nothing equal to the supply. Your soul requires great mercy, but you
   will no more exhaust the mercy of God than the taking a cup full of
   water out of the sea would exhaust its fullness. High above the summits
   of your mountain-sins the stars of grace are shining.

   There is another thing in which we have the start of Jacob. Jacob knew
   there was corn in Egypt, but did not know who had the keeping of it. If
   he had known that, he would have said, ?My sons, go down at once to
   Egypt, do not be at all afraid, your brother is lord of Egypt, and all
   the corn belongs to him.? Nay, more I can readily imagine that he would
   have gone himself, forthwith. And Simeon and the rest though they might
   feel a little abashed, when they thought of the unkirdness that they
   had shown to their brother, when they began to feel a little hungry, if
   they had known all about Joseph, would have said, ?We need not fear to
   go and submit ourselves to him, for we know he has a gracious and
   loving heart and would never let his poor brethren die of hunger.?
   Sinner, the mercies of God are under no lock and key except those over
   which Christ has the power. The granaries of heaven's mercy have no
   steward to keep them save Christ. He is exalted on high to give
   repentance and remission of sins. And the keys of grace are swinging at
   the girdle of your own brother; he who died for you, he who loved you
   so much, that he loved you better than he did himself. He has the keys
   of grace, and will you fear to go? Will you tremble to go to these rich
   stores of mercy when they are in the hands of a loving, tender, and
   ever-gracious Lord? No, this is good news, that all the grace is in the
   hands of Jesus.

   There is yet another thing which the sons of Jacob knew nothing of.
   When they went to Egypt, they went on hap-hazard. If they knew there
   was corn, they were not sure they would get it. But when you and I go
   to Christ, we are invited guests. Suppose now you should have it in
   your heart to invite some of the most ragged people of London to your
   house; you give to each of them an invitation, and they come to the
   door, perhaps they are half ashamed to come in, and want to steal round
   the back way; but if they should meet you, they are not at all abashed,
   they say, ?Sir, I was not afraid to come, because you sent me an
   invitation. If it had not been for that, although I might have known
   your generosity, although I might have known you could afford to help
   me, I should not have dared to come if you had not sent me an
   invitation.? Now Joseph sent no invitation to his brethren; but Jesus
   has sent an invitation to you. To each of you who are perishing sinners
   he has said, ?Whosoever will, let him come and take of the water of
   life freely.? He has said himself, ?Him that cometh unto me I will in
   no wise cast out.? He has sent his messengers and bidden them cry, ?Ho,
   every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no
   money; come ye, buy, and eat, yea, come, buy wine and milk without
   money and without price.? Now, sinner, you need never be afraid to go
   where you are invited. Christ Jesus invites; he invites the hungry, he
   invites the weary. Such are you--both hungry and weary. He invites the
   heavy laden--such are you. Come and welcome, then. You need not go on
   hap-hazard, you have the invitation and the promise. Wherefore look ye
   then at one another? Arise and come to Christ; arise and come to his
   cross. May he now prove in you his power to save!

   But one other remark, and I will have done with this second point. The
   sons of Jacob were in one respect better off than you are apparently,
   for they had money with which to buy. Jacob was not a poor man in
   respect of wealth, although he had now become exceedingly poor from
   lack of bread. His sons had money to take with them. Glittering bars of
   gold they thought must surely attract the notice of the ruler of Egypt.
   You have no money, nothing to bring to Christ, nothing to offer him.
   You offered him something once, but he rejected all you offered him as
   being spurious coin, imitations, counterfeits, and good for nothing.
   And now utterly stripped, hopeless, penniless, you say you are afraid
   to go to Christ because you have nothing of your own. Let me assure you
   that you are never in so fit a condition to go to Christ as when you
   have nowhere else to go to, and have nothing of your own. But you
   reply, ?I should like at least to feel my need more.? That would be
   something of your own--you must go to Christ with nothing. ?But I wish
   I could believe more.? That would be something of your own. You want to
   get your own faith to bring to Christ. No, you must go to Christ just
   as you are. ?But sir, I must reform myself before I can believe that
   Christ will have mercy upon me.? Your fancied reformation would unfit
   you for grace, rather than prepare you for it. Reformation before grace
   is frequently a step backward instead of forward. That reformation may
   confirm you in self-righteousness, but it cannot bring you to Christ.
   Go as you are. At a hospital, the best recommendation is sickness. He
   that is a little sick needs some help to get him there, but let me be
   run over in the street, and be near to die, and I need nothing to
   recommend me to the hospital--open flies the door, and I am taken in
   directly. So a condition of your lost and ruined state is the only
   recommendation you need in going to Christ. Just now a lot of people
   want to bestow their charity, and they do not know how to get at the
   lowest class of the poor; they want to lay hold of those whose beds are
   made of straw; they desire to gain knowledge of those low
   lodging-places of the very poor, which are worse than the places that
   beasts inhabit. These are the men they want to find; and the greater
   the poverty the more recommendation. So in your case. Your woes plead
   with God. Your wants, your misery, your helplessness, your ill-deserts,
   these are the orators that move the heart of God towards you, but
   nothing else. Come just as you are, with nothing in your hand, to Jesus
   Christ, who is Lord over the land of mercy, and will not send you empty
   away.

   III. Thus I have noticed the good news as well as the pitiful plight. I
   come now to the third part, which is GOOD ADVICE. Jacob asks, ?Why do
   ye look one upon another? And he said, Behold, I have heard that there
   is corn in Egypt: get you down thither, and buy for us from thence;
   that we may live, and not die.? This is very practical advice. I wish
   people would act the same with religion as they do in temporal affairs.
   Jacob's sons did not say, ?Well, that is very good news; I believe it,?
   and then sit still and die. No, they went straightway to the place of
   which the good news told them corn was to be had. So should it be in
   matters of religion. We should not be content merely to hear the
   tidings, but we should never be satisfied until by divine grace we have
   availed ourselves of them' and have found mercy in Christ. Some
   ministers do in fact tell poor awakened sinners to be inactive; they
   say to them something like this--?You must wait, you must wait till
   Christ comes to you.? They will even dissuade the woman who had an
   issue of blood, from pushing through the crowd to lay hold upon the hem
   of the Redeemer's garment. They would bid the man who is crying aloud
   by the wayside to hold his tongue; to sit still quietly till Christ
   should turn and look upon him. They cannot endure that Christ Jesus
   should invite men to his feast, much less that the servants of the Lord
   should endeavor to compel them to come in. They excuse the sinner and
   even dare to teach that the rejection of Christ by the sinner, is no
   sin at all. Now, as in the sight of God, I do fear such men are guilty
   of the blood of souls. I would not stand in the position of a man who
   talks like that for all the stars thrice reckoned up in gold. I cannot
   understand that; I cannot understand that when my Master said, ?Labour
   not for the meat which perisheth, but for that meat which endureth unto
   everlasting life, which the Son of man shall give unto you: for him
   hath God the Father sealed,? that I am to tell a sinner to sit still.
   When the angel said, ?Escape for thy life; look not behind thee; stay
   not in all the plain; but flee to the mountain, lest thou be consumed,?
   am I to go to Sodom, and say to Lot, ?Stop here till the Lord brings
   you out?? Why, we know, of a surety, that salvation is the Lord's work,
   and the Lord's work alone; but we equally know of a surety, that when
   the Lord works, he sets us to work. When he works in our soul, the Lord
   does not believe; he has nothing to believe, he makes us believe. When
   the Lord works repentance, he does not repent what has he to repent of?
   He makes us repent. The Lord brought Lot out of Sodom, but did not Lot
   use his own legs to run to the mountain? And so it must be with us.
   Christ does all, but he makes us the instruments. He tells us to
   stretch out our own withered hand, and yet we do not stretch forth that
   withered hand of ourselves. He tells us to do it, and we do it through
   his strength. Tell a sinner to sit still! What does hell desire more
   than that? Tell a sinner to wait; would not Satan approve of such a
   ministry? And does he not approve of it? Ah, my brethren, he that loves
   his Master, he that loves the gospel, he that loves men's souls cannot
   preach such untruthful and unchristian doctrine. He feels that the
   humanity within him is much more the grace within him, revolts against
   a thing so barbarous and so inhuman as that. No, when we preach to the
   sinner, we must say to him, ?Thou knowest thy need, thou feelest that
   thou canst not be saved except through mercy in Christ. Look to him,
   believe on him, seek him, and thou shalt find him.?

   But I have heard it said, that if a sinner seeks Christ without Christ
   seeking him he will perish. Now what an absurd thing for anybody to
   say. Because, did a sinner, or could a sinner ever seek Christ without
   Christ seeking him. I never like to suppose an impossibility, and then
   draw an inference from it. ?Suppose,? said one, I know of--?a sinner
   should come to Christ without Christ coming to him, he would be lost.?
   Well, that is very clear, only it is supposing a thing that cannot
   happen; and what is the good of that? Sometimes people have put to me
   this question--?Suppose a child of God should live in sin, and die in
   sin, would he be saved?? The thing is impossible. If you suppose
   yourself into a difficulty, you must suppose yourself out of it. It is
   like the old supposition, ?Suppose the moon were cream cheese, what
   would become of us on a dark night?? So, suppose a sinner should come
   to Christ without Christ coming to him, what could be the result? It is
   supposing an impossibility, and then drawing an absurdity from it.
   Christ said, ?No man can come unto me, except the Father which hath
   sent me draw him.? If a sinner comes, he is drawn, or he would not have
   come. It is mine, therefore, to exhort the sinner to come to Christ; it
   is the Holy Spirit's work to enforce the exhortation, and draw the
   sinner to Christ.

   Lastly, let me put this question, ?Why do ye look one upon another??
   Why do ye sit still? Fly to Christ, and find mercy. Oh, says one, ?I
   cannot get what I expect to have.? But what do you expect? I believe
   some of our hearers expect to feel an electric shock, or something of
   that kind, before they are saved. The gospel says simply, ?Believer.?
   That they will not understand. They think there is to be something so
   mysterious about it. They can't make out what it is; but they are going
   to wait for it and then believe. Well, you will wait till doomsday; for
   if you do not believe this simple gospel, ?Believe on the Lord Jesus
   Christ,? God will not work signs and wonders to please your foolish
   desires. Your position is this--you are a sinner, lost, ruined; you
   cannot help yourself. Scripture says, ?Jesus Christ came into the world
   to save sinners.? Your immediate business, your instantaneous duty is
   to cast yourself on that simple promise, and believe on the Lord Jesus
   Christ, that as he came into the world to save sinners, he has
   therefore come to save you. What you have to do with, is that simple
   command--?Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt he saved.?
   Now take the sons of Jacob as your example. No sooner had their father
   told them what they had to do than the first thing they did was, they
   went and fetched their empty sacks. Now do the same. ?What is the good
   of them?? you say; ?there is no corn in them.? No I know there is not,
   still you must take your empty sacks and have them filled. Bring out
   your sins; bring out all the aggravation of your sins; cast them all at
   the feet of Christ, and make your confession. There is no salvation in
   confession, but still you cannot have salvation without it. You must
   make a full and free confession of your sins. ?What, to you, sir?? I am
   extremely obliged to you. I would not hear your sins on any account. No
   sum of money would be sufficient compensation for the impurity that
   must accrue to any man who shall hear another's sins. I would not tell
   you mine; much less hear your's. No, make your confessions to God. Go
   to your closet; shut to your door; then pull out your empty seeks--that
   is, make a full confession of your sins; tell the Lord that you are a
   wretch undone without his sovereign grace. When you have done that, you
   say, what next? Then cast away all hope you ever had or have, put away
   all trust in your good works and everything else; and what next? Cast
   yourself simply on this great truth, that Jesus Christ came to save
   sinners, and you shall rise from your knees a happier man. Or if tlmt
   is not the case, try it again, and again, and again, and it shall not
   fail you. Prayer and faith were never lost. He who confessed his sins
   and sought the Saviour never roughs in vain. When I was first convinced
   of sin, yet a lad, I did go to God and I cried for mercy with all my
   might, but I did not find it. I do not think I knew what the gospel
   was. For three year's I persevered in that; and many a day, in every
   room of the house in which I lived, as each room became unoccupied,
   upon an occasion, have I spent hours in prayer, the tears rolling down
   my cheeks, and straining myself in an agony of desire to find Christ
   and find salvation. But it never came. It was not until I heard that
   simple doctrine, ?Look unto me and be ye saved.? I then found that my
   prayers were a kind of righteousness of my own that I was relying on
   them, and consequent was on the wrong road. Then did the Holy Spirit
   enable me to look to Christ hanging on the cross. I did not give up my
   prayers, but I did put the Lord Jesus, the object of my faith, far
   above all prayers, and then when I had looked to him hanging, dying,
   bleeding, my soul rejoiced, and I fell upon my knees no more to cry
   with agony, but to exclaim with delight, ?Lord, I believe; help thou
   mine unbelief.? But if in that day, instead of simply looking to
   Christ, I had said, ?No, Lord, I will not wash in Jordan and be clean.
   I will wait till Elijah comes out and strikes the leper with his hand;
   I will not look to the brazen serpent. That is legal preaching, that is
   Arminian doctrine. I will wait till the serpent knocks right against my
   eyes,? it would have never come. But having looked simply to Christ, I
   cast all my other trust away; and how my soul rejoices in the liberty
   wherewith Christ makes his people free. So shall it be with you. The
   gospel is this day freely preached to you. Jesus Christ, the Son of
   God, came down from heaven, was born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under
   Pontius Pilate; and was crucified for sin. Turn now your eyes to yonder
   cross. Behold a God expiring. Behold the Infinite hanging on the tree
   in pangs. Those sufferings must save you; will you rely upon them?
   Without any other trust, shall the cross be the unbuttressed pillar of
   your hope? If so, you are saved. The moment you believe in Jesus, the
   Redeemer, you are saved, your sins are forgiven; God has accepted you
   as his child; you are in a state of grace; you are passed from death
   unto life. Not only are you not condemned but you never shall be. There
   is for you a crown, a harp, a mansion, in the realms of the glorified.
   Oh that God may help you now to go down into Egypt for heavenly corn,
   and may you return with your sacks full to the brim.

   In conclusion, I make this last remark.--Did you notice the argument
   Jacob used why the sons should go to Egypt? It was this--?That we may
   live, and not die.? Sinner, this is my argument with thee this morning.
   My dear hearers, the gospel of Christ is a matter of life and death
   with you. It is not a matter of little importance, but of all
   importance. There is an alternative before you; you will either be
   eternally damned, or everlastingly saved. Despise Christ, and neglect
   his great salvation, and you will be lost, as sure as you live. Believe
   in Christ; put your trust alone in him, and everlasting life is yours.
   What argument can be more potent than this to men that love themselves?
   Are you prepared for everlasting burnings? Friend, art thou ready to
   make thy bed in hell, and to be lost? If so, reject Christ. But if thou
   desirest to be blessed for ever, to be accepted of God in the
   tremendous day of judgment, and to be crowned by him in the day of the
   reward, I beseech thee, hear again the gospel, and obey it. ?He that
   believeth in the Lord Jesus Christ and is baptized, shall be saved, but
   he that believeth not shall be damned.? For this is the gospel; it is
   yet again preached to you, and this is its solitary mandate--?Believe
   in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved.? O Lord, help us now
   to believe, if we have not believed before, for Jesus' sake!

