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        Title: Spurgeon's Sermons Volume 01: 1855
   Creator(s): Spurgeon, Charles Haddon (1834-1892)
CCEL Subjects: All; Sermons;
   LC Call no: BV42
  LC Subjects:

               Practical theology

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

               Times and Seasons. The church year
     __________________________________________________________________

                            The Immutability of God

   A Sermon

   (No. 1)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

   "Great God, how infinite art thou,

   What worthless worms are we!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "My name from the palms of his hands

   Eternity will not erase;

   Impress'd on his heart it remains,

   In marks of indelible grace."

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

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

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

   "If ever it should come to pass,

   That sheep of Christ might fall away.

   My fickle, feeble soul, alas,

   Would fall a thousand times a day."

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

   "Did Jesus once upon me shine,

   Then Jesus is for ever mine."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Are the sons of God's election,

   Who through sovereign grace believe;

   Be eternal destination

   Grace and glory they receive."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   Though you hardly of him deem;

   He will never, never leave you,

   Nor will let you quite leave him."
     __________________________________________________________________

                           The Remembrance of Christ

   A Sermon

   (No. 2)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Dost mind the place, the spot of ground,

   Where Jesus did thee meet?"

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

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

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

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

   "Tell it unto sinners, tell,

   I am, I am out of hell."

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

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

   "Now, for the love I bear his name,

   What was my gain I count my loss,

   I pour contempt on all my shame,

   And nail my glory to his cross.'"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Remember thee, and all thy pains,

   And all thy love to me--

   Yes, while a pulse or breath remains,

   I will remember thee.

   And when these failing lips grow dumb,

   And thought and memory flee;

   When thou shalt in thy kingdom come,

   Jesus, remember me!"
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The Sin of Unbelief

   A Sermon

   (No. 3)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

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

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

I. And first, the SIN.

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

   "Snatch from his hand the balance and the rod,

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

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

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

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

  1.

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

  2.

   "Law and terrors do but harden,

   All the while they work alone:

   But a sense of blood-bought pardon

   Will dissolve a heart of stone."

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

  3.

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

  4.

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

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

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

  5.

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

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

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

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

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

                       The Personality of the Holy Ghost

   A Sermon

   (No. 4)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                 The Comforter

   A Sermon

   (No. 5)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

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

   "No more a charnel house to fence

   The relics of lost innocence."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Let cares like a wild deluge come,

   And storms of sorrow fall;

   May I but safely reach my home,

   My God, my heaven, my all."

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

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

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

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

   "We have listened to the preacher--

   Truth by him has now been shown;

   But we want a GREATER TEACHER,

   From the everlasting throne;

   APPLICATION

   Is the work of God alone."
     __________________________________________________________________

                        Sweet Comfort for Feeble Saints

   A Sermon

   (No. 6)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   'What peaceful hours I then enjoyed;

   How sweet their memory still!

   But they have left an aching void,

   The world can never fill.'"

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

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

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

   His blood and righteousness

   My beauty are, my glorious dress.

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

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

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

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

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

   "Till he send forth judgment unto victory."

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

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

   Even down to old age, all my people shall prove

   My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love;

   And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn,

   Like lambs they shall still in my bosom be borne.

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

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

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

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

   Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,

   Still will look upon a child;

   Pity thy simplicity,

   And suffer thee to come to him.

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

                                Christ Crucified

   A Sermon

   (No. 7-8)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "I to the end must endure

   As sure as the earnest is given"?

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

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

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

   "Perish the virtue, as it ought, abhorred,

   And the fool with it, who insults his Lord.

   The atonement a Redeemer's love has wrought

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

   See'st thou yon harlot wooing all she meets,

   The worn-out nuisance of the public streets

   Herself from morn till night, from night to morn,

   Her own abhorrence, and as much your scorn:

   The gracious shower, unlimited and free,

   Shall fall on her, when heaven denies it thee.

   Of all that wisdom dictates, this the drift,

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

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

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

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

   "We boast some rich ones whom the gospel sways,

   And one who wears a coronet, and prays;

   Like gleanings of an olive tree they show,

   Here and there one upon the topmost bough."

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

   "Tis a point I long to know,

   Oft it causes anxious thought;

   Do I love the Lord or no?

   Am I his, or am I not?"

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

   "Now free from sin, I walk at large,

   My Saviour's blood's my full discharge;

   At his dear feet content I lay,

   A sinner saved, and homage pay."

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

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

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

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

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

   "Were the whole realm of nature mine.

   That were a present far too small;

   Love so amazing, so divine,

   Demands my soul, my life, my all."

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

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

   "Jesus, lover of my soul,

   Let me to thy bosom fly,

   While the nearer waters roll,

   While the tempest still is high!

   Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,

   Till the storm of life is past,

   Safe into the haven guide,

   O receive my soul at last!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Let men or angels dig the mines

   Where nature's golden treasure shines;

   Brought near the doctrine of the cross,

   All nature's gold appears but dross.

   Should vile blasphemers with disdain

   Pronounce the truths of Jesus vain,

   We'll meet the scandal and the shame,

   And sing and triumph in his name."
     __________________________________________________________________

                               Spiritual Liberty

   A Sermon

   (No. 9)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   said,

   "Jesus, lover of my soul,

   Let me to thy bosom fly."

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

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

   "The moment a sinner believes,

   And trusts in his crucified God;

   His pardon at once he receives,

   Salvation in full through his blood,"

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

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

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

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

   "Love made your willing feet

   In swift obedience move."

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

   "Slight now his loving presence if they can;

   No, no; his conquering kindness leads the van.

   When everlasting love exerts the sway,

   They judge themselves most kindly bound to obey;

   Bound by redeeming love in stricter sense,

   Than ever Adam was in innocence."

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

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

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

   But gladly put off these garments of clay,

   To die in the Lord is a covenant blessing;

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

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

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

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

   "Religion never was designed

   To make our pleasures less."

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

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

   "Saviour, if of Zion's city,

   I, by grace, a member am,

   Let the world revile or pity,

   I will glory in thy name."

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

   "Ne'er did angels taste above

   Redeeming grace and dying love."

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

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

   "Turn, then my soul unto thy rest,

   The ransom of thy great High Priest,

   Hath set the captive free.

   Trust to his efficacious blood,

   Nor fear thy banishment from God,

   Since Jesus died for thee."
     __________________________________________________________________

                      The Kingly Priesthood of the Saints

   A Sermon

   (No. 10)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

   "Hark! how they sing before the throne!"

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

   "We shall, unblemished and complete,

   Appear before our Father's throne,

   With joys divinely great."

   "Then loudest of the crowd we'll sing,

   Whilst heaven's resounding mansions ring

   With shouts of sovereign grace."

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

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

   "Glory, honor, praise, and power

   Be unto ourselves for ever;

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

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

   "In yonder fountain filled with blood,

   Drawn from Immanuel's veins.'"

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

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

   "The terrors of law and of God,

   With me can have nothing to do;

   My Saviour's obedience and blood

   Hide all my transgressions from view."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   " Crown him! crown him!

   Crowns become the Saviour's brow."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Praise God from whom all blessings flow."

   Happy day! happy day! May it speedily come!

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

   The Christian reader will be pleased to learn, that after this appeal,
   the sum of £50 0s. 11½d. was collected at the doors, towards defraying
   the expenses of the enlargement. Should any reader of the New Park
   Street Pulpit desire to contribute to this excellent object, any sum
   will be thankfully received by MR. WILLIAM OLNEY, Secretary, at the
   Chapel.
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The People's Christ

   A Sermon

   (No. 11)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

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

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

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

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

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

   "A Man there was, a real Man,

   Who once on Calvary died."