   <HR

   Just published, No. 7 of the New Park street Tracts, entitled, ?SO MANY
   CALLS,? being the Anecdote to referred to in No. 227 of the ?New Park
   Street Pulpit.? Price Is 4d. per 100.

   .
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The Fainting Warrior

   A Sermon

   (No. 235)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 23rd, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?O wretched man that I am I who shall deliver me from the body of this
   death? I thank God, through Jesus Christ our Lord.?--Romans 7:24, 25.

   IF I chose to occupy your time with controversial matter, I might prove
   to a demonstration that the apostle Paul is here describing his own
   experience as a Christian. Some have affirmed that he is merely
   declaring what he was before conversion, and not what he was when he
   became the recipient of the grace of God. But such persons are
   evidently mistaken, and I believe wilfully mistaken; for any
   ample-hearted, candid mind, reading through this chapter, could not
   fall into such an error. It is Paul the apostle, who was not less than
   the very greatest of the apostles--it is Paul, the mighty servant of
   God, a very prince in Israel, one of the King's mighty men--it is Paul,
   the saint and the apostle, who here exclaims, ?O wretched man that I
   am!?

   Now, humble Christians are often the dupes of a very foolish error.
   They look up to certain advanced saints and able ministers, and they
   say, ?Surely, such men as these do not suffer as I do; they do not
   contend with the same evil passions as those which vex and trouble me.?
   Ah! if they knew the heard of those men, if they could read their
   inward conflicts, they would soon discover that the nearer a man lives
   to God, the more intensely has he to mourn over his own evil heart, and
   the more his Master honors him in his service, the more also doth the
   evil of the flesh vex and tease him day by day. Perhaps, this error is
   more natural, as it is certainly more common, with regard to apostolic
   saints. We have been in the habit of saying, Saint Paul, and Saint
   John, as if they were more saints than any other of the children of
   God. They are all saints whom God has called by his grace, and
   sanctified by his Spirit; but somehow we very foolishly put the
   apostles and the early saints into another list, and do not venture to
   look on them as common mortals. We look upon them as some extraordinary
   beings, who could not be men of like passions with ourselves. We are
   told in Scripture that our Saviour was ?tempted in all points like as
   we are;? and yet we fall into the egregious error of imagining that the
   apostles, who were far inferior to the Lord Jesus, escaped these
   temptations, and were ignorant of these conflicts. The fact is, if you
   had seen the apostle Paul, you would have thought he was remarkably
   like the rest of the chosen family: and if you had talked with him, you
   would have said, ?Why, Paul, I find that your experience and mine
   exactly agree. You are more faithful, more holy, and more deeply taught
   than I, but you have the self same trials to endure. Nay, in some
   respects you are more sorely tried than I.? Do not look upon the
   ancient saints as being exempt either from infirmities or sins, and do
   not regard them with that mystic reverence which almost makes you an
   idolater. Their holiness is attainable even by you, and their faults
   are to be censured as much as your own. I believe it is a Christian's
   duty to force his way into the inner circle of saintship; and if these
   saints were superior to us in their attainments, as they certainly
   were, let us follow them; let us press forward up to, yea, and beyond
   them, for I do not see that this is impossible. We have the same light
   that they had, the same grace is accessible to us, and why should we
   rest satisfied until we have distanced them in the heavenly race? Let
   us bring them down to the sphere of common mortals. If Jesus was the
   Son of man, and very man, ?bone of our bone, and flesh of our flesh;?
   so were the apostles; and it is an egregious error to suppose that they
   were not the subjects of the same emotions, and the same inward trials,
   as the very meanest of the people of God. So far, this may tend to our
   comfort and to our encouragement, when we find that we are engaged in a
   battle in which apostles themselves have had to fight.

   And now we shall notice this morning, first, the two natures, secondly
   their constant battle; thirdly, we shall step aside and look at the
   weary warrior, and hear him cry, ?O wretched man that I am;? and then
   we shall turn our eye in another direction, and see that fainting
   warrior girding up his loins to the conflict, and becoming an expectant
   victor, while he shouts, ?I thank God through Jesus Christ our Lord.?

   I. First, then, THE TWO NATURES. Carnal men, unrenewed men, have one
   nature--a nature which they inherited from their parents, and which,
   through the ancient transgression of Adam, is evil, only evil, and that
   continually. Mere human nature, such as is common to every man, has in
   it many excellent traits, judging of it between man and man. A merely
   natural man may be honest, upright, kind, and generous, he may have
   noble and generous thoughts, and may attain unto a true and manly
   speech; but when we come to matters of true religion, spiritual matters
   that concern God and eternity, the natural man can do nothing. The
   carnal mind, whose ever mind it may be, is fallen, and is at enmity to
   God, does not know the things of God, nor can it ever know them. Now,
   when a man becomes a Christian, he becomes so through the infusion of a
   new nature. He is naturally ?dead in trespasses and sins,? ?without God
   and without hope.? The Holy Spirit enters into him, and implants in him
   a new principle, a new nature, a new life. That life is a high, holy
   and supernatural principle, it is, in fact the divine nature, a ray
   from the great ?Father of Lights;? it is the Spirit of God dwelling in
   man. Thus, you see, the Christian becomes a double man--two men in one.
   Some have imagined that the old nature is turned out of the Christian:
   not so, for the Word of God and experience teach the contrary, the old
   nature is in the:Christian unchanged, unaltered, just the same, as bad
   as ever it was; while the new nature in him is holy, pure and heavenly;
   and hence, as we shall have to notice in me next place--hence there
   arises a conflict between the two.

   Now, I want you to notice what the apostle says about these two natures
   that are in the Christian, for I am about to contrast them. First, in
   our text the apostle calls the old nature ?the body of this death.? Why
   does he call it ?the body of this death?? Some suppose he means these
   dying bodies; but I do not think so. If it were not for sin, we should
   have no fault to find with our poor bodies. They are noble works of
   God, and are not in themselves the cause of sin. Adam in the garden of
   perfection, felt the body to be no encumbrance, nor if sin were absent
   should we have any fault to find with our flesh and blood. What, then,
   is it? I think the apostle calls the evil nature within him a body,
   first, in opposition to those who talk of the relics of corruption in a
   Christian. I have heard people say that there are relics, remainders
   and remnants of sin in a believer. Such men do not know much about
   themselves yet. Oh! it is not a bone, or a rag which is left; it is the
   whole body of sin that is there--the whole of it, ?from the crown of
   the head to the sole of the foot.? Grace does not maim this body and
   cut away its members; it leaves it entire, although blessed be God, it
   crucifies it, nailing it to the cross of Christ. And again, I think he
   calls it a body because it is something tangible. We all know that we
   have a body; it is a thing we can feel, we know it is there. The new
   nature is a spirit subtle, and not easy to detect, I sometimes have to
   question myself as to whether it is there at all. But as for my old
   nature, that is a body, I can never find it difficult to recognize its
   existence, it is as apparent as flesh and bones. As I never doubt that
   I am in flesh and blood, so I never doubt but what I have sin within
   me. It is a body--a thing which I can see and feel, and which, to my
   pain, is ever present with me.?

   Understand, then, that the old nature of the Christian is a body; it
   has in it a substance or, as Calvin puts it, it is a mass of
   corruption. It is not simply a shred, a remnant--the cloth of the old
   garment, but the whole of it is there still. True, it is crushed
   beneath the foot of grace; it is cast out of its throne; but it is
   there, there in all its entireness, and in all its sad tangibility, a
   body of death. But why does he call it a body of death? Simply to
   express what an awful thing this sin is that remains in the heart. It
   is a body of death. I must use a figure, which is always appended to
   this text, and very properly so. It was the custom of ancient tyrants,
   when they wished to put men to the most fearful punishments, to tie a
   dead body to them, placing the two back to back; and there was the
   living man, with a dead body closely strapped to him, rotting, putrid,
   corrupting, and this he must drag with him wherever he went. Now, this
   is just what the Christian has to do. He has within him the new life;
   he has a living and undying principle, which the Holy Spirit has put
   within him, but he feels that every day he has to drag about with him
   this dead body, this body of death, a thing as loathsome, as hideous,
   as abominable to his new life, as a dead stinking carcase would be to a
   living man. Francis Quarles gives a picture at the beginning of one of
   his emblems, of a great skeleton in which a living man is encased.
   However quaint the fancy, it is not more singular than true. There is
   the old skeleton man, filthy, corrupt and abominable. He is a cage for
   the new principle which God has put in the heart. Consider a moment the
   striking language of our text, ?The body of this death,? it is death
   incarnate, death concentrated, death dwelling in the very temple of
   life. Did you ever think what an awful thing death is? The thought is
   the most abhorrent to human nature. You say you do not fear death, and
   very properly; but the reason why you do not fear death is because you
   look to a glorious immortality. Death in itself is a most frightful
   thing. Now, inbred sin has about it all the unknown terror, all the
   destructive force, and all the stupendous gloom of death. A poet would
   be needed to depict the conflict of life with death--to describe a
   living soul condemned to walk through the black shades of confusion,
   and to bear incarnate death in its very bowels. But such is the
   condition of the Christian. As a regenerate man he is a firing, bright,
   immortal spirit; but he has to tread the shades of death. He has to do
   daily battle with all the tremendous powers of sin, which are as awful,
   as sublimely terrific, as even the power's of death and hell.

   Upon referring to the preceding chapter, we find the evil principle
   styled ?the old man.? There is much meaning in that word ?old.? But let
   it suffice us to remark, that in age the new nature is not upon an
   equal footing with the corrupt nature. There are some here who are
   sixty years old in their humanity, who can scarce number two years in
   the life of grace. Now pause and meditate upon the warfare in the
   heart. It is the contest of an infant with a full-grown man, the
   wrestling of a babe with a giant. Old Adam, like some ancient oak, has
   thrust his roots into the depths of manhood; can the divine infant
   uproot him and cast him from his place? This is the work, this is the
   labor. From its birth the new nature begins the struggle, and it cannot
   cease from it until the victory be perfectly achieved. Nevertheless, it
   is the moving of a mountain, the drying up of an ocean the threshing of
   the hills, and who is sufficient for these things? The heaven-born
   nature needs, and will receive, the abundant help of its Author, or it
   would yield in the struggle, subdued beneath the superior strength of
   its adversary and crushed beneath his enormous weight.

   Again, observe, that the old nature of man, which remains in the
   Christian is evil, and it cannot ever be anything else but evil, for we
   are told in this chapter that ?in me,?--that is, in my flesh--?there
   dwelleth no good thing.? The old Adam-nature cannot be improved; it
   cannot be made better; it is hopeless to attempt it. You may do what
   you please with it, you may educate it, you may instruct it, and thus
   you may give it more instruments for rebellion, but you cannot make the
   rebel into the friend, you cannot turn the darkness into light; it is
   an enemy to God, and an enemy to God it ever must be. On the contrary,
   the new life which God has given us cannot sin. That is the meaning of
   a passage in John, where it is said, ?The child of God sinneth not; he
   cannot sin, because he is born of God.? The old nature is evil only
   evil, and that continually, the new nature is wholly good; it knows
   nothing of sin, except to hate it. Its contact with sin brings it pain
   and misery, and it cries out, ?Woe is me that I dwell in Meshech, that
   I tabernacle in the tents of Kedar.?

   I have thus given you some little picture of the two natures. Let me
   again remind you that these two natures are essentially unchangeable.
   You cannot make the new nature which God has given you less divine; the
   old nature you cannot make less impure and earthly. Old Adam is a
   condemned thing. You may sweep the house, and the evil spirit may seem
   to go out of it, but he will come back again and bring with him seven
   other devils more wicked than himself. It is a leper's house, and the
   leprosy is in every stone from the foundation to the roof; there is no
   part sound. It is a garment spotted by the flesh; you may wash, and
   wash, and wash, but you shall never wash it clean; it were foolish to
   attempt it. Whilst on the other hand the new nature can never be
   tainted--spotless, holy and pure, it dwells in our hearts; it rules and
   reigns there expecting the day when it shall cast out its enemy, and
   without a rival it shall be monarch in the heart of man for ever.

   II. I have thus described the two combatants; we shall now come in the
   next place to THEIR BATTLE. There was never deadlier feud in all the
   world between nations than there is between the two principles, right
   and wrong. But right and wrong are often divided from one another by
   distance, and therefore they have a less intense hatred. Suppose an
   instance: right holds for liberty, therefore right hates the evil of
   slavery. But we do not so intensely hate slavery as we should do if we
   saw it before our eyes: then would the blood boil, when we saw our
   black brother, smitten by the cow-hide whip. Imagine a slaveholder
   standing here and smiting his poor slave until the red blood gushed
   forth in a river; can you conceive your indignation? Now it is distance
   which makes you feel this less acutely. The right forgets the wrong,
   because it is far away. But suppose now that right and wrong lived in
   the same house; suppose two such desperate enemies, cribbed, cabined,
   and confined within this narrow house, man; suppose the two compelled
   to dwell together, can you imagine to what a desperate pitch of fury
   these two would get with one another. The evil thing says, ?I will turn
   thee out, thou intruder; I cannot be peaceful as I would, I cannot riot
   as I would, I cannot indulge just as I would; out with thee, I will
   never be content until I slay thee.? ?Nay,? says the new born nature,
   ?I will kill thee, and drive thee out. I will not suffer stick or stone
   of thee to remain. I have sworn war to the knife with thee; I have
   taken out the sword and cast away the scabbard, and will never rest
   till I can sing complete victory over thee, and totally eject thee from
   this house of mine.? They are always at enmity wherever they are; they
   were never friends, and never can be. The evil must hate the good, and
   the good must hate the evil.