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

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

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

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

   "None are excluded hence, but those

   Who do themselves exclude;

   Welcome the learned and polite,

   The ignorant and rude,"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "One there is above all others

   Well deserves the name of friend;

   His is love beyond a brother's,

   Faithful, free, and knows no end."

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

   "In ties of blood with sinners one,

   Our Jesus is to glory gone;

   Hath all his foes to ruin hurled--

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

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

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

   "His way was much rougher and darker than mine;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "They brought his chariot from afar,

   To bear him to his throne;

   Clapp'd their triumphant wings and said,

   'The Saviour's work is done.'"

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

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

   "The Lord shall come, but not the same

   As once in lowliness he came:

   A humble man before his foes;

   A weary man, and full of woes."

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

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

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

                       The Peculiar Sleep of the Beloved

   A Sermon

   (No. 12)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   With the world, myself, and thee,

   I, ere I sleep, at peace shall be.

   "So he giveth his beloved sleep."

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

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

   Mortals cease from toil and sorrow;

   God provideth for the morrow."

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

   With thy will I leave the rest,

   Grant me but this one request;

   Both in life and death to prove

   Tokens of thy special love.

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

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

   What may be the future lot,

   High or low concerns me not;

   This doth set my heart at rest,

   What my God appoints is best.

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

   To me tis equal, whether love ordained,

   My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;

   My soul perceives no real ill in pain,

   In ease or health, no real good she sees.

   One good she covets, and that good alone,

   To choose thy will, from selfish bias free,

   And to prefer a cottage to a throne,

   And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.

   That we should bear the cross is thy command--

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

   Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest hand,

   As pleased when shipwrecked, as when safe on shore.

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

   To lie passive in his hand,

   And to know no will but his.

   "So he giveth his beloved sleep."

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

   I to the end shall endure,

   As sure as the earnest is given;

   More happy, but not more secure,

   Are the glorified spirits in heaven.

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

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

   He that hath made his refuge God,

   Shall find a most secure abode;

   Shall walk all day beneath his shade,

   And there at night shall rest his head.

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

   If on my face, for thy dear name,

   Shame and reproach shall be;

   I'll hail reproach, and welcome shame,

   For thou'lt remember me.

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

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

   On waves of burning brimstone toss'd,

   For ever, O for ever lost!

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

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

   To you and me by grace tis given,

   To know the Saviour's precious name;

   And shortly we shall meet in heaven,

   Our end, our hope, our way the same.

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

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

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

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

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

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

               Consolation Proportionate to Spiritual Sufferings

   A Sermon

   (No. 13)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

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

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

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

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

   "Why should I complain of want or distress,

   Temptation or pain? he told me no less."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   In all thy distresses, thy Head feels the pain,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Religion never was designed

   To make our pleasures less."

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

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

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

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

   "Is Jesus mine! I am now prepared,

   To meet with what I thought most hard;

   Yes, let the winds of trouble blow,

   And comforts melt away like snow,

   No blasted trees, nor failing crops,

   Can hinder my eternal hopes;

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

   Then let me triumph in his name.
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The Victory of Faith

   A Sermon

   (No. 14)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Let earth be all in arms abroad,

   He dwells in perfect peace."

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

   "Jerusalem my happy home,

   Name ever dear to me;

   When shall my labours have an end,

   In joy, and peace, and thee?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Servant of God, well done!

   Rest from thy blest employ;

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

   Enter thy rest of joy."

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Have I that faith which looks to Christ,

   O'ercomes the world and sin--

   Receives him Prophet, Priest, and King,

   And makes the conscience clean?

   "If I this precious grace possess,

   All praise is due to thee;

   If not, I seek it from thy hands;

   Now grant it, Lord, to me."
     __________________________________________________________________

                                   The Bible

   A Sermon

   (No. 15)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

   "Lo on a narrow neck of land,

   'Twixt two unbounded seas I stand;

   An inch of time, a moment's space,

   May lodge me in yon heavenly place,

   Or shut me up in hell."

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

   "Far from a world of grief and sin,

   With God eternally shut in."

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

   "Jerusalem, my happy home,

   Name ever dear to me."

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

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

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

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

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

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

   We may say of THE BIBLE:

   "God's cabinet of revealed counsel t is!

   Where weal and woe, are ordered so

   That every man may know which shall be his;

   Unless his own mistake, false application make.

   "It is the index to eternity.

   He cannot miss of endless bliss.

   That takes this chart to steer by,

   Nor can he be mistook that speaketh by this book.

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

   Say, God of books, let him that looks

   Angry at that expression, as too bold,

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

                              Paul's First Prayer

   A Sermon

   (No. 16)

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

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

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

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

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

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

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

   "The simplest form of speech

   That infant lips can try;"

   so are they likewise the

   "Sublimest strains that reach The majesty on high."

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

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

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

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

   Then, in the next place, this was an event most astonishing to men.
   Ananias lifted up both his hands in amazement. "O my Lord, I should
   have thought anybody would pray but that man! Is it possible?" I do not
   know how it is with other ministers, but sometimes I look upon
   such-and-such individuals in the congregation, and I say, "Well, they
   are very hopeful; I think I shall have them. I trust there is a work
   going on, and hope soon to hear them tell what the Lord has done for
   their souls." Soon, perhaps, I see nothing of them, and miss them
   altogether; but instead thereof, my good Master sends me one of whom I
   had no hope--an outcast, a drunkard, a reprobate, to the praise of the
   glory of his grace. Then I lift up my hands in astonishment, thinking
   "I should have thought of anybody rather than you." I remember a
   circumstance which occurred a little while ago. There was a poor man
   about sixty years old; he had been a rough sailor, one of the worst men
   in the village; it was his custom to drink, and he seemed to be
   delighted when he was cursing and swearing. He came into the chapel,
   however, one Sabbath day, when one nearly related to me was preaching
   from the text concerning Jesus weeping over Jerusalem. And the poor man
   thought, "What! did Jesus Christ ever weep over such a wretch as I am?"
   He thought he was too bad for Christ to care for him. At last he came
   to the minister, and said, "Sir, sixty years have I been sailing under
   the standard of the devil; it is time I should have a new owner; I want
   to scuttle the old ship and sink her altogether! then I shall have a
   new one, and I shall sail under the colors of Prince Immanuel." Ever
   since that moment that man has been a praying character, walking before
   God in all sincerity. Yet, he was the very last man you would have
   thought of. Somehow God does choose the last men; he does not care for
   the diamond, but he picks up the pebble-stones, for he is able, out of
   "stones, to raise up children unto Abraham." God is more wise than the
   chemist: he not only refines gold, but he transmutes base metal into
   precious jewels; he takes the filthiest and the vilest, and fashions
   them into glorious beings, makes them saints, whereas they have been
   sinners, and sanctifies them, whereas they have been unholy.

   The conversion of Saul was a strange thing; but, beloved, was it
   stranger than that you and I should have been Christians? Let me ask
   you if anybody had told you, a few years ago, that you would belong to
   a church and be numbered with the children of God what would you have
   said? "Stuff and nonsense! I am not one of your canting Methodists; I
   am not going to have any religion; I love to think and do as I like."
   Did not you and I say so? And how on earth did we get here? When we
   look at the change that has passed over us, it appears like a dream.
   God has left many in our families who were better than we were, and why
   has he chosen us? Oh! Is it not strange? Might we not lift up our hands
   in astonishment, as Ananias did, and say, "Behold, behold, behold: it
   is a miracle on earth, a wonder in heaven?"