   And mark although we might compare the enmity to the wolf and lamb, yet
   the new-born nature is not the lamb in all respects. It may be in its
   innocence and meekness, but it is not in its strength; for the new-born
   nature has all the omnipotence of God about it, whilst the old nature
   has all the strength of the evil one in it, which is a strength not
   easily to be exaggerated, but which we very frequently underestimate.
   These two things are ever desperately at enmity with one another. And
   even when they are both quiet they hate each other none the less. When
   my evil nature does not rise, still it hates the newborn nature, and
   when the new-born nature is inactive, it has nevertheless a thorough
   abhorrence of all iniquity. The one cannot endure the other, it must
   endeavor to thrust it forth. Nor do these at any time allow an
   opportunity to pass from being revenged upon one another. There are
   times when the old nature is very active, and then how will it ply all
   the weapons of its deadly armoury against the Christian. You will find
   yourselves at one time suddenly attacked with anger, and when you guard
   yourself against the hot temptation, on a sudden you will find pride
   rising, and you will begin to say in yourself; ?Am I not a good man to
   have kept my temper down?? And the moment you thrust down your pride
   there will come another temptation, and lust will look out of the
   window of your eyes, and you desire a thing upon which you ought not to
   look, and ere you can shut your eyes upon the vanity, sloth in its
   deadly torpor surrounds you, and you give yourself up to its influence
   and cease to labor for God. And then when you bestir yourselves once
   more, you fled that in the very attempt to rouse yourself you have
   awakened your pride. Evil haunts you go where you may, or stand in what
   posture you choose. On the other hand the new nature will never lose an
   opportunity of putting down the old. As for the means of grace, the
   newborn nature will never rest satisfied unless it enjoys them. As for
   prayer, it will seek by prayer to wrestle with the enemy. It will
   employ faith, and hope, and love, the threatenings, the promises,
   providence, grace, and everything else to cast out the evil. Well,?
   says one, ?I don't find it so.? Then I am afraid of you. If you do not
   hate sin so much that you do everything to drive it out, I am afraid
   you are not a living child of God. Antinomians like to hear you preach
   about the evil of the heart, but here is the fault with them, they do
   not like to be told that unless they hate that evil, unless they seek
   to drive it out and unless it is the constant disposition of their
   new-born nature to root it up, they are yet in their sins. Men who only
   believe their depravity, but do not hate it, are no further than the
   devil on the road to heaven. It is not my being corrupt that proves me
   a Christian, nor knowing I am corrupt, but that I hate my corruption.
   It is my agonizing death struggle with my corruptions that proves me to
   be a living child of God. These two natures will never cease to
   struggle so long as we are in this world. The old nature will never
   give up; it will never cry truce, it will never ask for a treaty to be
   made between the two. It will always strike as often as it can. When it
   lies still it will only be preparing for some future battle. The battle
   of Christian with Apollyon lasted three hours; but the battle of
   Christian with himself lasted all the way from the Wicket-gate to the
   River Jordan. The enemy within can never be driven out while we are
   here. Satan may sometimes be absent from us, and get such a defeat that
   he is glad to go howling back to his den, but old Adam abideth with us
   from the first even to the last. He was with us when we first believed
   in Jesus, and long ere that, and he will be with us till that moment
   when we shall leave our bones in the grave, our fears in the Jordan,
   and our sins in oblivion.

   Once more observe, that neither of these two natures will be content in
   the fight without bringing in allies to assist. The evil nature has old
   relations, and in its endeavor to drive out the grace that is within,
   it sends off messengers to all its helpers. Like Cherdorlasmer, the
   King of Elam, it bringeth other kings with it, when it goeth out to
   battle. ?Ah!? says old Adam, ?I have friends in the pit.? He sends a
   missive down to the depths, and willing allies come therefrom--spirits
   from the vasty deep of hell; devils without number come up to the help
   of their brother. And then, not content with that, the flesh
   says:--?Ah! I have friends in this world;? and then the world sends its
   fierce cohorts of temptation, such as the lust of the eyes and the
   pride of life. What a battle, when sin, Satan, and the world, make a
   dead-set upon the Christian at once. ?Oh,? says one, ?it is a terrible
   thing to be a Christian.? I assure you it is. It is one of the hardest
   things in the world to be a child of God; in fact, it is impossible,
   unless the Lord makes us his children, and keeps us so.

   Well, what does the new nature do? When it sees all these enemies, it
   cries unto the Lord, and then the Lord sends it friends. First comes in
   to its help, Jehovah, in the everlasting counsel, and reveals to the
   heart its own interest in the secrets of eternity. Then comes Jesus
   with his blood. ?Thou shalt conquer,? says he; ?I will make thee more
   than a conqueror through my death.? And then appears the Holy Spirit,
   the Comforter. With such assistance, this new-born nature is more than
   a match for its enemies. God will sometimes leave that new nature
   alone, to let it know its own weakness; but it shall not be for long,
   lest it should sink in despair. Are you fighting with the enemy to-day,
   my dear Christian brethren? Are Satan, the flesh, and the world--that
   hellish trinity--all against you? Remember, there is a divine trinity
   for you. Fight on, though like Valiant-for-Truth, your blood runs from
   your hand and glues your sword to your arm. Fight on! for with you are
   the legions of heaven; God himself is with you; Jehovah Nissi is your
   banner, and Jehovah Rophi is the healer of your wounds. You shall
   overcome; for who can defeat Omnipotence, or trample divinity beneath
   his foot?

   I have thus endeavored to describe the conflict; but understand me, it
   cannot be described. We must say, as Hart does in his hymn, when after
   singing the emotions of his soul, he says--

   ?But, brethren, you can surely guess,

   For you perhaps have felt the same.?

   If you could see a plain upon which a battle is fought, you would see
   how the ground is torn up by the wheels of the cannon, by the horse
   hoofs, and by the trampling of men. What desolation is where once the
   golden crops of harvest grew. How is the ground sodden with the blood
   of the slain. How frightful the result of this terrible struggle. But
   if you could see the believers' heart after a spiritual battle, you
   would find it just a counterpart of the battle-field--as much cut up as
   the ground of the battle-field after the direst conflict that men or
   fiends have ever waged. For, think: we are combating man with himself;
   nay, more, man with the whole world; nay, more, man with hell; God with
   man, against man, the world and hell. What a fight is that! It were
   worth an angel's while to come from the remotest fields of ether to
   behold such a conflict.

   III. We come now to notice THE WEARY COMBATANT. He lifts up his voice,
   and weeping he cries, ?O wretched man that I am! who shall deliver me
   from the body of this death?? It is the cry of a panting warrior. He
   has fought so long that he has lost his breath, and he draws it in
   again; he takes breath by prayer. ?O wretched man that I am! who shall
   deliver me from the body of this death?? He will not give up the
   conflict; he knows he cannot, and he dare not. That thought does not
   enter into his mind; but the conflict is so sore, the battle so
   furious, that he is almost defeated; he sits down to refresh himself,
   and thus he sighs out his soul; like the panting hart, longing for the
   water brook, he says, ?O wretched man that I am.? Nay, it is more than
   that. It is the cry of one who is fainting. He has fought till all his
   strength is spent, and he falls back into the arms of his Redeemer with
   this fainting gasp, ?O wretched man that I am!? His strength has failed
   him; he is sorely beaten in the battle, he feels that without the help
   of God he is so totally defeated that he commences his own wail of
   defeat, ?O wretched man that I am.? And then he asks this question,
   ?Who shall deliver me?? And there comes a voice from the Law, ?I cannot
   and I will not.? There comes a voice from Conscience, ?I can make thee
   see the battle, but I cannot help thee in it.? And then there comes a
   cry from old Human Nature, and that says, ?Ah! none can deliver thee, I
   shall yet destroy thee; thou shalt fall by the hand of thine enemy; the
   house of David shall be destroyed, and Saul shall live and reign for
   ever.? And the poor fainting soldier cries again, ?Who shall deliver
   me?? It seems a hopeless case, and I believe that sometimes the true
   Christian may think himself hopelessly given over to the power of sin.

   The wretchedness of Paul, I think, lay in two things, which are enough
   to make any man wretched. Paul believed the doctrine of human
   responsibility, and yet he felt the doctrine of human inability. I have
   heard people say sometimes--?You tell the sinner that he cannot believe
   and repent without the help of the Holy Spirit, and yet you tell him
   that it is his duty to believe and repent. How are these two to be
   reconciled? We reply that they do not want any reconciliation; they are
   two truths of Holy Scripture, and we leave them to reconcile
   themselves, they are friends, and friends do not need any
   reconciliation. But what seems a difficulty as a matter of doctrine is
   clear as daylight as a matter of experience. I know it is my duty to be
   perfect, but I am conscious I cannot be. I know that every time I
   commit sin I am guilty, and yet I am quite certain that I must
   sin--that my nature is such that I cannot help it. I feel that I am
   unable to get rid of this body of sin and death, and yet I know I ought
   to get rid of it. These two things are enough to make any man
   miserable--to know that he is responsible for his sinful nature, and
   yet to know that he cannot get rid of it--to know that he ought to keep
   it down, and yet to feel he cannot--to know that it is his business to
   keep God's law perfectly, and walk in the commandments of the law
   blameless, and yet to know by sad experience that he is as unable to do
   so as he is to reverse the motion of the globe, or dash the sun from
   the center of the spheres. How will not these two things drive any man
   to desperation? The way in which some men avoid the dilemma, is by a
   denial of one of these truths. They say, ?Well, it is true I am unable
   to cease from sin;? and then they deny their obligation to do so; they
   do not cry, ?O wretched man that I am;? they live as they like, and say
   they cannot help it. On the other hand, there are some men who know
   they are responsible; but then they say, ?Ay but I can cast off my
   sin,? and these are tolerably happy. The Arminian and the
   hyper-Calvinist both of them get on very comfortably; but the man who
   believes these two doctrines, as taught in God's Word, that he is
   responsible for sin and yet that he is unable to get rid of it, I do
   not wonder that when he looks into himself he finds enough to make him
   sigh and cry, ever, to faintness and despair, ?O wretched man that I
   am! who shall deliver me from the body of this death.?

   And now says one, ?Ah, I would be a Christian, if that is the way in
   which he faints--it be is always to be fighting with himself; and even
   until he despairs of victory.? Stop a moment. Let us complete the
   picture. This man is fainting; but he will be restored by-and-bye.
   Think not that he is hopelessly defeated, he falls to rise, he faints
   but to be revived afresh. I know a magic, which can awaken his sleeping
   hopes and shoot a thrill along the freezing current of his blood. Let
   us sound the promise in his ear, see how soon he revives. Let us put
   the cordial to his lips; see how he starts up and plays the man again.
   ?I have been almost defeated? says he, ?almost driven to despair.
   Rejoice not over me, O mine enemy; though I fall, yet shall I rise
   again.? And he lets fly against him once more, shouting, ?I thank God
   through Jesus Christ our Lord.? So on he goes again, more than a
   conqueror, through him that has loved him.

   IV. This brings me to this last point, that THE CHRISTIAN IS TO BE A
   CONQUEROR AT LAST. Do you think that we are for ever to be the drudges
   and the slaves of sin? Am I for ever to be the galley-slave of my own
   nature, to tug for freedom and never to escape? Am I always to have
   this dead man chained to my back, and sniff the pestiferous exhalations
   of his putrid body? No, no, no, that which is within my heart, is like
   a caged eagle; and I know that soon the bars which confine me shall be
   broken; the door of my cage shall be opened, and I shall mount with my
   eye upon the sun of glory, soaring upward, true to the line, moving
   neither to the right hand nor to the left, flying till I reach my eyrie
   in the everlasting rocks of God's eternal love. No, we that love the
   Lord are not for ever to dwell in Mesech. The dust may besmear our
   robes and filth may be upon our brow, and beggared may be our garment,
   but we shall not be so for ever. The day is coming when we shall rise
   and shake ourselves from the dust, and put on our beautiful garments.
   It is true we are now like Israel in Canaan. Canaan is full of enemies;
   but the Canaanites shall and must be driven out. Amalek shall be slain,
   Agag shall be hewn in pieces; our enemies shall, every one of them, be
   dispersed, and the whole land from Dan to Beersheba shall be the Lords.
   Christians, rejoice! You are soon to be perfect, you are soon to be
   free from sin, totally free from it, without one wrong inclination, one
   evil desire. You are soon to be as pure as the angels in light; nay,
   more, with your Master's garments on you are to be ?holy as the holy
   one.? Can you think of that? Is not that the very sum of heaven, the
   rapture of bliss, the sonnet of the hill-tops of glory--that you are to
   be perfect? No temptation can reach you from eye, or ear, or hand; nor
   if the temptation could reach you would you be hurt by it; for there
   will be nothing in you that could in any way foster sin. It would be as
   when a spark falls upon an ocean, your holiness would quench it in a
   moment. Yes, washed in the blood of Jesus, afresh baptized with the
   Holy Spirit, you are soon to walk the golden streets, white-robed and
   white-hearted too, and perfect as your Maker, you are to stand before
   his throne, and sing his praises to eternity.

   Now, soldiers of Christ, to arms again! Once more rush into the fight,
   you cannot be defeated; you must overcome. Though you faint a little,
   yet take courage; you shall conquer through the blood of the Lamb.

   And now, turning aside for a minute, I shall conclude by making an
   observation or two to many now present. There are some here who say, ?I
   am never disturbed in that fashion.? Then I am sorry for you. I will
   tell you the reason of your false peace. You have not the grace of God
   in your hearts. If you had you would surely find this conflict within
   you. Do not despise the Christian because he is in the conflict,
   despise yourself because you are out of it. The reason why the devil
   lets you alone is, that he knows you are his. He does not need to
   trouble you much now; he will have time enough to give you your wages
   as the last. He troubles the Christian because he is afraid of losing
   him; he thinks that if he does not tease him here, he shall never have
   the chance to do it in eternity, so he will bite him, and bark at him
   while he may. That is why the Christian is vexed more then you are. As
   for you, you may well be without any pain, for dead men feel no blows.
   You may well be without prickings of conscience; for men that are
   corrupt are not likely to feel wounds, though you stab them from head
   to foot. I pity your condition, for the worm that dieth not is
   preparing to feed upon you; the eternal vulture of remorse shall soon
   wet his horrid beak with the blood of your soul. Tremble; for the fires
   of hell are hot and unquenchable, and the place of perdition is hideous
   beyond a madman's dream. Oh that you would think of your last end. The
   Christian may have an evil present, but he has a glorious future; but
   your future is the blackness of darkness for ever. I adjure you by the
   living God, you that fear not Christ, consider your ways. You and I
   must give an account for this morning's service. You are warned, men;
   you are warned. Take heed to yourselves, that ye think not this life to
   be everything. There is a world to come; there is ?after death the
   judgment.? If you fear not the Lord, there is after judgment eternal
   wrath and everlasting misery.

   And now a word to those who are seeking Christ. ?Ah!? says one, ?sir, I
   have sought Christ, but I feel worse than I ever was in my life. Before
   I had any thoughts about Christ I felt myself to be good, but now I
   feel myself to be evil.? It is all right, my friend; I am glad to hear
   you say so. When surgeons heal a patient's wound, they always take care
   to cut away the proud flesh, because the cure can never be radical
   while the proud flesh remains. The Lord is getting rid of your
   self-confidence and self-righteousness. He is just now revealing to
   your soul the deadly cancer which is festering within you. You are on
   the sure road to healing, if you are on the way to wounding. God wounds
   before he heals; he strikes a man dead in his own esteem before he
   makes him alive. ?Ah,? cries one, ?but can I hope that I ever shall be
   delivered?? Yes, my brother, if you now look to Christ. I care not what
   your sin nor what your despair of heart; if you will only turn your eye
   to him who bled upon the tree, there is not only hope for you, but
   there is a certainty of salvation. I myself, while thinking over this
   subject, felt a horror of great darkness rush over my spirit, as I
   thought what danger I was in lest I should be defeated, and I could not
   get a glimpse of light into my burdened spirit, until I turned my eye,
   and saw my Master hanging on the tree. I saw the blood still flowing;
   faith laid hold upon the sacrifice, and I said, ?This cross is the
   instrument of Jesu's victory, and shall be the means of mine.? I looked
   to his blood; I remembered that I was triumphant in that blood, and I
   rose from my meditations, humbled, but yet rejoicing; cast down, but
   not in despair; looking for the victory. Do likewise. ?Jesus Christ
   came into the world to save sinners: believe that. You are an awakened,
   conscious and penitent sinner; therefore, he came to save you. Believe
   his word; trust him. Do nothing for your own salvation of yourself, but
   trust him to do it. Cast yourself simply and only on him; and, as this
   Bible is true, you shall not find the promise fail you--?He that
   seeketh findeth; to him that knocketh it shall be opened.?