   The last thing I have to say here, is this--this fact was a novelty to
   Saul himself. "Behold he prayeth." What is there novel in that? Saul
   used to go up to the temple twice a day, at the hour of prayer. If you
   could have accompanied him, you would have heard him speak beautifully,
   in words like these: "Lord, I thank thee I am not as other men are; I
   am not an extortioner, nor a publican; I fast twice in the week, and
   give tithes of all I possess;" and so on. Oh! You might have found him
   pouring out a fine oration before the throne of God. And yet it saith,
   "Behold, he prayeth." What! Had he never prayed before? No, never. All
   he had ever done before went for nothing; it was not prayer. I have
   heard of an old gentleman, who was taught when a child to pray, "Pray
   God bless my father and mother," and he kept on praying the same thing
   for seventy years, when his parents were both dead. After that it
   pleased God, in his infinite mercy, to touch his heart, and he was led
   to see that notwithstanding his constancy to his forms, he had not been
   praying at all; he often said his prayers, but never prayed. So it was
   with Saul. He had pronounced his magniloquent orations, but they were
   all good-for-nothing. He had prayed his long prayers for a pretense; it
   had all been a failure. Now comes a true petition, and it is said,
   "Behold, he prayeth." Do you see that man trying to obtain a hearing
   from his Maker? How he stands! He speaks Latin and blank verse before
   the Almighty's throne; but God sits in calm indifference, paying no
   attention. Then the man tries a different style; procures a book, and
   bending his knee again, prays in a delightful form the best old prayer
   that could ever be put together; but the Most High disregards his empty
   formalities. At last the poor creature throws the book away, forgets
   his blank verse, and says, "O Lord, hear, for Christ's sake." "Hear
   him," says God, "I have heard him." There is the mercy thou hast
   sought. One hearty prayer is better than ten thousand forms. One prayer
   coming from the soul is better than a myriad cold readings. As for
   prayers that spring from the mouth and head only, God abhors them; he
   loves those that come deep from the heart. Perhaps I should be impudent
   if I were to say that there are hundreds here this morning who never
   prayed once in their lives. There are some of you who never did. There
   is one young man over there, who told his parents when he left them,
   that he should always go through his form of prayer every morning and
   night. But he is ashamed, and he has left it off. Well, young man, what
   will you do when you come to die? Will you have "the watchword at the
   gates of death?" Will you "enter heaven by prayer?" No, you will not;
   you will be driven from his presence, and be cast away.

   II. Secondly, we have here AN ARGUMENT. "For, behold he prayeth." It
   was an argument, first of all, for Ananias' safety. Poor Ananias was
   afraid to go to Saul; he thought it was very much like stepping into a
   lion's den. "If I go to his house," he thought, "the moment he sees me,
   he will take me to Jerusalem at once, for I am one of Christ's
   disciples; I dare not go." God says, "Behold, he prayeth." "Well," says
   Ananias, "that is enough for me. If he is a praying man, he will not
   hurt me; if he is a man of real devotion, I am safe." Be sure you may
   always trust a praying man. I do not know how it is, but even ungodly
   men always pay a reverence to a sincere Christian. A master likes to
   have a praying servant after all; if he does not regard religion
   himself, he likes to have a pious servant, and he will trust him rather
   than any other. True, there are some of your professedly praying people
   that have not a bit of prayer in them. But whenever you find a really
   praying man, trust him with untold gold; for if he really prays, you
   need not be afraid of him. He who communes with God in secret, may be
   trusted in public. I always feel safe with a man who is a visitor at
   the mercy-seat. I have heard an anecdote of two gentlemen traveling
   together, somewhere in Switzerland. Presently they came into the midst
   of the forests; and you know the gloomy tales the people tell about the
   inns there, how dangerous it is to lodge in them. One of them, an
   infidel, said to the other, who was a Christian, "I don't like stopping
   here at all; it is very dangerous indeed." "Well," said the other, "let
   us try." So they went into a house; but it looked so suspicious that
   neither of them liked it; and they thought they would prefer being at
   home in England. Presently the landlord said, "Gentlemen, I always read
   and pray with my family before going to bed; will you allow me to do so
   to-night?" "Yes," they said, "with the greatest pleasure." When they
   went up-stairs, the infidel said, "I am not at all afraid now." "Why?"
   said the Christian. "Because our host has prayed." "Oh!" said the
   other, "then it seems, after all, you think something of religion;
   because a man prays, you can go to sleep in his house." And it was
   marvelous how both of them did sleep. Sweet dreams they had, for they
   felt that where the house had been roofed by prayer, and walled with
   devotion, there could not be found a man living that would commit an
   injury to them. This, then, was an argument to Ananias, that he might
   go with safety to Saul's house.

   But more than this. Here was an argument for Paul's sincerity. Secret
   prayer is one of the best tests of sincere religion. If Jesus had said
   to Ananias, "Behold, he preacheth," Ananias would have said, "that he
   may do, and yet be a deceiver." If he had said, "He has gone to a
   meeting of the church," Ananias would have said, "He may enter there as
   a wolf in sheep's clothing." But when he said, "Behold, he prays," that
   was argument enough. A young person comes and tells me about what he
   has felt and what he has been doing. At last I say, "kneel down and
   pray." "I would much rather not." "Never mind, you shall." Down he
   falls on his knees, he has hardly a word to say; he begins groaning and
   crying, and there he stays on his knees till at last he stammers out,
   "Lord, have mercy upon me a sinner; I am the greatest of sinners; have
   mercy upon me!" Then I am a little more satisfied, and I say, "I did
   not mind all your talk, I wanted your prayers." But oh! If I could
   trace him home; if I could see him go and pray alone, then I should
   feel sure; for he who prays in private is a real Christian. The mere
   reading of a book of daily devotion will not prove you a child of God;
   if you pray in private, then you have a sincere religion; a little
   religion, if sincere, is better than mountains of pretense. Home piety
   is the best piety. Praying will make you leave off sinning, or sinning
   will make you leave off praying. Prayer in the heart proves the reality
   of conversion. A man may be sincere, but sincerely wrong. Paul was
   sincerely right. "Behold, he prayeth," was the best argument that his
   religion was right. If any one should ask me for an epitome of the
   Christian religion, I should say it is in that one word--"prayer." If I
   should be asked, "What will take in the whole Christian experience?" I
   should answer, "prayer." A man must have been convinced of sin before
   he could pray; he must have had some hope that there was mercy for him
   before he could pray. In fact, all the Christian virtues are locked up
   in that word, prayer. Do but tell me you are a man of prayer, and I
   will reply at once, "Sir, I have no doubt of the reality, as well as
   the sincerity, of your religion."

   But one more thought, and I will leave this subject. It was a proof of
   this man's election, for you read directly afterwards, "Behold, he is a
   chosen vessel." I often find people troubling themselves about the
   doctrine of election. Every now and then I get a letter from somebody
   or other taking me to task for preaching election. All the answer I can
   give is, "There it is in the Bible; go and ask my Master why he put it
   there. I cannot help it. I am only a serving man, and I tell you the
   message from above. If I were a footman, I should not alter my master's
   message at the door. I happen to be an ambassador of heaven, and I dare
   not alter the message I have received. If it is wrong, send up to
   head-quarters. There it is, and I cannot alter it." This much let me
   say in explanation. Some say, "How can I discover whether I am God's
   elect? I am afraid I am not God's elect." Do you pray? If it can be
   said, "Behold, he prayeth," it can also be said, Behold, he is a chosen
   vessel." Have you faith? If so, you are elect. Those are the marks of
   election. If you have none of these, you have no grounds for concluding
   that you belong to the peculiar people of God. Have you a desire to
   believe? Have you a wish to love Christ? Have you the millionth part of
   a desire to come to Christ? And is it a practical desire? Does it lead
   you to offer earnest, tearful supplication? If so, never be afraid of
   non-election; for whoever prays with sincerity, is ordained of God
   before the foundation of the world, that he should be holy and without
   blame before Christ in love.

   III. Now for the APPLICATION. A word or two with you, my dear friends,
   before I send you away this morning. I regret that I cannot better
   enter into the subject; but my glorious Master requires of each of us
   according to what we have, not according to what we have not. I am
   deeply conscious that I fail in urging home the truth so solemnly as I
   ought; Nevertheless, "my work is with God and my judgement with my
   God," and the last day shall reveal that my error lay in judgment, but
   not in sincere affection for souls.

   First, allow me to address the children of God. Do you not see, my dear
   brethren, that the best mark of our being sons of God is to be found in
   our devotion? "Behold, he prayeth." Well, then, does it not follow, as
   a natural consequence, that the more we are found in prayer the
   brighter will our evidences be? Perhaps you have lost your evidence
   this morning; you do not know whether you are a child of God or not; I
   will tell you where you lost your confidence--you lost it in your
   closet. I speak what I have felt. I have often gone back from
   God--never so as to fall finally, I know, but I have often lost that
   sweet savor of his love which I once enjoyed. I have had to cry,

   "Those peaceful hours I once enjoyed,

   How sweet their memory still!

   But they have left an aching void,

   The world can never fill."

   I have gone up to God's house to preach, without either fire or energy;
   I have read the Bible, and there has been no light upon it; I have
   tried to have communion with God, but all has been a failure. Shall I
   tell where that commenced! It commenced in my closet. I had ceased, in
   a measure, to pray. Here I stand, and do confess my faults; I do
   acknowledge that whenever I depart from God it is there it doth begin.
   O Christians, would you be happy? Be much in prayer. Would ye be
   victorious? Be much in prayer.

   "Restraining prayer, we cease to fight,

   Prayer makes the Christian's armor bright."

   Mrs. Berry used to say, "I would not be hired out of my closet for a
   thousand worlds." Mr. Jay said, "If the twelve apostles were living
   near you, and you had access to them, if this intercourse drew you from
   the closet, they would prove a real injury to your souls." Prayer is
   the ship which bringeth home the richest freight. It is the soil which
   yields the most abundant harvest. Brother, when you rise in the morning
   your business so presses, that with a hurried word or two, down you go
   into the world, and at night, jaded and tired, you give God the fag end
   of the day. The consequence is, that you have no communion with him.
   The reason we have not more true religion now, is because we have not
   more prayer. Sirs, I have no opinion of the churches of the present day
   that do not pray. I go from chapel to chapel in this metropolis and I
   see pretty good congregations; but I go to their prayer-meetings on a
   week evening, and I see a dozen persons. Can God bless us, can he pour
   out his Spirit upon us, while such things as these exist? He could, but
   it would not be according to the order of his dispensations, for he
   says, "When Zion travails she brings forth children." Go to your
   churches and chapels with this thought, that you want more prayer. Many
   of you have no business here this morning. You ought to be in your own
   places of worship. I do not want to steal away the people from other
   chapels; there are enough to hear me without them. But though you have
   sinned this morning, hear while you are here, as much to your profit as
   possible. Go home and say to your minister, "Sir, we must have more
   prayer." Urge the people to more prayer. Have a prayer-meeting, even if
   you have it all to yourself; and if you are asked how many were
   present, you can say, "Four." "Four! How so?" "Why, there was myself,
   and God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy Ghost; and we have
   had a rich and real communion together." We must have an outpouring of
   real devotion, or else what is to become of many of our churches? O!
   May God awaken us all, and stir us up to pray, for when we pray we
   shall be victorious. I should like to take you this morning, as Samson
   did the foxes, tie the firebrands of prayer to you, and send you in
   among the shocks of corn till you burn the whole up. I should like to
   make a conflagration by my words, and to set all the churches on fire,
   till the whole has smoked like a sacrifice to God's throne. If you
   pray, you have a proof that you are a Christian; the less you pray, the
   less reason have you to believe your Christianity; and if you have
   neglected to pray altogether, then you have ceased to breathe, and you
   may be afraid that you never did breathe at all.

   And now, my last word is to the ungodly. O, sirs! I could fain wish
   myself anywhere but here; for if it be solemn work to address the
   godly, how much more when I come to deal with you. We fear lest, on the
   one hand, we should so speak to you as to make you trust in your own
   strength; while, on the other hand, we tremble lest we should lull you
   into the sleep of sloth and security. I believe most of us feel some
   difficulty as to the most fit manner to preach to you--not that we
   doubt but that the gospel is to be preached--but our desire is so to do
   it, that we may win your souls. I feel like a watchman, who, while
   guarding a city, is oppressed with sleep; how earnestly does he strive
   to arouse himself, while infirmity would overcome him. The remembrance
   of his responsibility bestirs him. His is no lack of will, but of
   power; and so I hope all the watchmen of the Lord are anxious to be
   faithful, while, at the same time, they know their imperfection. Truly,
   the minister of Christ will feel like the old keeper of Eddystone
   lighthouse; life was failing fast, but, summoning all his strength, he
   crept round once more to trim the lights before he died. O may the Holy
   Spirit enable us to keep the beacon-fire blazing, to warn you of the
   rocks, shoals, and quicksands, which surround you, and may we ever
   guide you to Jesus, and not to free-will or creature merit. If my
   friends knew how anxiously I have sought divine direction in the
   important matter of preaching to sinners, they would not feel as some
   of them do, when they fancy I address them wrongly. I want to do as God
   bids me, and if he tells me to speak to the dry bones and they shall
   live, I must do it, even if it does not please others; otherwise I
   should be condemned in my own conscience, and condemned of God. Now,
   with all the solemnity that man can summon, let me say that a
   prayerless soul is a Christless soul. As the Lord liveth, you who never
   prayed are without God, without hope, and strangers from the
   commonwealth of Israel. You who never know what a groan is, or a
   falling tear, are destitute of vital godliness. Let me ask you, sirs,
   whether you have ever thought in what an awful state you are? You are
   far from God, and therefore God is angry with you; for "God is angry
   with the wicked every day." O, sinner! Lift thine eyes and behold the
   frowning countenance of God, for he is angry with you. And I beseech
   you, as you love yourselves, just for one moment contemplate what will
   become of you, if living as you are, ye should at last die without
   prayer. Don't think that one prayer on your deathbed will save you.
   Deathbed prayer is a deathbed farce generally, and passes for nothing;
   it is a coin that will not ring in heaven, but is stamped by hypocrisy,
   and made of base metal. Take heed sirs. Let me ask you, if you have
   never prayed, what will you do? It were a good thing for you, if death
   were an eternal sleep; but it is not. If you find yourself in hell, oh,
   the racks and pains! But I will not harrow up your feelings by
   attempting to describe them. May God grant you never may feel the
   torments of the lost. Only conceive that poor wretch in the flames who
   is saying, "O for one drop of water, to cool my parched tongue!" See
   how his tongue hangs from between his blistered lips! How it excoriates
   and burns the roof of his mouth, as if it were a firebrand. Behold him
   crying for a drop of water. I will not picture the scene. Suffice it
   for me to close up by saying, that the hell of hells will be to thee,
   poor sinner, the thought that it is to be forever. Thou wilt look up
   there on the throne of God, and it shall be written "forever!" When the
   damned jingle the burning irons of their torments, they shall say
   "forever!" When they howl, echo cries "forever!"

   "Forever' is written on their racks,

   'Forever' on their chains;

   'Forever' burneth in the fire,

   'Forever' ever reigns."