   May God help you, by giving you this new life within! May he help you
   to look to Jesus, and though long and hard be the conflict, sweet shall
   be the victory.
     __________________________________________________________________

                             The Shameful Sufferer

   A Sermon

   (No. 236)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, January 30th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?Who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising
   the shame, and is now set down at the right hand of the throne of
   God.?--Hebrews 12:2.

   OH what shall I do, my Saviour to praise?? Where shall language be
   found which shall describe his matchless, his unparalleled love towards
   the children of men. Upon any ordinary subject one may find liberty of
   speech and fullness of utterance, but this subject lies out of the line
   of all oratory, and eloquence cannot attain unto it. This is one of the
   unutterable things--unutterable, because it surpasses thought, and
   defies the power of words. How, then, can we deal with that which is
   unutterable? I am conscious that all I can say concerning the
   sufferings of Jesus, this morning, will be but as a drop of the bucket.
   None of us know the half of the agony which he endured; none of us have
   ever fully comprehended the love of Christ which passeth knowledge.
   Philosophers have probed the earth to its very center, threaded the
   spheres, measured the skies, weighed the hills--nay, weighed the world
   itself; but this is one of those vast, boundless things, which to
   measure doth surpass all but the Infinite itself. As the swallow but
   skimmeth the water, and diveth not into its depths, so all the
   descriptions of the preacher but skim the surface, while depths
   immeasurable must lie far beneath our observation. Well might a poet
   say

   ?O love, thou fathomless abyss!?

   for this love of Christ is indeed measureless and fathomless. None of
   us can attain unto it. In speaking thereof we feel our own weakness, we
   cast ourselves upon the strength of the Spirit, but, even then, we feel
   that we can never attain unto the majesty of this subject. Before we
   can ever get a right idea of the love of Jesus, we must understand his
   previous glory in its height of majesty, and his incarnation upon the
   earth in all its depths of shame. Now, who can tell us the majesty of
   Christ? When he was enthroned in the highest heavens he was very God of
   very God; by him were the heavens made, and all the hosts thereof, by
   his power he hanged the earth upon nothing; his own almighty arm upheld
   the spheres; the pillars of the heavens rested upon him; the praises of
   angels, arch-angels, cherubim and seraphim, perpetually surrounded him;
   the full chorus of the Hallelujahs of the universe unceasingly flowed
   to the foot of his throne: he reigned supreme above all his creatures,
   God over all, blessed for ever. Who can tell his height, then? And yet
   this must be attained before we can measure the length of that mighty
   stoop which he took when he came to earth to redeem our souls. And who,
   on the other hand, can tell how low he descended? To be a man was
   something, but to be a man of sorrows was far more; to bleed, and die,
   and suffer, these were much for him who was the Son of God; but to
   suffer as be did--such unparalleled agony--to endure, as lie did, a
   death of shame and a death of desertion of his God, this is a lower
   depth of condescending love which the most inspired mind must utterly
   fail to fathom. And yet must we first understand infinite height, and
   then, infinite depth; we must measure, in fact, the whole infinite that
   is between heaven and hell, before we can understand the love of Jesus
   Christ.

   Yet because we cannot understand shall we therefore neglect, and
   because we cannot measure shall we therefore despise? Ah! no; let us go
   to Calvary this morning, and see this great sight. Jesus Christ, for
   the joy that was set before him, enduring the cross, despising the
   shame.

   I shall endeavor to show you, first, the shameful sufferer; secondly,
   we shall endeavor to dwell upon his glorious motive; and then in the
   third place, we shall offer him to you as an admirable example.

   I. Beloved, I wish to show you the SHAMEFUL SUFFERER. The text speaks
   of shame, and therefore before entering upon suffering, I shall
   endeavor to say a word or two upon the shame.

   Perhaps there is nothing which men so much abhor as shame. We find that
   death itself has often been preferable in the minds of men to shame;
   and even the most wicked and callous-hearted have dreaded the shame and
   contempt of their fellow-creatures far more than any tortures to which
   they could have been exposed. We find Abimelech, a man who murdered his
   own brethren without compunction; we find even him overcome by shame,
   when ?a certain woman cast a piece of a millstone upon Abimelech's
   head, and all to break his skull. Then he called hastily unto the young
   man his armourbearer, and said unto him, Draw thy sword and slay me,
   that men say not of me, A woman slew him. And his young man thrust him
   through, and he died.? Shame was too much for him. He would far rather
   meet the suicide's death--for such it was--than he should be convicted
   of the shame of being slain by a woman. So was it with Saul also--a man
   who was not ashamed of breaking his oath, and of hunting his own son
   in-law like a partridge upon the mountains--even he fell upon his own
   sword rather than it should be said of him that he fell by the
   Philistines. And we read of an ancient king, Zedekiah, that albeit he
   seemed reckless enough, he was afraid to fall into the hands of the
   Chaldeans, lest the Jews who had fallen away to Nebuchadnezzar should
   make a mock of him.

   These instances are but a few of many. It is well known that criminals
   and malefactors have often had a greater fear of public contempt than
   of ought else. Nothing can so break down the human spirit as to be
   subject continually to contempt, the visible and manifest contempt of
   one's fellows; in fact to go further, shame is so frightful to man that
   it is one of the ingredients of hell itself; it is one of the bitterest
   drops in that awful cup of misery. The shame of everlasting contempt to
   which wicked men awake in the day of their resurrection; to be despised
   of men, despised of angels, despised of God, is one of the depths of
   hell. Shame, then, is a terrible thing to endure; and many of the
   proudest natures have been subdued when once they have been subjected
   to it. In the Saviour's case, shame would be peculiarly shameful; the
   nobler a man's nature, the more readily does he perceive the slighest
   contempt, and the more acutely does he feel it. That contempt which an
   ordinary man might bear without a suffering, he who has been bred to be
   obeyed, and who has all his life-long been honored, would feel most
   bitterly. Beggared princes and despised monarchs are among the most
   miserable of men; but here was our glorious Redeemer, in whose face was
   the nobility of Godhead itself, despised and spit upon, and mocked. Ye
   may, therefore, think how such a noble nature as his had to endure. The
   mere kite can bear to be mewed, but the eagle cannot bear to be
   hoodwinked and blindfolded; he hath a nobler spirit than that. The eye
   that hath faced the sun, cannot endure darkness without a tear. But
   Christ who was more than noble, matchlessly noble, something more than
   of a royal race, for him to be shamed, and mocked, must have been
   dreadful indeed.

   Besides some minds are of such a delicate and sensitive disposition
   that they feel things far more than others. There are some of us who do
   not so readily perceive an affront, or when we do perceive it, are
   totally indifferent to it. But there are others of a loving and tender
   heart; they have so long wept for others' woes, that their hearts have
   become tender, and they therefore feel the slightest brush of
   ingratitude from those they love, and if those for whom they are
   willing to suffer should utter words of blasphemy and rebuke against
   them, their souls would be pierced to the very quick. A man in armor
   would walk through thorns and briars without feeling, but a man who is
   naked feels the smallest of the thorns; now Christ was so to speak a
   naked spirit, he had stripped himself of all for manhood; he said, ?The
   foxes have holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the son of
   man hath not where to lay his head.? He stripped himself of everything
   that could make him callous, for he loved with all his soul; his strong
   passionate heart was fixed upon the welfare of the human race; he loved
   them even unto death, and to be mocked by those for whom he died, to be
   spit upon by the creatures whom he came to save, to come unto his own,
   and to find that his own received him not, but actually cast him out,
   this was pain indeed. Ye tender hearts can weep for others' woes, and
   ye that love with a love as strong as death, and with a jealousy as
   cruel as the grave, ye can guess, but only you, what the Saviour must
   have endured, when all did mock him, all did scorn him, and he found
   none to pit,y none to take his part.

   To go back to the point with which we started--shame is peculiarly
   abhorrent to manhood, and far more to such a manhood as that which
   Christ carried about with him--a noble, sensitive, loving nature, such
   as no other manhood had ever possessed.

   And now come and let us behold the pitiful spectacle of Jesus put to
   shame. He was put to shame in three ways--by shameful accusation,
   shameful mockery, and shameful crucifixion.

   1. And, first, behold the Saviour's shame in his shameful accusation.
   He in whom was no sin, and who had done no ill, was charged with sin of
   the blackest kind. He was first arraigned before the Sanhedrim on no
   less a charge than that of blasphemy. And could he blaspheme?--he who
   said ?It is my meat and my drink to do the will of him that sent me.?
   Could he blaspheme? He who in the depths of his agony, when he sweat as
   it were great drops of blood at last cried, ?My Father, not my will,
   but thine be done,?--could he blaspheme? No. And it is just because it
   was so contrary to his character, that he felt the accusation. To
   charge some of you here present with having blasphemed God, would not
   startle you, for ye have done it, and have done it so often as almost
   to forget that God abhors blasphemers, and that he ?will not hold him
   guiltless that taketh his name in vain.? But for one who loved as Jesus
   loved, and obeyed as he obeyed, for him to be charged with blasphemy,
   the accusation must have caused him peculiar suffering. We wonder that
   he did not fall to the ground, even as his betrayers did when they came
   to lay hold upon him. Such an accusation as that might blight an
   angel's spirit. Such a calumny might wither the courage of a cherub.
   Marvel not, then, that Jesus felt the shame of being accused of such a
   crime as this.

   Nor did this content them. Having charged him with breaking the first
   table, they then charged him with violating the second: they said he
   was guilty of sedition; they declared that he was a traitor to the
   government of Caesar, that he stirred up the people, declaring that he
   himself was a king. And could he commit treason? he who said ?my
   kingdom is not of this world, else would my servants fight;? he who
   when they would have taken him by force, to make him a king withdrew
   himself into the wilderness and prayed--could he commit treason? It
   were impossible. Did he not pay tribute, and sent to the fish, when his
   poverty had not wherewith to pay the tax. Could he commit treason? He
   could not sin against Caesar, for he was Caesar's lord; he was King of
   kings, and Lord of lords. If he had chosen he could have taken the
   purple from the shoulders of Caesar and at a word have given Caesar to
   be a prey to the worms. He commit treason? Twas far enough from Jesus,
   the gentle and the mild to stir up sedition or set man against man. Ah
   no, he was a lover of his country, and a lover of his race; he would
   never provoke a civil war, and yet this charge was brought against him.
   What would you think good citizens and good Christians, if you were
   charged with such a crime as this, with the clamours of your own people
   behind you crying out against you as so execrable an offender that you
   must die the death. Would not that abash you? Ah! but your Master had
   to endure this as well as the other. He despised the shameful
   indictments, and was numbered with the transgressors.

   2. But next, Christ not only endured shameful accusation but he endured
   shameful mocking. When Christ was taken away to Herod, Herod set him at
   nought. The original word signifies made nothing of him. It is an
   amazing thing to find that man should make nothing of the Sun of God,
   who is all in all. He had made himself nothing, he had declared that he
   was a worm, and no man; but what a sin was that, and what a shame was
   that when Herod made him nothing! He had but to look Herod in the face,
   and he could have withered him with one glance of his fire-darting
   eyes. But yet Herod may meek him, and Jesus will not speak, and men of
   arms may come about him, and break their cruel jests upon his tender
   heart, but not a word has he to say, but ?is led as a lamb to the
   slaughter, and like a sheep before her shearers is dumb.?

   You will observe that in Christ's mocking, from Herod's own hall, on to
   the time when he was taken from Pilate's hall of judgment to his
   crucifixion, and then onward to his death, the mockers were of many
   kinds. In the first place they mocked the Saviour's person. One of
   those things about which we may say but little, but of which we ought
   often to think, is the fact that our Saviour was stripped in the midst
   of a ribald soldiery, of all the garments that he had. It is a shame
   even for us to speak of this which was done by our own flesh and blood
   toward him who was our Redeemer. Those holy limbs which were the casket
   of the precious jewel of his soul were exposed to the shame and open
   contempt of men-coarse-minded men who were utterly destitute of every
   particle of delicacy. The person of Christ was stripped twice; and
   although our painters, for obvious reasons, cover Christ upon the
   cross, there he hung--the naked Saviour of a naked race. He who clothed
   the lilies had not wherewith to clothe himself; he who had clothed the
   earth with jewels and made for it robes of emeralds, had not so much as
   a rag to conceal his nakedness from a staring, gazing, mocking,
   hard-hearted crowd. He had made coats of skins for Adam and Eve when
   they were naked in the garden; he had taken from them those poor fig
   leaves with which they sought to hide their nakedness, given them
   something wherewith they might wrap themselves from the cold; but now
   they part his garments among them, and for his vesture do they cast
   lots, while he himself, exposed to the pitiless storm of contempt, hath
   no cloak with which to cover his shame. They mocked his person,--Jesus
   Christ declared himself to be the Son of God;--they mocked his divine
   person as well as his human--when he hung upon the cross, they said.
   ?If thou be the Son of God, come down from the cross, and we will
   believe on thee.? Frequently they challenge him to prove his divinity
   by turning aside from the work which he had undertaken. They asked him
   to do the very thing which would have disproved his divinity, in order
   that they might then, as they declared, acknowledge and confess that he
   was the Son of God. And now can you think of it? Christ was mocked as
   man, we can conceive him as yielding to this. But to be mocked as God!
   A challenge thrown to manhood, manhood would easily take up and fight
   the duel. Christian manhood would allow the gauntlet to lie there, or
   tread it beneath its foot in contempt, bearing all things, and enduring
   all things for Christ's sake. But can you think of God being challenged
   by his creature--the eternal Jehovah provoked by the creature which his
   own hated hath made; the Infinite despised by the finite; he who fills
   all things, by whom all things exist, laughed at, mocked, despised by
   the creature of an hour, who is crushed before the moth! This was
   contempt indeed, a contempt of his complex person, of his manhood, and
   of his divinity.