   Doleful thought! "If I could but get out, then I should be happy. If
   there were a hope of deliverance, then I might be peaceful; but I am
   here forever!" Sirs, if ye would escape eternal torments, if ye would
   be found amongst the numbers of the blessed, the road to heaven can
   only be found by prayer--by prayer to Jesus, by prayer for the Spirit,
   by supplication at his mercy seat. "Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die,
   O house of Israel? 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." "The Lord is gracious and full of compassion." Let us go unto
   him and say, "He shall heal our backslidings, he shall love us freely
   and forgive us graciously, for his Son's name's sake." Oh! If I may but
   win one soul to-day, I will go home contented. If I may but gain
   twenty, then I will rejoice. The more I have, the more crowns I shall
   wear. Wear! No, I will take them all at once, and cast them at Jesus'
   feet, and say, "Not unto me, but unto thy name be all the glory,
   forever."

   "Prayer was appointed to convey

   The blessings God designs to give;

   Long as they live, should Christians pray,

   For only while they pray, they live.

   "And wilt thou still in silence lie,

   When Christ stands waiting for thy prayer?

   My soul, thou hast a friend on high,

   Arise, and try thine interest there.

   "Tis prayer supports the soul that's weak,

   Though thought be broken, language lame;

   Pray, if thou canst, or canst not speak,

   And pray with faith in Jesus' name."
     __________________________________________________________________

                         Joseph Attacked by the Archers

   A Sermon

   (No. 17)

   Delivered on Sunday Morning, April 1, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand

   "The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at him, and hated him;
   but his bow abode in strength; and the arms of his hands were made
   strong by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob; from thence is the
   shepherd, the stone of Israel."--Genesis 49:23,24.

   It must have been a fine sight to see the hoary-headed Jacob sitting up
   in his bed whilst he bestowed his parting benediction upon his twelve
   sons. He had been noble in many instances during his life--at the
   sleeping place of Bethel, the brook of Jabbok, and the halting of
   Peniel. He had been a glorious old man; one before whom we might bow
   down with reverence, and truly say, "There were giants in those days."
   But his closing scene was the best. I think if ever he stood out more
   illustrious than at any other time, if his head was at any one season
   more than another, encircled with a halo of glory, it was when he came
   to die. Like the sun at setting, he seemed then to be the greater in
   brilliance, tinging the clouds of his weakness with the glory of grace
   within. Like good wine, which runs clear to the very bottom, unalloyed
   by dregs, so did Jacob till his dying hour continue to sing of love, of
   mercy, and of goodness, past and future. Like the swan, which (as old
   writers say) singeth not all its life until it comes to die, so the old
   patriarch remained silent as a songster for many years; but when he
   stretched himself on his last couch of rest, he stayed himself up in
   his bed, turned his burning eye from one to another, and although with
   a hoarse and faltering voice, he sang a sonnet upon each of his
   offspring, such as earthly poets, uninspired, cannot attempt to
   imitate. Looking upon his son Reuben, a tear was in his eye, for he
   recollected Reuben's sin; he passed over Simeon and Levi, giving some
   slight rebuke; upon the others he sung a verse of praise, as his eyes
   saw into the future history of the tribes. By-and-by his voice failed
   him, and the good old man, with long-drawn breath, with eyes pregnant
   with celestial fire, and heart big with heaven, lifted his voice to
   God, and said, "I have waited for thy salvation, O God," rested a
   moment on his pillow, and then again sitting up, recommenced the
   strain, passing briefly by the names of each. But oh! when he came to
   Joseph, his youngest son but one--when he looked on him, I picture that
   old man as the tears ran down his cheeks. There stood Joseph, with all
   his mother Rachel in his eyes--that dear loved wife of his--there he
   stood, the boy for whom that mother had prayed with all the eagerness
   of an Eastern wife. For a long twenty years she had tarried a barren
   woman and kept no house, but then she was a joyful mother, and she
   called her son "Increase." Oh! how she loved the boy; and for that
   mother's sake, though she had been buried for some years, and hidden
   under the cold sod, old Jacob loved him too. But more than that, he
   loved him for his troubles. He was parted from him to be sold into
   Egypt. His father recollected Joseph's trials in the round-house and
   the dungeon, and remembered his royal dignity as prince of Egypt; and
   now, with a full burst of harmony, as if the music of heaven had united
   with his own, as when the widened river meets the sea, and the tide
   coming up doth amalgamate with the stream that cometh down, and
   swelleth into a broad expanse, so did the glory of heaven meet the
   rapture of his earthly feelings, and giving vent to his soul , he sung,
   "Joseph is a fruitful bough, even a fruitful bough by a well; whose
   branches run over the wall; the archers have sorely grieved him, and
   shot at him, and hated him; but his bow abode in strength, and the arms
   of his hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob;
   (from thence is the shepherd, the stone of Israel); even by the God of
   thy father, who shall help thee; and by the Almighty, who shall bless
   thee with blessings of heaven above, blessings of the deep that lieth
   under, blessings of the breasts, and of the womb; the blessings of thy
   father have prevailed above the blessings of my progenitors, unto the
   utmost bound of the everlasting hills; they shall be on the head of
   Joseph, and on the crown of the head of him that was separate from his
   brethren." What a splendid stanza with which to close! He has only one
   more blessing to give; but surely this was the richest which he
   conferred on Joseph.

   Joseph is dead, but the Lord has his Josephs now. There are some still
   who understand by experience--and that is the best kind of
   understanding--the meaning of this passage, "The archers have sorely
   grieved him, and shot at him, and hated him; but his bow abode in
   strength, and the arms of his hands were made strong by the hands of
   the mighty God of Jacob."

   There are four things for us to consider this morning. First of all,
   the cruel attack--"the archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at
   him, and hated him;" secondly, the shielded warrior--"but his bow abode
   in strength;" thirdly, his secret strength--"the arms of his hands were
   made strong by the mighty power of the God of Jacob;" and fourthly, the
   glorious parallel drawn between Joseph and Christ--"from thence is the
   shepherd, the stone of Israel."

   I. First, then, we commence with THE CRUEL ATTACK. "The archers have
   sorely grieved him." Joseph's enemies were archers. The original has
   it, "masters of the arrows;" that is, men who were well skilled in the
   use of the arrows. Though all weapons are alike approved by the warrior
   in his thirst for blood, there seems something more cowardly in the
   attack of the archer than in that of the swordsman. The swordsman
   plants himself near you, foot to foot, and lets you defend yourself,
   and deal your blows against him; but the archer stands at a distance,
   hides himself in ambuscade, and, without you knowing it, the arrow
   comes whizzing through the air, and perhaps penetrates your heart. Just
   so are the enemies of God's people. They very seldom come foot to foot
   with us; they will not show their faces before us; they hate the light,
   they love darkness; they dare not come and openly accuse us to our
   face, for then we could reply; but they shoot the bow from a distance,
   so that we cannot answer them; cowardly and dastardly as they are, they
   forge their arrow-heads, and aim them, winged with hell-birds feathers,
   at the hearts of God's people. The archers sorely grieved poor Joseph.
   Let us consider who are the archers who so cruelly shot at him. First,
   there were the archers of envy; secondly, the archers of temptation;
   and thirdly, the archers of slander and calumny.

   1. First, Joseph had to endure the archers of ENVY. When he was a boy,
   his father loved him. The youth was fair and beautiful; in person he
   was to be admired; moreover, he had a mind that was gigantic, and an
   intellect that was lofty; but, best of all, in him dwelt the Spirit of
   the living God. He was one who talked with God; a youth of piety and
   prayerfulness; beloved of God, even more than he was by his earthly
   father. O! how his father loved him! for in his fond affection, he made
   him a princely coat of many colors, and treated him better than the
   others--a natural but foolish way of showing his fondness. Therefore
   his brethren hated him. Full often did they jeer at the youthful
   Joseph, when he retired to his prayers; when he was with them at a
   distance from his father's house, he was their drudge, their slave; the
   taunt, the jeer, did often wound his heart, and the young child endured
   much secret sorrow. On an ill day, as it happened, he was with them at
   a distance from home, and they thought to slay him; but upon the
   entreaty of Reuben, they put him into a pit, until, as Providence would
   have it, the Ishmaelites did pass that way. They then sold him for the
   price of a slave, stripped him of his coat, and sent him naked, they
   knew not, and they cared not, whither, so long as he might be out of
   their way, and no longer provoke their envy and their anger. Oh! the
   agonies he felt--parted from his father, losing his brethren, without a
   friend, dragged away by cruel man-sellers, chained upon a camel it may
   be, with fetters on his hands. Those who have borne the gyves and
   fetters, those who have felt that they were not free men, that they had
   not liberty, might tell how sorely the archers grieved him when they
   shot at him the arrows of their envy. He became a slave, sold from his
   country, dragged from all he loved. Farewell to home and all its
   pleasures--farewell to a father's smiles and tender cares. He must be a
   slave, and toil where the slave's task-master makes him; he must be
   stripped in the streets, he must be beaten, he must be scourged, he
   must be reduced from the man to the animal, from the free man to the
   slave. Truly the archers sorely shot at him. And, my brethren, do you
   hope, if you are the Lord's Josephs, that you shall escape envy? I tell
   you, nay; that green-eyed monster, envy, lives in London as well as
   elsewhere, and he creeps into God's church, moreover. Oh! it is hardest
   of all, to be envied by one's brethren. If the devil hates us, we can
   bear it; if the foes of God's truth speak ill of us, we buckle up our
   harness, and say, "Away, away, to the conflict." But when the friends
   within the house slander us; when brethren who should uphold us, turn
   our foes; and when they try to tread down their younger brethren; then,
   sirs, there is some meaning in the passage, "The archers have sorely
   grieved him, and shot at him, and hated him." But, blessed be God's
   name, it is sweet to be informed that "his bow abode in strength." None
   of you can be the people of God without provoking envy; and the better
   you are, the more you will be hated. The ripest fruit is most pecked by
   the birds, and the blossoms that have been longest on the tree, are the
   most easily blown down by the wind. But fear not; you have naught to do
   with what man shall say of you. If God loves you, man will hate you; if
   God honors you, man will dishonor you. But recollect, could ye wear
   chains of iron for Christ's sake, ye should wear chains of gold in
   heaven; could ye have rings of burning iron round your waists, ye
   should have your brow rimmed with gold in glory; for blessed are ye
   when men shall say all manner of evil against you falsely, for Christ's
   name's sake; for so persecuted they the prophets that were before you.
   The first archers were the archers of envy.

   2. But a worse trial than this was to overtake him. The archers of
   TEMPTATION shot at him. Here I know not how to express myself. I would
   that some one more qualified to speak were here, that he might tell you
   the tale of Joseph's trial, and Joseph's triumph. Sold to a master who
   soon discovered his value, Joseph was made the bailiff of the house,
   and the manager of the household. His wanton mistress fixed her
   adulterous love on him; and he, being continually in her presence, was
   perpetually, day by day, solicited by her to evil deeds. Constantly did
   he refuse; still enduring a martyrdom at the slow fire of her
   enticements. On one eventful day she grasped him, seeking to compel him
   to crime; but he, like a true hero as he was, said to her, "How can I
   do this great wickedness and sin against God?" Like a wise warrior, he
   knew that in such a case fleeing was the better part of valor. He heard
   a voice in his ears: "Fly, Joseph, fly; there remains no way of victory
   but flight;" and out he fled, leaving his garment with his adulterous
   mistress. Oh, I say in all the annals of heroism there is not one that
   shall surpass this. You know it is opportunity that makes a man
   criminal; and he had abundant opportunity; but importunity will drive
   most men astray. To be haunted day by day by solicitations of the
   softest kind--to be tempted hour by hour--oh! it needs a strength
   super-angelic, a might more that human, a strength which only God can
   grant, for a young man thus to cleanse his way, and take heed thereto
   according to God's word. He might have reasoned within himself, "Should
   I submit and yield, there lies before me a life of ease and pleasure; I
   shall be exalted, I shall be rich. She shall prevail over her husband,
   to cover me with honors; but should I still adhere to my integrity, I
   shall be cast into prison, I shall be thrown into the dungeon; there
   awaits me nothing but shame and disgrace." Oh! there was a power indeed
   within that heart of his; there was an inconceivable might, which made
   him turn away with unutterable disgust, with fear and trembling, while
   he said, "How can I? how can I--God's Joseph--how can I--other men
   might, but how can I do this great wickedness and sin against God."
   Truly the archers sorely grieved him and shot at him; but his bow abode
   in strength.

   3. Then another host of archers assailed him; these were the archers of
   MALICIOUS CALUMNY. Seeing that he would not yield to temptation, his
   mistress falsely accused him to her husband, and his lord, believing
   the voice of his wife, cast him into prison. It was a marvelous
   providence that he did not put him to death; for Potiphar, his master,
   was the chief of the slaughtermen; he had only to call in a soldier,
   who would have cut him in pieces on the spot. But he cast him into
   prison. There was poor Joseph. His character ruined in the eyes of man,
   and very likely looked upon with scorn even in the prison-house; base
   criminals went away from him as if they thought him viler than
   themselves, as if they were angels in comparison with him. Oh! it is no
   easy thing to feel your character gone, to think that you are
   slandered, that things are said of you that are untrue. Many a man's
   heart has been broken by this, when nothing else could make him yield.
   The archers sorely grieved him when he was so maligned--so slandered. O
   child of God, dost thou expect to escape these archers? Wilt thou never
   be slandered? Shalt thou never be calumniated? It is the lot of God's
   servants, in proportion to their zeal, to be evil spoken of. Remember
   the noble Whitefield, how he stood and was the butt of all the jeers
   and scoffs of half an age; while his only answer was a blameless life.

   "And he who forged, and he who threw the dart,

   Had each a brother's interest in his heart."

   They reviled him and imputed to him crimes that Sodom never knew. So
   shall it be always with those who preach God's truth, and all the
   followers of Christ--they must all expect it; but, blessed be God, they
   have not said worse things of us than they said of our Master. What
   have they laid to our charge? They may have said, "he is drunken and a
   wine-bibber;" but they have not said, "he hath a devil." They have
   accused us of being mad, so was it said of Paul. Oh, holy infatuation,
   heavenly furor, would that we could bite others until they had the same
   madness. We think, if to go to heaven be mad, we will not choose to be
   wise; we see no wisdom in preferring hell; we can see no great prudence
   in despising and hating God's truth. If to serve God be vile, we
   purpose to be viler still. Ah! friends, some now present know this
   verse by heart, "The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at him,
   and hated him." Expect it; do not think it a strange thing; all God's
   people must have it. There are no royal roads to heaven--they are paths
   of trial and trouble; the archers will shoot at you as long as you are
   on this side the flood.

   II. We have seen these archers shoot their flights of arrows; we will
   now go up the hill a little, behind a rock, to look at the SHIELDED
   WARRIOR and see how his courage is while the archers have sorely
   grieved him. What is he doing? "His bow abideth in strength." Let us
   picture God's favorite. The archers are down below. There is a parapet
   of rock before him; now and then he looks over it to see what the
   archers are about, but generally he keeps behind. In heavenly security
   he is set upon a rock, careless of all below. Let us follow the track
   of the wild goat and behold the warrior in his fastness.