   But note next, they mocked all his offices, as well as his person.
   Christ was a king, and never such a king as he. He is Israel's David;
   all the hearts of his people are knit unto him. He is Israel's Solomon;
   he shall reign from sea to sea, and from the river even to the ends of
   the earth. He was one of royal race. We have some called kings on
   earth, children of Nimrod, these are called kings, but kings they are
   not. They borrow their dignity of him who is King of kings and Lord of
   lords. But here was one of the true blood, one of the right royal race,
   who had lost his way, and was mingled with the common herd of men. What
   did they do? Did they bring crowns with which to honor him, and did the
   nobility of earth cast their robes beneath his feet to carpet his
   footsteps. See, what they do? He is delivered up to rough and brutal
   soldiery. They find for him a mimic throne, and having put him on it,
   they strip him of his own robes, and find some old soldier's cloak of
   scarlet or of purple, and put it about his loins. They plait a crown of
   thorns, and put it about his brow--a brow that was of old bedight with
   stars, and then they fix in his hand--a hand that will not resent an
   insult, a secptre of reed, and then bowing the knee, they pay their
   mimic homage before him, making him a May-day king. Now, perhaps there
   is nothing so heartrending as royalty despised. You have read the story
   of an English king, who was taken out by his cruel enemies to a ditch.
   They seated him on an ant-hill, telling him that was his throne, and
   then they washed his face in the filthiest puddle they could find; and
   the tears running down his cheeks, he said, ?he should yet be washed in
   clean water;? though he was bitterly mistaken. But think of the King of
   kings and Lord of lords, having for his adoration the spittle of guilty
   mouths, for homage the smitings of filthy hands, for tribute the jests
   of brutal tongues! Was ever shame like thine, thou King of kings, thou
   emperor of all worlds, flouted by the soldiery, and smitten by their
   menial hands? O earth! how couldst thou endure this iniquity. O ye
   heavens! why did ye not fall in very indignation to crush the men who
   thus blasphemed your Maker? Here was a shame indeed,--the king mocked
   by his own subjects.

   He was a prophet, too, as we all know, and what did they that they
   might mock him as a prophet? Why they blindfolded him; shut out the
   light of heaven from his eyes, and then they smote him, and did buffet
   him with their hands, and they said, ?Prophecy unto us who it is that
   smote thee.? The prophet must make a prophecy to those who taunted him
   to tell them who it was that smote him. We love prophets; it is but the
   nature of mankind, that if we believe in a prophet we should love him.
   We believe that Jesus was the first and the last of prophets; by him
   all others are sent; we bow before him with reverential adoration. We
   count it to be our highest honor to sit at his feet like Mary; we only
   wish that we might have the comfort to wash his feet with our tears,
   and wipe them with the hairs of our head we feel that like John the
   Baptist, his shoe latchet we are not worthy to unloose and can we
   therefore bear the spectacle of Jesus the prophet, blindfolded and
   buffeted with insult and blows?

   But they also mocked his priesthood, Jesus Christ had come into the
   world to be a priest to offer sacrifice, and his priesthood must be
   mocked too. All salvation lay in the hands of the priests, and now they
   say unto him, ?It thou be the Christ save thyself and us,? Ah! he saved
   others, himself he could not save. But oh, what mystery of scorn is
   here, what unutterable depths of shame that the great High Priest of
   our profession, he who is himself the Paschal Lamb, the altar, the
   priest, the sacrifice, that he, the Son of God incarnate, the Lamb of
   God that taketh away the sins of the world, should thus be despised,
   and thus be mocked.

   He was mocked, still further, in his sufferings. I cannot venture to
   describe the sufferings of our Saviour under the lash of the scourge.
   St. Bernard, and many of the early fathers of the Church, give such a
   picture of Christ's scourging, that I could not endure to tell it over
   again. Whether they had sufficient data for what they say, I do not
   know; but this much I know,--?he was wounded for our transgressions, he
   was bruised for our iniquities, the chastisement of our peace was upon
   him, and with his stripes we are healed.? I know it must have been a
   terrible scourging, to be called wounding, bruising, chastisement, and
   stripes; and, remember, that every time the lash fell on his shoulders,
   the laugh of him who used the lash was mingled with the stripe, and
   every time the blood poured out afresh, and the flesh was torn off his
   bones, there was a jest and a jeer, to make his pain yet more poignant
   and terrible. And when he came at last to his cross, and they nailed
   him upon it, how they continued the mockery of his sufferings! We are
   told that the high priests and the scribes stood, and at length sat and
   watched him there. When they saw his head fall upon his breast, they
   would, no doubt, make some bitter remark about it, and say, ?Ah! he
   will never lift his head again among the multitude;? and when they saw
   his hands bleeding they would say, ?Ha, ha, these were the hands that
   touched the lepers, and that raised the dead, they will never do this
   again;? and when they saw his feet, they would say, ?Ah, those feet
   will never tread this land again, and journey on his pilgrimages of
   mercy;? and then some coarse, some villainous, some brutal, perhaps
   some beastly jest would be made concerning every part of his
   thrice-adorable person. They mocked him, and, at last, he called for
   drink, and they gave him vinegar--mocking his thirst, while they
   pretended to allay it.

   But worst of all, I have one more thing to notice, they mocked his
   prayers. Did you ever read in all the annals of executions, or of
   murders, that ever men mocked their fellow-creatures prayers? I have
   read stories of some dastardly villains who hare sought to slay their
   enemies, and seeing their death approaching the victims have said,
   ?give me a moment or two for prayer?--and rare has been the cases when
   this has been disallowed. But I never read of a case in which when the
   prayer was uttered it has been laughed at, and made the object of a
   jest. But here hangs the Saviour, and every word he speaks becomes the
   subject of a pun, the motto of a jest. And when at the last he utters
   the most thrilling death-shriek that ever startled earth and hell,
   ?Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani,? even then they must pun upon it, and
   say, ?he calleth for Elias, let us see whether Elias will come and take
   him down.? He was mocked even in his prayer. O Jesus! never was love
   like thine; never patience that could be compared with thy endurance
   when thou didst endure the cross, despising the shame.

   I feel that in thus describing the Saviour's mockeries, I have not been
   able to set before you the fullness of the shame through which he
   passed, and shall have to attempt it yet, again, in another moment,
   when I come to describe his shameful death, taking the words which
   preceded the ones I have already enlarged upon. He endured the cross
   just as he did despise the shame.

   The cross! the cross! When you hear that word it wakens in your hearts
   no thoughts of shame. There are other forms of capital punishment in
   the present day far more disgraceful than the cross. Connected with the
   guillotine there is much with the block as much, with the gallows, most
   of all. But, remember, that although to speak of the gallows is to
   utter a word of ignominy, yet there is nothing of shame in the term
   ?gallows,? compared with the shame of the cross, as it was understood
   in the days of Christ. We are told that crucifixion was a punishment to
   which none could be put but a slave, and, even then, the crime must
   have been of the most frightful character--such as the betrayal of a
   master, the plotting his death, or murdering him--only such offenses
   would have brought crucifixion, even, upon a slave. It was looked upon
   as the most terrible and frightful of all punishments. All the deaths
   in the world are preferable to this; they have all some slight
   alleviating circumstance, either their rapidity or their glory. But
   this is the death of a villain, of a murderer, of an assassin,--a death
   painfully protracted, one which cannot be equalled in all inventions of
   human cruelty, for suffering and ignominy. Christ himself endured this.
   The cross, I say, is in this day no theme of shame. It has been the
   crest of many a monarch, the banner of many a conqueror. To some it is
   an object of adoration. The finest engravings, the most wonderful
   paintings, have been dedicated to this subject. And now, the cross
   engraven on many a gem has become a right, royal, and noble thing. And
   we are unable at this day, I believe, fully to understand the shame of
   the cross; but the Jew knew it, the Roman knew it, and Christ knew what
   a frightful thing, what a shameful thing its was to be put to the death
   of crucifixion.

   Remember, too, that in the Saviour's case, there were special
   aggravations of this shame. He had to carry his own cross; he was
   crucified, too, at the common place of execution, Calvary, analogous to
   our ancient Tyburn, or our present Old Bailey. He was put to death,
   too, at a time when Jerusalem was full of people. It was at the feast
   of the Passover, when the crowd had greatly increased, and when the
   representatives of all nations would be present to behold the
   spectacle. Parthians, and Medes, and Elamites, and the dwellers in
   Mesopotamia, in Greece, ay, and perhaps far-off Tarshish, and the
   islands of the sea. All were there to unite in this scoffing, and to
   increase the shame. And he was crucified between two thieves, as if to
   teach that he was viler than they. Was ever shame like this?

   Let me conduct you to the cross. The cross, the cross! Tears begin to
   flow at the very thoughts of it. The rough wood is laid upon the
   ground, Christ is flung upon his back, four soldiers seize his hands
   and feet, his blessed flesh his rent with the accursed iron; he begins
   to bleed, he is lifted into mid-air, the cross is dashed into the place
   prepared for it, every limb is dislocated, every bone put out of joint
   by that terrific jerk; he hangs there naked to his shame, gazed upon by
   all beholders, the sun shines hot upon him, fever begins to burn, the
   tongue is dried up like a potsherd, it cleaveth to the roof of his
   mouth, he hath not wherewith to nourish nature with moisture. His body
   has been long emaciated by fasting, he has been brought near the brink
   of death by flagellation in the hall of Pilate. There he hangs, the
   tenderest part of his body, his hands and feet are pierced, and where
   the nerves are most numerous and tender, there is the iron rending and
   tearing its fearful way. The weight of his body drags the iron up his
   foot, and when his knees are so weary that they cannot hold him, then
   the iron begins to drag through his hands. Terrible spectacle indeed!
   But you have seen only the outward, there was an inward, you cannot see
   that: if you could see, it though your eyes were like the angels, you
   would be smitten with eternal blindness. Then there was the soul. The
   soul dying. Can you guess what must be the pangs of a soul dying? A
   soul never died on earth yet. Hell is the place of dying souls, where
   they die everlastingly the second death. And there was within the ribs
   of Christ's body, hell itself poured out. Christ's soul was enduring
   the conflict with all the powers of hell, whose malice was aggravated
   by the fact, that it was the last battle they should ever be able to
   fight with him. Nay, worse than that. He had lost that which is the
   martyr's strength and shield, he had lost the presence of his God, God
   himself was putting his hand upon him; it pleased the Father to bruise
   him; he hath put him to grief, he hath made his soul a sacrifice for
   sin. God, in whose countenance Christ had everlastingly seemed himself,
   basking in delight, concealed his face. And there was Jesus forsaken of
   God and man, left alone to tread the winepress, nay, to be trodden in
   the wine-press, and dip his vesture in his own blood. Oh, was there
   ever grief like this! No love can picture it. If I had a thought in my
   heart concerning the suffering of Christ, it should excoriate my lips
   ere I uttered it. The agonies of Jesus were like the furnace of
   Nebuchadnezzar, heated seven times hotter than ever human suffering was
   heated before. Every vein was a road for the hot feet of pain to travel
   in; every nerve a string in a harp of agony that thrilled with the
   discordant wail of hell. All the agonies that the damned themselves can
   endure were thrust into the soul of Christ. He was a target for the
   arrows of the Almighty, arrows dipped in the poison of our sin; all the
   billows of the Eternal dashed upon this rock of our salvation. He must
   be bruised, trodden, crushed, destroyed, his soul must be exceeding
   sorrowful, even unto death.

   But I must pause, I cannot describe it. I can creep over it, and you
   can too. The rocks rent when Jesus died, our hearts must be made of
   harder marble than the rocks themselves if they do not feel. The temple
   rent its gorgeous veil of tapestry, and will not ye be mourners too?
   The sun itself had one big tear in its own burning eye, which quenched
   its light; and shall not we weep; we for whom the Saviour died? Shall
   not we feel an agony of heart that he should thus have endured for us?

   Mark, my friends, that all the shame that came on Christ he despised.
   He counted it so light compared with the joy which was set before him,
   that he is said to have despised it. As for his sufferings, he could
   not despise them, that word could not be used in connection with the
   cross for the cross was too awful for even Christ himself to despise.
   That he endured; the shame he could cast off, but the cross he must
   carry, and to it he must be nailed. ?He endured the cross, despising
   the shame.?

   II. And now HIS GLORIOUS MOTIVE. What was that which made Jesus speak
   like this?--?For the joy that was set before him.? Beloved, what was
   the joy? Oh, tis a thought must melt a rock, and make a heart of iron
   move; that the joy which was set before Jesus, was principally joy of
   saving you and me. I know it was the joy of fulfilling his Father's
   will--of sitting down on his Father's throne--of being made perfect
   through suffering; but still I know that this is the grand, great
   motive of the Saviour's suffering, the joy of saving us. Do you know
   what the joy is of doing good to others? If you do not I pity you, for
   of all joys which God has left in this poor wilderness, this is one of
   the sweetest. Have you seen the hungry when they have wanted bread for
   many an hour,--have you seen them come to your house almost naked,
   their clothes having been thrust away that they might get money upon
   them to find them bread? Have you heard the woman's story of the griefs
   of her husband? Have you listened when you have heard the tale of
   imprisonment, of sickness, of cold, or hunger, of thirst, and have you
   never said, ?I will clothe you, I will feed you.? Have you never felt
   that joy divine, when your gold has been given to the poor, and your
   silver has been dedicated to the Lord, when you bestowed it upon the
   hungry, and you have gone aside and said, ?God forbid that I should be
   self-righteous;? but I do feel it is worth living for to feed the
   hungry and clothe the naked, and to do good to my poor suffering fellow
   creatures. Now, this is the joy which Christ felt, it was the joy of
   feeding us with the bread of heaven--the joy of clothing poor, naked
   sinners in his own righteousness--the joy of finding mansions in heaven
   for homeless souls,--of delivering us from the prison of hell, and
   giving us the eternal enjoyments of heaven.

   But why should Christ look on us? Why should he choose to do this to
   us? Oh my friends, we never deserved anything at his hands. As a good
   old writer says ?When I look at the crucifixion of Christ, I recollect
   that my sins put him to death. I see not Pilate, but I see myself in
   Pilate's place, bartering Christ for honor. I hear not the cry of the
   Jews, but l hear my sins yelling out, Crucify, him, crucify him.' I see
   not iron nails, but I see my own iniquities fastening him to the cross.
   I see no spear, but I behold my unbelief piercing his poor wounded
   side,

   'For you, my sins, my cruel sins, his chief tormentors were;

   Each of my sins became a nail, and unbelief the spear.'?

   It is the opinion of the Romanist, that the very man who pierced
   Christ's side was afterwards converted, and became a follower of Jesus.
   I do not know whether that is the fact, but l know it is the case
   spiritually. I know that we have pierced the Saviour, I know that we
   have crucified him; and yet, strange to say, the blood which we fetched
   from those holy veins has washed us from our sins, and hath made us
   accepted in the beloved. Can you understand this. Here is manhood
   mocking the Saviour, parading him through the streets, nailing him to a
   cross, and then sitting down to mock at his agonies. And yet what is
   there in the heart of Jesus but love to them? He is weeping all this
   while that they should crucify him, not so much because he felt the
   suffering, though that was much, but because he could bear the thought
   that men whom he loved could nail him to the tree. ?That was the
   unkindest stab of all.? You remember that remarkable story of Julius
   Caesar, when he was struck by his friend Brutus. ?When the noble Caesar
   saw him stab, ingratitude, more strong than traitor's arms, quite
   vanquished him! Then burst his mighty heart.? Now Jesus had to endure
   the stab in his inmost bowels, and to know that his elect did it--that
   his redeemed did it, that his own church was his murderer--that his own
   people nailed him to the tree? Can you think, beloved, how strong must
   hare been the love that made him submit even to this. Picture yourself
   to-day going home from this hall. You have an enemy who all his life
   long has been your enemy. His father was your enemy, and he is your
   enemy too. There is never a day passes but you try to win his
   friendship; but he spits upon your kindness, and curses your name. He
   does injury to your friends, and there is not a stone he leaves
   unturned to do you plumage. As you are going home to-day, you see a
   house on fire; the flames are raging, and the smoke is ascending up in
   one black column to heaven. Crowds gather in the street, and you are
   told there is a man in the upper chamber who must be burnt to death. No
   one can save him. You say, ?Why that is my enemy's house;? and you see
   him at the window. It is your own enemy--the very man; he is about to
   be burnt. Full of lovingkindness, you say, ?I will save that man if I
   can.? He sees you approach the house; he puts his head from the window
   and curses you. ?An everlasting blast upon you!? he says; ?I would
   rather perish than that you should save me.? Do you imagine yourself
   then, dashing through the smoke, and climbing the blazing staircase to
   save him; and can you conceive that when you get near him he struggles
   with you, and tries to roll you in the flames? Can you conceive your
   love to be so potent, that you can perish in the flames rather than
   leave him to be burned? You say, ?I could not do it; it is above flesh
   and blood to do it.? But Jesus did it. We hated him, we despised him,
   and, when he came to save us, we rejected him. When his Holy Spirit
   comes into our hearts to strive with us, we resist him; but he will
   save us; nay, he himself braved the fire that he might snatch us as
   brands from eternal burning. The joy of Jesus was the joy of saving
   sinners. The great motive, then, with Christ, in enduring all this,
   was, that he might save us.