   First, we notice that he has a bow himself, for we read that "his bow
   abode in strength." He could have retaliated if he pleased, but he was
   very quiet and would not combat with them. Had he pleased, he might
   have drawn his bow with all his strength, and sent his weapon to their
   hearts with far greater precision that they had ever done to him. But
   mark the warrior's quietness. There he rests, stretching his mighty
   limbs; his bow abode in strength; he seemed to say, "Rage on, aye, let
   you arrows spend themselves, empty your quivers on me, let your
   bow-strings be worn out, and let the wood be broken with its constant
   bending; here am I, stretching myself in safe repose; my bow abides in
   strength; I have other work to do besides shooting at you; my arrows
   are against yon foes of God, the enemies of the Most High; I cannot
   waste an arrow on such pitiful sparrows as you are; ye are birds
   beneath my noble shot; I would not waste an arrow on you." Thus he
   remains behind the rock and despises them all. "His bow abideth in
   strength."

   Mark well his quietness. His bow "abideth." It is not rattling, it is
   not always moving, but it abides, it is quite still; he takes no notice
   of the attack. The archers sorely grieved Joseph, but his bow was not
   turned against them, it abode in strength. He turned not his bow on
   them. He rested while they raged. Doth the moon stay herself to lecture
   every dog that bayeth at her? Doth the lion turn aside to rend each cur
   that barketh at him? Do the stars cease to shine because the
   nightingales reprove them for their dimness? Doth the sun stop in its
   course because of the officious cloud which veils it: Or doth the river
   stay because the willow dippeth its leaves into its waters? Ah! no;
   God's universe moves on, and if men will oppose it, it heeds them not.
   It is as God hath made it; it is working together for good, and it
   shall not be stayed by the censure nor moved on by the praise of man.
   Let your bows, my brethren, abide. Do not be in a hurry to set
   yourselves right. God will take care of you. Leave yourselves alone;
   only be very valiant for the Lord God of Israel; be steadfast in the
   truth of Jesus and your bow shall abide.

   But we must not forget the next word. "His bow abode IN STRENGTH."
   Though his bow was quiet it was not because it was broken. Joseph's bow
   was like that of William the Conqueror; no man could bend it but Joseph
   himself; it abode in "strength." I see the warrior bending his bow--how
   with his mighty arms he pulls it down and draws the string to make it
   ready. His bow abode in strength; it did not snap, it did not start
   aside. His chastity was his bow, and he did not lose that; his faith
   was his bow, and that did not yield, it did not break; his courage was
   his bow, and that did not fail him; his character, his honesty was his
   bow, nor did he cast it away. Some men are so very particular about
   reputation. They think, "surely, surely, surely they shall lose their
   character." Well, well, if we do not lose them through our own fault,
   we never need care about anybody else. You know there is not a man that
   stands at all prominent, but what any fool in the world can set afloat
   some bad tale against him. It is a great deal easier to set a story
   afloat than to stop it. If you want truth to go round the world you
   must hire an express train to pull it; but if you want a lie to go
   round the world, it will fly: it is as light as a feather, and a breath
   will carry it. It is well said in the old proverb, "A lie will go round
   the world while truth is pulling its boots on." Nevertheless, it does
   not injure us; for if light as feather it travels as fast, its effect
   is just about as tremendous as the effect of down, when it is blown
   against the walls of a castle; it produces no damage whatever, on
   account of its lightness and littleness. Fear not, Christian. Let
   slander fly, let envy send forth its forked tongue, let it hiss at you,
   your bow shall abide in strength. Oh! shielded warrior, remain quiet,
   fear no ill; but, like the eagle in its lofty eyrie, look thou down
   upon the fowlers in the plain, turn thy bold eye upon them and say,
   "Shoot ye may, but your shots will not reach half-way to the pinnacle
   where I stand. Waste your powder upon me if ye will; I am beyond your
   reach." Then clap your wings, mount to heaven, and there laugh them to
   scorn, for ye have made your refuge God, and shall find a most secure
   abode.

   III. The third thing in our text is THE SECRET STRENGTH. "The arms of
   his hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob."
   First, notice, concerning his strength, that it was real strength. It
   says, "the arms of his hands," not his hands only. You know some people
   can do a great deal with their hands, but then it is often fictitious
   power; there is no might in the arm--there is no muscle; but of Joseph
   it is said; "the arms of his hands were made strong. It was real
   potency, true muscle, real sinew, real nerve. It was not simply sleight
   of hand--the power of moving his finger very swiftly--but the arms of
   his hands were made strong. Now that strength which God gives to his
   Josephs is real strength; it is not a boasted valor, a fiction, a thing
   of which men talk, an airy dream, an unsubstantial unreality, but it is
   real strength. I should not like to have a combat with one of God's
   Josephs. I should find their blows very heavy. I fear a Christian's
   strokes more than any other man's for he has bone and sinew, and smites
   hard. Let the foes of the church expect a hard struggle if they attack
   an heir of life. Mightier than giants are men of the race of heaven;
   should they once arouse themselves to battle they could laugh at the
   spear and the habergeon. But they are a patient generation, enduring
   ills without resenting them suffering scorn without reviling the
   scoffer. Their triumph is to come when their enemies shall receive the
   vengeance due; then shall it be seen by an assembled world that the
   "little flock" were men of high estate, and the "offscouring of all
   things" were verily men of real strength and dignity.

   Even though the world perceive it not, the favored Joseph has real
   strength, not in his hands only, but in his arms--real might, real
   power. O ye foes of God, ye think God's people are despicable and
   powerless; but know that they have true strength from the omnipotence
   of their Father, a might substantial and divine. Your own shall melt
   away, and droop and die, like the snow upon the low mountain top, when
   the sun shines upon it, it melteth into water; but our vigor shall
   abide like the snow on the summit of the Alps, undiminished for ages.
   It is real strength.

   Then observe that the strength of God's Joseph is divine strength. His
   arms were made strong by God. Why does one of God's ministers preach
   the gospel powerfully? Because God gives him assistance. Why does
   Joseph stand against temptation? Because God gives him aid. The
   strength of a Christian is divine strength. My brethren, I am more and
   more persuaded every day that the sinner has no power of himself,
   except that which is given him from above. I know that if I were to
   stand with my foot upon the golden threshold of heaven's portal, if I
   could put this thumb upon the latch, I could not open that door, after
   having gone so far towards heaven, unless I had still supernatural
   power communicated to me in that moment. If I had a stone to lift, to
   work my own salvation, without God's help to do that, I must be lost,
   even though it were so little. There is naught that we can do without
   the power of God. All true strength is divine. As the light cometh from
   the sun, as the shower from heaven; so doth spiritual strength come
   from the Father lights, with whom there is neither variableness nor
   shadow of a turning.

   Again: I would have you notice in the text in what a blessedly familiar
   way God gives this strength to Joseph. It say, "the arms of his hands
   were made strong by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob." Thus it
   represents God as putting his hands on Joseph's hands, placing his arms
   on Joseph's arms. In old times, when every boy had to be trained up to
   archery, if his father were worth so many pounds a year, you might see
   the father putting his hands on his boy's hands and pulling the bow for
   him, saying, "there, my son, in this manner draw the bow." So the text
   represents God as putting his hand on the hand of Joseph, and laying
   his broad arm along the arm of his chosen child, that he might be made
   strong. Like as a father teacheth his children; so the Lord teaches
   them that fear him. He puts his arms upon them. As Elijah laid with his
   mouth upon the child's mouth, with his hand upon the child's hand, with
   his foot upon the child's foot, so does "God put his mouth to his
   children's mouth, his hand to his ministers' hand, his foot to his
   people's foot; and so he makes us strong. Marvelous condescension! Ye
   stars of glory, have ye ever witnessed such stoops of love? God
   Almighty, Eternal, Omnipotent, stoops from his throne and lays his hand
   upon the child's hand, stretching his arm upon the arm of Joseph, that
   he may be made strong.