   III. And now, give me just a moment, and I will try and hold the
   Saviour up for OUR IMITATION. I speak now to Christians--to those who
   have tasted and handled of the good word of life. Christian men! if
   Christ endured all this, merely for the joy of saving you, will you be
   ashamed of bearing anything for Christ? The words are on my lips again
   this morning,--

   ?If on my face for thy dear name, shame and reproach shall be,

   I'll hail reproach, and welcome shame, my Lord, I'll die for thee.?

   Oh! I do not wonder that the martyrs died for such a Christ as this!
   When the love of Christ is shed abroad in our hearts, then we feel that
   if the stake were present we would stand firmly in the fire to suffer
   for him who died for us. I know our poor unbelieving hearts would soon
   begin to quail at the crackling faggot and the furious heat. But surely
   this love would prevail over all our unbelief: Are there any of you who
   feel that if you follow Christ you must lose by it, lose your station,
   or lose your reputation? Will you be laughed at, if you leave the world
   and follow Jesus? Oh! and will you turn aside because of these little
   things when he would not turn aside, though all the world mocked him,
   till he could say ?It is finished.? No, by the grace of God, let every
   Christian lift his hands to the Most High God, to the maker of heaven
   and earth, and let him say within himself,

   ?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.?

   ?For me to live is Christ; to die is gain,? Living I will be his, dying
   I will be his; I will live to his honor, serve him wholly, if he will
   help me, and if he needs, I will die for his name's sake.

   [Mr. Spurgeon was so led out under the first head, that he was unable
   from want of time to touch upon the other points. May what was blessed
   to the hearer be sweet to the reader.]
     __________________________________________________________________

                                   Hypocrisy

   A Sermon

   (No. 237)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 6th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?Beware ye of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy.?--Luke
   12:1.

   This age is full of shams. Pretence never stood in so eminent a
   position as it does at the present hour. There be few, I fear, who love
   the naked truth; we can scarce endure it in our houses; you would
   scarcely trade with a man who absolutely stated it. If you walked
   through the streets of London, you might imagine that all the shops
   were built of marble, and that all the doors were made of mahogany and
   woods of the rarest kinds; and yet you soon discover that there is
   scarce a piece of any of these precious fabrics to be found anywhere,
   but that everything is grained, and painted, and varnished. I find no
   fault with this, except as it is an outward type of an inward evil that
   exists. As it is in our streets, so is it everywhere; graining,
   painting, and gilding, are at an enormous premium. Counterfeit has at
   length attained to such an eminence that it is with the utmost
   difficulty that you can detect it. The counterfeit so near approacheth
   to the genuine, that the eye of wisdom itself needs to be enlightened
   before she can discern the difference. Specially is this the case in
   religious matters. There was once an age of intolerant bigotry, when
   every man was weighed in the balance, and if he was not precisely up to
   the orthodox standard of the day, the fire devoured him; but in this
   age of charity, and of most proper charity, we are very apt to allow
   the counterfeit to pass current, and to imagine that outward show is
   really as beneficial as inward reality. If ever there was a time when
   it was needful to say, ?Beware ye of the leaven of the Pharisees, which
   is hypocrisy,? it is now. The minister may cease to preach this
   doctrine in the days of persecution: when the faggots are blazing, and
   when the rack is in full operation, few men will be hypocrites. These
   are the keen detectors of impostures; suffering, and pain, and death,
   for Christ's sake, are not to be endured by mere pretenders. But in
   this silken age, when to be religious is to be respectable, when to
   follow Christ is to be honored, and when godliness itself has become
   gain, it is doubly necessary that the minister should cry aloud, and
   lift up his voice like a trumpet against this sin, ?the leaven of the
   Pharisees, which is hypocrisy.?

   I am sure that every true child of God will stand at times in doubt of
   himself, and his fear will probably take the shape of a suspicion
   concerning his own state.

   He that never doubted of his state,

   He may--perhaps he may--too late.

   The Christian, however, does not belong to that class. He will at times
   begin to be terribly alarmed, lest, after all, his godliness should be
   but seeming, and his profession an empty vanity. He who is true will
   sometimes suspect himself of falsehood, while he who is false will wrap
   himself up in a constant confidence of his own sincerity. My dear
   Christian brethren, if you are at this time in doubt concerning
   yourselves, the truths to utter will, perhaps, help you in searching
   your own heart and trying your own reins, and sure I am you will not
   blame me if I should seem to be severe, but you will rather say, ?Sir,
   I desire to make sure work concerning my own soul, tell me faithfully
   and tell me honestly what are the signs of a hypocrite, and I will sit
   down and try to read my own heart, to discover whether these things
   have a bearing upon me, and happy shall I be if I shall come out of the
   fire like pure gold.?

   We shall note, then, this morning, first, the character of a hypocrite;
   then we shall try to cast up his accounts for him, with regard to his
   loss or gain; and then we shall offer a cure for hypocrisy, which, if
   constantly carried about with us, will certainly prevent us from
   attempting to deceive. The cure is contained in these words which
   follow the text--?For there is nothing covered, that shall not be
   revealed; neither hid, that shall not be known. Therefore whatsoever ye
   have spoken in darkness shall be heard in the light; and that which ye
   have spoken in the ear in closets shall be proclaimed upon the
   housetops.?

   I. First, THE HYPOCRITE'S CHARACTER. We have an elaborate description
   of the hypocrite in the chapter we have just read, the twenty-third of
   Matthew, and I do not know that I can better pourtray him than by
   turning again to the words of Christ.

   A hypocrite may be known by the fact that his speech and his actions
   are contrary to one another. As Jesus says, ?they say and they do not.?
   The hypocrite can speak like an angel, he can quote texts with the
   greatest rapidity; he can talk concerning all matters of religion,
   whether they be theological doctrines. metaphysical questions, or
   experimental difficulties. In his own esteem he knoweth much and when
   he rises to speak, you will often feel abashed at your own ignorance in
   the presence of his superior knowledge. But see him when he comes to
   actions. What behold you there? The fullest contradiction of everything
   that he has uttered. He tells to others that they must obey the law:
   doth he obey it? Ah! no. He declares that others must experience this,
   that, and the other, and he sets up a fine scale of experience, far
   above even that of the Christian himself; but does he touch it? No, not
   with so much as one of his fingers. He will tell others what they
   should do; but will he remember his own teaching? Not he! Follow him to
   his house; trace him to the market, see him in the shop, and if you
   want to refute his preaching you may easily do it from his own life. My
   hearer! is this thy case? Thou art a member of a church, a deacon, a
   minister. Is this thy case? Is thy life a contradiction to thy words?
   Do thy hands witness against thy lips? How stands it with thee? With a
   blush, each one of us must confess that, to some extent, our life is
   contradictory to our profession. We blush and we mourn over this. But I
   hope there are some here who can say, ?Notwithstanding many
   infirmities, with my whole heart have I striven to run in the ways of
   thy commandments, O my God, and I have not intentionally spoken that
   with my lip which I did not intend to carry out in my life.? Ah!
   believe me, my hearers, talk is easy, but walk is hard: speech any man
   may attain unto, but act is difficult. We must have grace within to
   make our life holy; but lip-piety needs no grace. The first mark of a
   hypocrite, then, is, that he contradicts by his acts what he utters by
   his words. Do any of you do so? If so, stand convicted of hypocrisy,
   and bow your heads, and confess the sin.

   The next mark of a hypocrite is, that whenever he does right it is that
   he may be seen of men. The hypocrite sounds a trumpet before his alms,
   and chooses the corner of the streets for his prayers. To him virtue in
   the dark is almost a vice, he can never detect any beauty in virtue,
   unless she has a thousand eyes to look upon her, and then she is
   something indeed. The true Christian, like the nightingale, sings in
   the night; but the hypocrite has all his songs in the day, when he can
   be seen and heard of men. To be well spoken of is the very elixir of
   his life; if he be praised, it is like sweet wine to him. The censure
   of man upon a virtue would make him change his opinion concerning it in
   a moment; for his standard is the opinion of his fellow creatures, his
   law is the law of self-seeking, and of self-honoring: he is virtuous,
   because to be virtuous is to be praised; but if tomorrow vice were at a
   premium he would be as vicious as the rest. Applause is what too many
   are seeking after. They eschew all secret religion, and only live where
   men may behold them. Now, is this our case? Let us deal honestly with
   ourselves; if we distribute to the poor, do we desire to do it in
   secret, when no tongue shall tell? Are our prayers offered in our
   closets, where God who heareth the cry of the secret ones, listeneth
   unto our supplication? Can we say, that if every man were struck stone
   blind and deaf and dumb, we would not alter our conduct the least? Can
   we declare that the opinion of our fellows is not our guiding law, but
   that we stand servants to our God and to our conscience, and are not to
   be made do a wrong thing from flattery, nor are we urged to do a right
   thing from fear of censure? Mark, the man who does not act rightly from
   a higher motive than that of being praised, gives sore suspicion that
   he is a hypocrite, but he who will do a right thing against the opinion
   of every man, and simply because he believes it to be right, and sees
   the stamp of God's approval upon it, that man need not be afraid that
   he is a hypocrite; he would be a kind of hypocrite that one has never
   discovered as yet. Hypocrites do their good works for applause. Is it
   so with you? If so, be honest, and as you would convict another convict
   yourself.

   Again; hypocrites love titles, and honors, and respect from men. The
   pharisee was never so happy as when he was called Rabbi, he never felt
   himself so really great as when he was stuck up in the highest seat in
   the synagogue. Then he must be good indeed. But the true Christian
   cares not for titles. It is one of the marks of Christians--that they
   have generally taken names of abuse to be their distinctive
   appellations. There was a time when the term methodist was abusive.
   What did those good men say who had it so applied to them? ?You call us
   methodists by way of abuse, do you? It shall be our title.? The name
   ?Puritan? was the lowest of all; it was the symbol which was always
   employed by the drunkard and swearer to express a godly man. ?Well,?
   says the godly man, ?I will be called a puritan; if that is a name of
   reproach I will take it.? It has been so with the Christian all the
   world over. He has chosen for himself the name which his enemy has
   given him in malice. Not so the hypocrite. He takes that which is the
   most honorable; he wishes always to be thought to belong to the most
   respectable sect, and to hold an office in that sect which will confer
   upon him the most honorable title. How, can you say from your inmost
   soul, that in religion you are not seeking for honors or titles, but
   that you can tread these beneath your feet, and want no higher degree
   than that of a sinner saved by grace and no greater honor than to sit
   at the feet of Jesus and to learn of him? Are you willing to be the
   despised followers of the carpenter's son, as were the fishermen upon
   the lake? If so, methinks, you have but little hypocrisy in you; but if
   you only follow him because you are honored by men, farewell to the
   sincerity of your religion, you are unmasked, and stand before the face
   of this congregation an acknowledged hypocrite.

   There was another evidence of an hypocrite which was equally good,
   namely, that he strained at a gnat and swallowed a camel. Hypocrites in
   these days do not find fault with us for eating with unwashen hands,
   but they still fix upon some ceremonial omission. Sabbatarianism has
   furnished hypocrisy with an extremely convenient refuge. Acts of
   necessity done by the Christian, are the objects of the sanctimonious
   horror of Pharisees, and labors of mercy and smiles of joy, are damning
   sins in the esteem of hypocrites, if done upon a Sunday. Though our
   Father worked hitherto, and Christ worked, and though works of
   kindness, and mercy, and charity, are the duty of the Sabbath: yet if
   the Christian be employed in these, he is thought to be offending
   against God's holy law. The slightest infringement of that which is a
   ceremonial observance becomes a great sin in the eye of the hypocrite.
   But he, poor man, who will find fault with you for some little thing in
   this respect, straining at a gnat, is the man you will find cheating,
   adulterating his goods, lying, puffing, and grinding the poor. I have
   always noticed that those very particular souls who look out for little
   things, who are always searching out little points of difference, are
   just the men who omit the weightier matters of the law, and while they
   are so particular about the tithe of mint, and annis, and cummin; whole
   loads of tithe-wheat are smuggled into their own barns. Always suspect
   yourself when you are more careful about little than about great
   things. If you find it hurts your conscience more to be absent from the
   communion than to cheat a widow, rest quite assured that you are wrong.
   The Thug, you know, thinks it a very proper thing to murder all he can;
   but if a little of the blood of his victims should stain his lips, then
   he goes off to the priest, and says he has committed a great sin; the
   blood has been on his lips--what must he do to get the sin forgiven?
   And there are many people of the same class in England. If they should
   do anything on a Good Friday, or on Christmas-day, poor souls, it is
   awfully wicked; but if they should be lazy all the six days of the
   week, it no sin at all. Rest ye assured, that the man who strains at a
   gnat but yet so allows the camel, is a deceiver. Mark you, my dear
   friends, I like you to strain at the gnats; I have no objection to that
   at all--only do not swallow the camel afterwards. Be as particular as
   you like about right and wrong. If you think a thing is a little wrong,
   it is wrong to you. ?Whatsoever is not of faith is sin.? If you cannot
   do it, believing yourself to be right in not doing it, though another
   man could do it and do right, yet to you it would not be right. Strain
   the gnats; they are not good things in your wines, strain them out; it
   is well to get rid of them; but then do not open your mouth and swallow
   a camel afterwards, for if you do that, you will give no evidence that
   you are a child of God, but prove that you are a damnable hypocrite.

   But read on in this chapter, and you will find that these people
   neglected all the inward part of religion, and only observed the
   outward. As our Saviour said, they ?made clean the outside of the cup
   and platter, but within they were full of extortion and excess.? There
   are many books which are excellently bound, but there is nothing within
   them; and there are many persons that have a very one spiritual
   exterior, but there is nothing whatever in the heart. Do you not know
   some of them? Perhaps if you know yourself you may discover one. Do you
   not know some who are precisely religious who would scarce omit
   attending to a single means of grace, who practice the ritual in all
   its forms and all its ceremonies, who would not turn aside as much as a
   hair's breadth from any outward command? Before the world they stand as
   eminently pious, because they are minutely attentive to the externals
   of the sanctuary; but yet they are careless of the inward matter. So
   long as they take the bread and wine they are not careful about whether
   they have eaten the flesh and drunk the blood of Christ; so long as
   they have been baptized with water they are not careful whether they
   have been buried with Christ in baptism unto death. So long as they
   have been up to the house of God they are satisfied. It is nothing to
   them whether they have had communion with Christ, or not. No, they are
   perfectly content, so long as they have the shell, without looking for
   the kernel; the wheat may go where it pleases--the husk, and the chaff
   and the straw, are quite sufficient and enough for them. Some people I
   know of are like inns, which have an angel hanging outside for a sign,
   but they have a devil within for a landlord. There are many men of that
   kind; they take good care to have an excellent sign hanging out, they
   must be known by all men to be strictly religious; but within, which is
   the all-important matter, they are full of wickedness. But I have
   sometimes heard persons mistake this matter. They say, ?Ah! well, poor
   men, he is a sad drunkard, certainly, but he is a very good-hearted man
   at bottom.? Now, as Rowland Hill used to say, that is a most
   astonishing thing for any man to say of another, that he was bad at top
   and good at bottom. When men take their fruit to market they cannot
   make their customers believe, if they see rotten apples at the top,
   that there are good ones at the bottom. A man's outward conduct is
   generally a little better than his heart. Very few men sell better
   goods than they put in the window. Therefore, do not misunderstand me.
   When I say we must attend more to the inward than the outward, I would
   not have you leave the outward to itself. ?Make clean the outside of
   the cup and platter?--make it as clean as you can, but take care also
   that the inward is made clean. Look to that first. Ask thyself such
   questions as these--?Have I been born again? Am I passed from darkness
   to light? Have I been brought out of the realms of Satan into the
   kingdom of God's dear Son? Do I live by private communion near to the
   side of Jesus? Can I say that my heart panteth after the Lord, even as
   the hart does alter the water-brooks? For if I cannot say this,
   whatever my outward life may be, I am self-deceived and deceive others,
   and the woe of the hypocrite falls upon me. I have made clean the
   outside of the cup and platter, but the inward part is very wickedness.
   Does that come home to any of you? Is this personal preaching? Then God
   be blessed for it. May the truth be the death of your delusions.

   You may know a hypocrite by another sign. His religion depends upon the
   place, or upon the time of day. He rises at seven o'clock perhaps, and
   you will find him religious for a quarter of an hour; for he is, as the
   boy said, ?saying his prayers to himself? in the first part of the
   morning. Well, then you find him pretty pious for another half-hour,
   for there is family prayer; but when the business begins, and he is
   talking to his men, I won't guarantee that you will be able to admire
   him. If one of his servants has been doing something a little amiss,
   you will find him perhaps using angry and unworthy language. You will
   find him too, if he gets a customer whom he thinks to be rather green,
   not quite pious, for he will be taking him in. You will find, too, that
   if he sees a good chance at any hour of the day, he will be very ready
   to do a dirty trick. He was a saint in the morning, for there was
   nothing to be lost by it; but he has a religion that is not too strict;
   business is business, he says, and he puts religion aside by stretching
   his conscience, which is made of very elastic material. Well, some time
   in the evening you will find him very pious again, unless he is out on
   a journey, where neither wife, nor family, nor church can see him, and
   you will find him at a theater. He would not go if there was a chance
   of the minister hearing of it, for then he would be excommunicated, but
   he does not mind going when the eye of the church or of any of his
   friends is not upon him. Fine clothes make fine gentlemen, and fine
   places make fine hypocrites; but the man who is true to his God and to
   his conscience, is a Christian all day, and all night long, and a
   Christian everywhere. ?Though you were to fill my house full of diver
   and gold,? he says, ?I would not do a dirty action; though you should
   give me the stars and the countless wealth of empires, yet I would not
   do that which would dishonor God, or disgrace my profession.? Put the
   true Christian where he might sin, and be praised for it, and he will
   not do it. He does not hate sin for the sake of the company, but he
   hates it for its own sake. He says, ?How can I do this great wickedness
   and sin against God?? You shall find him a fallible man, but not a
   false man, you shall find him full of infirmities, but not of
   intentional lust and of designed iniquity. As a Christian, you must
   follow Christ in the mire as well in the meads; you must walk with him
   in the rain as well as in the sunshine, you must go with him in the
   storm as well as in fair weather. He is no Christian who cannot walk
   with Christ, come rags, come poverty, come contumely or shame. He is
   the hypocrite who can walk with Christ in silver slippers and leave him
   when it becomes necessary for him to go barefoot. The hypocrite's
   religion is like a chamelion, it takes its color from the light which
   falls upon it, but the Christian's religion is evermore the same. Is
   this true then of any of us? Can we say we desire to be evermore the
   same? Or do we change with our company and with the times? If so, we
   are hypocrites confessed, and let us own it before God, and may God
   make us sincere.

   There is another sign of the hypocrite, and now the lash will fall on
   my own back, and on most of us too. Hypocrites, and other people
   besides hypocrites, are generally severe with others, and very lenient
   with themselves. Have you ever heard a hypocrite describe himself? I
   describe him thus:--you are a mean, beggarly fellow. ?No,? says he, ?I
   am not; I am economical.? I say to him, ?You are dishonest, you are a
   thief.? ?No,? says he, ?I am only cute and sharp for the times.? ?Well,
   but,? I say to him, ?you are proud and conceited.? ?Oh!? says he, ?I
   have only a proper and manly respect.? ?Ay, but you are a fawning,
   cringing fellow.? ?No,? says he, ?I am all things to all men.? Somehow
   or other he will make vice look like a virtue in himself, but he will
   deal by the reverse rule with others. Show him a Christian who is
   really humble, and he says, ?I hate his fawning ways.? Tell him there
   is one who is very courageous for Christ; ?Oh! he is impudent,? says
   he. Show him one who is liberal, doing what he can for his Master's
   service, spending, and being spent for him; ?Rash and imprudent,? says
   he, ?extravagant; the man does not know what he is about.? You may
   point out a virtue, and the hypocrite shall at once say it is a vice.
   Have you ever seen a hypocrite turn doctor? He has a fine beam in his
   eye, large enough to shut out the light of heaven from his soul, but
   nevertheless he is a very skillful oculist He waits upon some poor
   brother, whose eye is a little affected with a mote so tiny that the
   full blaze of the sun can scarce reveal it. Look at our beam-eyed
   friend, he puts on a knowing look, and cries, ?Allow me to extract this
   mote for you?? ?Thou hypocrites first cast out the beam out of thine
   own eye, and then shalt thou see clearly to cast out the mote out of
   thy brother's eye.? There are people of that sort who make virtues in
   others into vices, and vices in themselves they transform into virtues.
   Now, if thou be a Christian, I will tell thee what will be thy spirit,
   it will be the very reverse; thou wilt be always making excuses for
   others, but thou wilt never be making excuses for thyself. The true
   Christian, if he sees himself sin, mourns over it, and makes much ado
   concerning it. He says to another, ?Oh! I feel so sinful;? and the
   other one cries ?I cannot really see it; I can see no sin in you; I
   could wish I were holy as you.? ?No,? says the other, ?but I am full of
   infirmity.? John Bunyan describes Mercy, and Christiana, and the
   children, after having been washed in the bath, and sealed with the
   seal, as coming up out of the water, and being all fair and lovely to
   look upon; and one began to say to the other, ?You are fairer than I!?
   and ?You are more comely than I!? said another. And then each began to
   bemoan their own spots, and to praise the beauty of the others. That is
   the spirit of a Christian; but the spirit of the hypocrite is the very
   reverse; he will judge, and condemn, and punish with lynch-law every
   other man; and as for himself, he is exempt, he is a king, he knows no
   law, and his conscience slumbers and allows him to go on easily in the
   very sins which he condemns in others. This is a very prominent mark of
   the hypocrite, and I question whether all of us must not blame
   ourselves a little here.

   II. And now we are going to CAST UP THE HYPOCRITE'S ACCOUNT FOR HIM.
   Now, sir, bring us your ledger, and let us have a look at it. You are a
   hypocrite. Well, what is on the profit side? A good deal, I must
   confess. Here is, first of all credit and honor. If you were to say
   outright, ?You are a thief, you are a private drunkard, you can curse
   God as well as any man;? or if the world should hear as much, you would
   have no honor; but as it is you have joined the church, and the
   minister is very fond of you, the deacons and elders think a great deal
   of you, and you are a very honorable, respectable man. You go walking
   up to your pew with your Bible and your hymn book, and everybody says,
   ?There is an exemplary character;? and they pat their little boys on
   the head, and say, ?May you grow up to be a very good man like Mr.
   So-and-so.? The next advantage is the case which you enjoy. The
   minister often preaches a solemn, thundering sermon against sin. You
   get off all that; you are not a sinner, are you? not at all; who would
   suspect you? You are one of the brightest of the saints; it is almost a
   pity you were not one of the twelve; there was one amongst them almost
   as good as yourself, and his end will probably be yours. You escape
   every thunder of the law; your conscience rests easy, and the very
   thing which makes the child of God tremble, puffs you up, and the very
   marks and evidences which cast him down, help to exalt you. The sun of
   the gospel which melts wax, hardens the poor clay of your hearts, and
   you get the more exalted in your self-conceit through everything you
   hear. And that is good too, is it not? very much in your favor,
   certainly. And then there is another thing. How nicely your shop has
   prospered through it; that, perhaps, is the part of the bargain which
   you like the best. Ever since you have made a profession of religion,
   have not those who go to your church and chapel traded with you? You
   would not have got on half so well if you had been suspected to be what
   you really are, but because of that fine cloak of yours, that fine
   garment of hypocrisy, how nicely you have prospered! What a nice little
   round sum you have been able to lay by, have you not? All that is the
   bright side again. And besides that, what honors have you not received
   in the church. Are not you made a deacon, or an elder; ay, perhaps a
   minister too: how pleasant that is! And you puff yourself up, and you
   feel satisfied. ?Oh, what a good man am I, other people think I am,
   therefore I must be. It is true I devour the widow's house; it is true
   I am not very particular about what I do; nevertheless the minister,
   the elders, the deacons think me good, the whole church applauds me;
   they cannot all be mistaken; surely I must be a special saint.? That is
   your profit side of the account, what about the other side? I think we
   shall be able to strike a balance that will not be much in your favor,
   sir.

   In the first place, I see a black item down here. Some of the people of
   the world do not think quite as much of you, as you imagine. The poor
   widow does not give you much of a character. You will have to be very
   careful sir, or your base deeds will come out. The very first item I
   see down here, is a fear that your hypoerisy will be discovered. It
   would take you only half as much trouble to be an honest man as it does
   to be a deceiver. A man who is in the habit of speaking truth, need not
   mind how he opens his mouth, nor where; but a man who lies, should be
   very careful, and have a very good memory, and recollect all he has
   ever said before, lest he should trip himself. So it is with you my
   friend, your religion is a Sunday religion, and you have to be very
   careful, so as to make Monday dealings hold their tongues and Sunday
   doings vow as fond as they can. Hard work! I would not stand in your
   place to have all the trepidation and fear of discovery which so often
   comes upon you. No, I would sooner be a worldling, than I would have
   the fear that constantly haunts you, lest you should stand ashamed
   before the Church by your base iniquity being discovered. But I see
   something worse than this, here is constant disquietude of conscience;
   hypocrites may seem as if they were at ease but they cannot really be.
   The Christian who is true to God, and is really his child, can
   sometimes say, ?I know that Jesus has taken away my sin.? Assurance,
   vouchsafed to him by the Spirit, calms his fears and he can rest in
   Christ. But the highest presumption to which the hypocrite can attain,
   brings no such calm as that which is breathed upon the Christian by the
   lips of assurance. He can go to his bed, nay, he can go to his tomb in
   peace, but the hypocrite is afraid of a shadow, and fleeth when no man
   pursueth.

   And last of all, Mr. Hypocrite, I see an item here which you usually
   forget, it is this--that despite of your profession God abhors you, and
   if there is one man more than another who stinks in the nostrils of
   Jehovah, it is such as thou art--thou miserable pretender. There shall
   be a special place reserved for thee amongst the damned. Think man what
   shall be thy misery when thy secret deeds of iniquity are read before
   an assembled universe, and men and angels utter one unanimous hiss
   against thee. What shall it be when the mask is torn off thee when the
   masquerade of thy hypocrisy is done and thou art stripped naked to thy
   shame, to be observed of all and to be despised of all? What sayest
   thou to this? Shalt thou go from thy deaconship, or from thy ministry,
   to be among the devils in hell? Shalt thou go from the sacramental
   table to drink the sulphurous cup of torment? Shalt thou descend from
   the song of the sanctuary and from the house of God to the abode of
   fiends and to the wailing of the damned? Yes, thou shalt as sure as
   this word is true, if thou goest on in thy hypocrisy, Death shall find
   thee out, and hell shall be thy doom, for the hope of the hypocrite is
   as the spider's web, soon swept away; and where is he when God taketh
   away his hope?

   This then is the casting up of the hypocrite's account, and there is a
   deficit of an infinite amount.

   III. Now for the matter of the CURE OF THE HYPOCRITE. What shall we say
   to it? Oh! my friends, I feel that in thus speaking of the hypocrite, I
   have tried to speak severely, but I have not been able to reach the
   heart as I could wish, because it is a mark of human nature that this
   is the last sin of which we really suspect ourselves, and yet one into
   which it is most easy to fall. Often do I fall on my knees in an agony
   of doubt, and cry, ?Lord, make me sincere; if I be deceived, undeceive
   me.? I do not think that any Christian will live long without some such
   seasons of anguishing self-examination. Let me put it to you today, let
   no one exempt himself. You may have been professing Christians for many
   years, and yet you may have been hypocrites. Remember there was a
   hypocrite among the apostles, so may there be among the ministers of
   Christ. There have been deceivers among the apostolic churches, how
   much more may we expect them among us. Do not look around to find them
   out, it is God's business not yours, to find out hypocrites; but look
   at yourselves to see whether you are not one. Driving along the other
   day in the wind I observed a great branch fall just in front of me. I
   remarked that it was rotten, and wondered within myself how long that
   might have been upon the tree, and yet have been rotten after all. Then
   I thought, ?Oh! if the wind of persecution were to sweep through the
   church, should I fall off like a rotten branch? Would not many of my
   hearers fall off? They have been united to Christ professedly for a
   long time, and have spoken for him, perhaps preached for him, but if
   the time of trial, which shall try the earth, should come upon us
   again, how many of us would stand? Oh! my hearers do not be content to
   take your religion at second-hand; let it not be a superficial work. Do
   not think that because you have seen me and have seen my elders, and we
   have admitted you into the church, you are therefore all right. We have
   been deceived many times; it is not hard work to deceive a kind heart.
   I have looked into the eyes of some, and have tried to read their very
   soul, and yet I have misjudged; I have seen tears in their eyes while
   they have made a profession of Christ, and yet they have been deceivers
   after all, and I have been very grossly taken in. In fact, the more
   kind-hearted a man is the more will human nature endeavor to impose
   upon him. I am certain I have used the utmost diligence to weed out of
   my church those whom I have suspected of hypocrisy, and greater
   diligence shall yet be used. But, oh, do deal with yourselves, I
   beseech you. I will not send you to hell blind-folded if I can help it;
   I do not wish to be in error myself, and God forbid that I should
   suffer you to be deceived. Oh! if you be not true Christians, away with
   your profession altogether. It it be not sound work, down with it.
   Better see the house tumble now, than let it stand till the rain
   descends and the floods come, and the winds beat upon it in the dread
   eternity of the future. Oh, no, I would rather send every heart home
   uncomfortable than let the hypocrite sit down at ease; I would rather
   wound the child of God than allow the hypocrite to escape.

   But now for the cure of the hypocrite. What shall we do to cure
   ourselves of any hypocrisy that may exist among us? Let us recollect
   that we cannot do anything in secret even if we try. The all-seeing
   God, apprehended in the conscience, must be the death of hypocrisy. I
   cannot try to deceive when I know that God is looking at me. It is
   impossible for me to play double and false when I believe that I am in
   the presence of the Most High, and that he is reading my thoughts and
   the secret purposes of my heart. The only way in which the hypocrite
   can play the hypocrite at all is by forgetting the existence of God.
   Let us, therefore, recollect it--wherever I am, upon my bed or in my
   secret chamber, God is there. There is not a secret word I speak in the
   ear of a friend but God hears it. Do I seek out the most private part
   of the city for the commission of sin--God is there. Do I choose the
   shadow of night to cover my iniquity?--He is there looking upon me. The
   thought of a present Deity, if it were fully realized, would preserve
   us from sin; always looking on me, ever regarding me. We think we are
   doing many things in secret, but there is nothing concealed from him
   with whom we have to do. And the day is coming, when all the sins that
   we have committed shall be read and published. Oh! what a blush shall
   crimson the cheek of the hypocrite when God shall read the secret diary
   of his iniquity! O my fellow-professors, let us always look upon our
   actions in the light of the great outreading of them in the day of
   judgment. Pause over everything you do, and say, ?Can I bear to have
   this sounded with a trumpet in the ear of all men?? Nay, take a higher
   motive, and say, ?Can I endure to do this and yet to repeat the words,
   Thou God seest me.'? Ye may deceive men, and deceive yourselves, but
   God ye cannot, God ye shall not. Ye may die with the name of Christ
   upon your lips, and men may bury you in sure and certain hope of a
   glorious resurrection, but God shall not be deceived neither by your
   profession nor by men's opinion. He shall put you in the scales, and if
   you be found wanting, he shall cry, ?Away with him.? He shall ring you,
   and if you have not the ring of the pure coin of grace, he shall nail
   you down for ever as a counterfeit. He shall strip the mask off you.
   Virtue is most adorned, when unadorned the most. To detect you, you
   shall be stripped naked, and every cloak shall be torn to tatters. How
   will you endure this? Will ye dig into the depths to hide yourselves?
   Will ye plunge into the sea to find a way of escape? Will ye cry for
   the rocks to hide you, and the mountains to fall upon you? In vain
   shall you cry. The all-seeing God shall read your soul, shall discover
   your secret, shall reveal your hidden things, and tell the world that,
   though you did eat and drink in his streets, though you preached his
   name, yet he never knew you, you were still a worker of iniquity, and
   must be driven away for ever.

   Come let us just for one second reflect, that we shall soon lie upon
   our death bed. A few more months, and you and I shall face the cruel
   tyrant, death. It will be hard work to play the hypocrite then; when
   the pulse is faint and few, when the eye-strings break, when the tongue
   is cleaving to the roof of your mouth, it will be in vain to try
   hypocrisy then. O may God make you sincere; for if you die with an
   empty profession, you die indeed. Of all deaths, methinks the most
   awful is that of the hypocrite, and after death, for him to lift up his
   eyes and find himself lost--and for ever! O make sure work of it. May
   God give you true grace and true faith, and may we all meet in heaven.
   This is our earnest prayer, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                     Reform

   A Sermon

   (No. 238)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, February 13th, 1859, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.

   ?Now when all this was finished, all Israel that were present went out
   to the cities of Judah, and brake the images in pieces, and cut down
   the groves, and threw down the high places and the altars out of all
   Judah and Benjamin, in Ephraim also and Manasseh, until they had
   utterly destroyed them all.?--2 Chronicles 31:1.

   IT is a pleasant sight to behold the thousands assembled together for
   the worship of God, but it is lamentable to reflect, how often the
   reverence which is exhibited in the sanctuary is lost when the
   thresh-hold is passed. How frequently the most earnest address of the
   preacher is forgotten, and becomes as ?the morning cloud, and as the
   early dew.? We very often go up to the house of God, and imagine that
   we have done our duty when we have gone through the round of the
   service: self-satisfied, we return each man to his home. Oh that we
   would remember that the preaching of the gospel is but the sowing!
   afterward the reaping must come. To-day we do, as it were, lay the
   first stone of an edifice; and henceforward that edifice must be built,
   stone by stone, through your daily practice, until at last the
   top-stone is brought forth with shoutings of joy and gladness. Well
   said the Scotch woman, when her husband asked her, on her return from
   the house of God sooner than usual, ?Wife, is the sermon all done??
   ?Nay, Donald,? said she; ?it is all said; but it is nae begun to be
   done.? There was wisdom in her pithy saying, a wisdom which we too
   frequently forget. Praying is the end of preaching. Reformation,
   conversion, regeneration--these are the ends of the ministry, and a
   holy life should be the result of your devout worship. We have read in
   your hearing the story of the great Passover, which was held in the
   days of Hezekiah. One almost envies the men of that, time; we might
   almost wish that we could be carried back some thousands of years, that
   we might have been there to see the solemn sacrifices, to behold the
   priests, as with joyous countenances they sang the praises of God, and
   to have mingled in that countless throng, which stood at one hour to
   listen to the Levite, at another hour gathered round the priest; again,
   at another season clapped their hands for joy at the sound of the
   golden trumpets, and then outvied the trumpets by the magnificent sound
   of their vocal praise. But, beloved, when that scene had vanished, and
   the multitude had gone to their homes, Hezekiah might have sat down and
   wept if there had not been a fitting effect from so great a gathering.
   Isaiah the prophet, I doubt not, was one of the gladdest in all the
   crowd. Oh, how his noble heart beat for joy, and how eloquent was his
   seraphic tongue when he preached among the people, and cried, ?Ho,
   every one that thirsteth, come ye to the waters, and he that hath no
   money; come ye, buy, and eat; yea, come, buy wine and milk without
   money and without price.? But sad indeed would his heart have been,
   notwithstanding all the delightful excitement of the day, if he had not
   seen some glorious consequences result from the ministrations and from
   the great gatherings of the people. In our text we are informed, that
   the Passover did not end with the seven days twice-told of its
   extraordinary celebration. The Passover, it is true, might end, but not
   its blessed effects.

   Now there are three effects which ought always to follow our solemn
   assembly upon the Lord's day, especially when we gather in such a
   number as the present, with shouts of joy and thanksgiving. We should
   go home and first break our false gods; next, cut down the very groves
   in which we have been wont to delight, and after that break the altars
   which though dedicated to the God of Israel, are not according to
   Scripture, and therefore ought to be broken down, albeit, they be even
   dedicated to the true God.

   I. To begin then, the true result of all our gatherings should be, in
   the first place, to BREAK TO PIECES ALL OUR IMAGES. ?Thou shalt have
   none other gods before me.? Every place is before God. Every thing is
   before his face and open to him. Therefore by this command we
   understand that we are in no way, and in no sense to have another god,
   but the Lord our God. What! do you ask, are we a nation of idolaters?
   Can this text pertain to us? Would not this be a proper rebuke to
   address the Hindostanee, or to speak to the benighted inhabitants of
   the center of Africa? Might we not exhort them to serve Jehovah and to
   dash the gods of their fathers in pieces? Assuredly we might. But
   imagine not that idolatry is confined to nations of a swarthy hue. It
   is not in Africa alone that false gods are worshipped; idols are
   worshipped in this land also, and by many of you. Yea, all of us, until
   renewed by divine grace, worship gods which our own hands have made,
   and we do not fear, and love, and obey the living God with our entire
   and exclusive homage. Once however, let grace be received into the
   heart, let the soul be renewed by the Holy Spirit, once drink in the
   free life of Jesus, and these false gods must be broken in pieces at
   once.

   The first god who is worshipped among us is one called
   self-righteousness. The Pharisees were the high priests of this god;
   they burnt incense every morning and every evening before him, but he
   has ten thousand times ten thousand worshippers still left. Among your
   respectable classes of society he is the received divinity. If a man be
   respectable, he thinks it all-sufficient. Among your moralists, this is
   the great god before which they bow down and worship. Nay, among
   sinners themselves, men whose character is not moral, there is,
   nevertheless, found an altar to this god within their hearts. I have
   known a drunkard self-righteous, for he has declared that he did not
   swear; and I have known a swearer self-righteous, for he trusted he
   should be saved because he did not steal. Until we are brought to know
   our own lost and ruined condition, self-righteousness is the god before
   which every one of us will prostrate ourselves. Oh, my dear friends, if
   we have worshipped God in this house to-day, let us go home determined
   to aim a blow, by the help of God, at self righteousness; let us go
   home and prostrate ourselves before God, and cry--

   ?Vile and full of sin I am.?

   ?Lord, I confess before thee, that I have no good works in which to
   trust, no self-righteousness on which I can rely. I cast my boastings
   away; I come to thee as a poor, guilty, helpless sinner; Lord, save, or
   I perish.'? That is the way to dash down this god. Paul once worshipped
   this mighty one, and worshipped him so well, that, after the ?most
   straitest sect of his religion, he lived a Pharisee.? Never, in his
   opinion, so good a man as himself. He served this god with all his
   mind, and soul, and strength. But, once upon a time, as he was going to
   Damascus to sacrifice to this god with the blood of believers in
   Christ, the Lord Jesus looked upon him out of heaven, and said, ?Saul,
   Saul, why persecutest thou me?? Prostrate tell Saul, and down went his
   self-righteousness too. Afterwards, you might hear him say, ?God forbid
   that I should glory, save in the cross of Christ, by whom the world is
   crucified unto me, and I unto the world.? May we all go home thus, and
   pull down our self-righteousness. Stop a moment, I am not quite sure
   that we can do this all at once. My self-righteousness I feel in my own
   heart, as something like those colossal statues of Egypt, and when I
   try to break it in pieces, I can but disfigure it; I manage to break a
   chip off here and a chip off there, but still there stands the statue,
   not in all its former symmetry, but still there. At any rate, if you
   and I cannot wholly get rid of our self-righteousness, let us never lay
   down the axe and the hammer until we have destroyed it. Let us go home
   to-day and have another blow at this old foe; let us go home to have
   another dash at the colossal god, and let us take up the chisel and the
   hammer, and once more try to disfigure him. This is the proper result
   of the ministrations of God's Word, to destroy and cut in pieces, and
   utterly break down our self-righteousness.

   There are other gods still worshipped in this world, to be execrated
   with unrelenting indignation. There is one which is certain to be
   broken, so sure as ever a man becomes a Christian: I mean Bacchus, that
   jolly god whom so many adored in days of yore with mad revelry, and who
   is still worshipped by tens of thousands of Englishmen. Perhaps he is
   the great god of Britain. I am certain he has many temples, for there
   is scarcely a corner of any street in which we do not behold his image,
   or see his votaries pouring out libations before him. He is a god that
   is worshipped with reeling to and fro, and staggering. Men become
   drunken in his presence, and so do him homage. Now, ye that are
   drunkards, if ye become Christians, that will turn your cup bottom
   upwards once and for ever. There will be no more inebriety for you now.
   By the grace of God you will say, ?They that be drunken are drunken in
   the night, but let us who are of the day be sober. I renounce this
   practice of drunkenness, I can have nothing more to do with it.? Bless
   God there are many here present who have gone out of this hall to
   demolish this god. Oh! if it were right to relate the cases that have
   been told privately to us, we could tell you this very day, not of one,
   or two, or twenty but of hundreds, who, as we believe, once made their
   homes a hell, who treated their wives with brutality and their children
   with neglect; whose homes were empty, because every article they had
   was sold for accursed drink. They have heard the gospel not in word
   only, but also in power, and now their home is a paradise, their house
   is made glad with prayer, their children are brought up in the fear of
   the Lord. We have seen the wife's tear of gladness when she said, ?The
   Lord be blessed for ever, and blessed be the name of the gospel, for a
   wretched woman has been made happy, and she who was but a drudge and a
   slave to one who was like a fiend, has now become the companion of one
   whom she reckons to be little short of an angel.? Ay, may this be the
   effect with some of you, for there are some such here to-day, I doubt
   not, who still worship this all-degrading deity, the deity of
   drunkenness.

   Let me tell you of another god, which is to be pulled down as certainly
   by any man who worships Jehovah aright, and that is the god of lust;
   Oh! this world is not so good as it seems to be. You scarcely hear the
   minister in these days talk of whoremongers, adulterers, and such like:
   but they are not all dead. There are such to be found, such in every
   congregation, I fear. Our streets have not yet become such as Chastity
   might pace at midnight, nor are the chief places of the earth become
   clean and purified. There is much hidden pollution to be dragged forth,
   and cast into Kishon. Even in high places, sin is tolerated, men are
   respectable who have sent their fellow-creatures to hell, and are going
   there themselves; but once let grace come into the heart, and away with
   these: the most darling lust is given up, and that which was thought to
   be the greatest pleasure, is now looked upon with abhorence and
   detestation. If thou, my hearer, livest in lust, and yet dost make
   profession of religion, away with thy profession, for it is an awful
   lie. Away with that profession, for it is an empty vanity! away with
   it! It will but add to thy destruction, and cannot save thee from the
   dreadful doom of the man that goeth on in his iniquity. A happy thing
   it is for a man when he goes from the house of God, with the resolve
   that lust shall be abandoned, and every sinful pleasure cast away.

   There are, too, the gods of business, but I must not touch upon them,
   of course. The minister has nothing to do with business, he is told.
   Keep your counting-house door bolted always, let not the minister
   inside. But the minister knows why he is shut out. Is it not because
   there are secrets of your prisonhouse which you would not have
   revealed? There are things done which pass for honest among tradesmen,
   that if put in the balance of the sanctuary are found very wanting. I
   would that the result of our preaching upon our hearers should be such
   that their actions should be more upright and their conduct more
   Christ-like in their daily business. I have heard of a woman who once
   went to hear a minister, and when he called to see her on the Monday,
   he asked her what the text was. She replied, ?It was a blessed sermon
   to me, sir, but I forget the text.? ?Well, what was the subject, my
   good woman.? ?Oh! I do not know; I forget now.? ?Well,? said he, ?it
   cannot have done you any good then.? ?Yes it did,? said she, ?for
   though I forgot the sermon, I did not forget to burn my bushel when I
   got home.? The fact was, she had a bushel that gave false measure to
   her cust