   One more thought, and I have done. The strength was covenant strength,
   for it is said, "The arms of his hands were made strong by the hands of
   the mighty God of Jacob." Now, wherever you read of the God of Jacob in
   the Bible, you may know that that respects God's covenant with Jacob.
   Ah! I love to talk about God's everlasting covenant. Some of the
   Arminians cannot bear it, but I love a covenant salvation--a covenant
   not made with my father, not between me and God, but between Christ and
   God. Christ made the covenant to pay a price, and God made the covenant
   that he should have the people. Christ has paid the price and ratified
   the covenant; and I am quite sure that God will fulfil his part of it,
   by giving every elect vessel of mercy into the hands of Jesus. But,
   beloved, all the power, all the grace, all the blessings, all the
   mercies, all the comforts, all the things we have, we have through the
   covenant. If there were no covenant; if we could rend the everlasting
   charter up; if the king of hell could cut it with his knife, as the
   king of Israel did the roll of Baruck, then we should fail indeed; for
   we have no strength, except that which is promised in the covenant.
   Covenant mercies, covenant grace, covenant promises, covenant
   blessings, covenant help, covenant everything--the Christian must
   receive, if he would enter into heaven.

   Now, Christian, the archers have sorely grieved you, and shot at you,
   and wounded you; but your bow abides in strength, and the arms of your
   hands are made strong. But do you know, O believer, that you are like
   your Master in this?

   IV. That is our fourth point--A GLORIOUS PARALLEL. "From thence is the
   shepherd, the stone of Israel." Jesus Christ was served just the same;
   the shepherd, the stone of Israel, passed through similar trials; he
   was shot at by the archers, he was grieved and wounded, but his bow
   abode in strength; his arms were made strong by the God of Jacob, and
   now every blessing rests "upon the crown of the head of him who was
   separated from his brethren." I shall not detain you long, but I have a
   few things to tell you; first about Christ as the shepherd, and then
   about Christ the stone.

   Christ came into the world as a shepherd. As soon as he made his
   appearance, the Scribes and Pharisees said, "Ah! we have been the
   shepherds until this hour; now we shall be driven from our honors, we
   shall lose all our dignity, and our authority." Consequently, they
   always shot at him. As for the people, they were a fickle herd; I
   believe that many of them respected and admired Christ, though,
   doubtless, the vast majority hated him, for wherever he went he was a
   popular preacher; the multitude always thronged him and crowded round
   him, crying, "Hosanna." I think, if you had walked up to the top of
   that hill of Calvary, and asked one of those men who cried out,
   "Crucify him, crucify him," "What do you say that for? Is he a bad
   man?" "No," he would have said, "he went about doing good." "Then why
   do you say crucify him?'" "Because Rabbi Simeon gave me a shekel to
   help the clamor." So the multitude were much won by the money and
   influence of the priests. But they were glad to hear Christ after all.
   It was the shepherds that hated him, because he took away their
   traffic, because he turned the buyers and sellers out of the temple,
   diminished their dignity and ignored their pretensions; therefore, they
   could not endure him. But the Shepherd of Israel mounted higher and
   higher; he gathered his sheep, carried the lambs in his bosom; and he
   now stands acknowledged as the great shepherd of the sheep, who shall
   gather them into one flock and lead them to heaven. Rowland Hill tells
   a curious tale, in his "Village Dialogues," about a certain Mr.
   Tiplash, a very fine intellectual preacher, who, in one of his flights
   of oratory, said, "O Virtue, thou art so fair and lovely, if thou wert
   to come down upon earth, all men would love thee," with a few more
   pretty, beautiful things. Mr. Blunt, and honest preacher, who was in
   the neighborhood, was asked to preach in the afternoon, and he
   supplemented the worthy gentleman's remarks, by saying, "O Virtue, thou
   didst come on earth, in all thy purity and loveliness; but instead of
   being beloved and admired, the archers sorely shot at thee and grieved
   thee; they took thee, Virtue, and hung thy quivering limbs upon a
   cross; when thou didst hang there dying they hissed at thee, they
   mocked thee, they scorned thee; when thou didst ask for water they gave
   thee vinegar to drink, mingled with gall; yea, when thou diedst thou
   hadst a tomb from charity, and that tomb, sealed by enmity and hatred."
   The Shepherd of Israel was despised, incarnate virtue was hated and
   abhorred; therefore fear not, Christians, take courage; for if your
   Master passed through it, surely you must.

   To conclude: the text calls Christ the stone of Israel. I have heard a
   story--I cannot tell whether it is true or not--out of some of the
   Jewish rabbis; it is a tale, concerning the text, "The stone which the
   builders refused, the same is become the headstone of the corner." It
   is said that when Solomon's temple was building, all the stones were
   brought from the quarry ready cut and fashioned, and there were to be
   put. Amongst the stones was a very curious one; it seemed of no
   describable shape, it appeared unfit for any portion of the building.
   They tried it at this wall, but it would not fit; they tried it in
   another, but it could not be accommodated; so, vexed and angry, they
   threw it away. The temple was so many years building, that this stone
   became covered with moss, and grass grew around it. Everybody passing
   by laughed at the stone; they said Solomon was wise, and doubtless all
   the other stones were right; but as for that block, they might as well
   send it back to the quarry, for they were quite sure it was meant for
   nothing. Year after year rolled on, and the poor stone was still
   despised, the builders constantly refused it. The eventful day came
   when the temple was to be finished and opened, and the multitude was
   assembled to see the grand sight. The builders said, "Where is the
   top-stone? Where is the pinnacle?" They little thought where the
   crowning marble was, until some one said, "Perhaps that stone which the
   builders refused is meant to be the top-stone." They then took it, and
   hoisted it to the top of the house; and as it reached the summit they
   found it well adapted to the place. Loud hosannas made the welkin ring,
   as the stone which the builders refused, thus became the headstone of
   the corner. So is it with Christ Jesus. The builders cast him away. He
   was a plebeian; he was of poor extraction; he was a man acquainted with
   sinners, who walked in poverty and meanness; hence the worldly-wise
   despised him. But when God shall gather together, in one, all things
   that are in heaven and that are in earth, then Christ shall be the
   glorious consummation of all things.

   "Christ reigns in heaven the topmost stone,

   And well deserves the praise."

   He shall be exalted; he shall be honored; his name shall endure as long
   as the sun, and all nations shall be blessed in him, yea, all
   generations shall call him blessed.
     __________________________________________________________________

                               The Tomb of Jesus

   A Sermon

   (No. 18)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 8, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."--Matthew 28:6.

   Every circumstance connected with the life of Christ is deeply
   interesting to the Christian mind. Wherever we behold our Saviour, he
   is well worthy of our notice.

   "His cross, his manger, and his crown,

   Are big with glories yet unknown."

   All his weary pilgrimage, from Bethlehem's manger to Calvary's cross,
   is, in our eyes, paved with glory. Each spot upon which he trod is, to
   our souls, consecrated at once, simply because there the foot of
   earth's Saviour and our own Redeemer once was placed. When he comes to
   Calvary, the interest thickens; then our best thoughts are centered on
   him in the agonies of crucifixion, nor does our deep affection permit
   us to leave him, even when, the struggle being over, he yields up the
   ghost. His body, when it is taken down from the tree, still is lovely
   in our eyes--we fondly linger around the motionless clay. By faith we
   discern Joseph of Arimathea, and the timid Nicodemus, assisted by those
   holy women, drawing out the nails and taking down the mangled body; we
   behold them wrapping him in clean, white linen, hastily girding him
   round with belts of spices; then putting him in his tomb, and departing
   for the Sabbath rest. We shall, on this occasion, go where Mary went on
   the morning of the first day of the week, when waking from her couch
   before the dawn, she aroused herself to be early at the sepulchre of
   Jesus. We will try, if it be possible, by the help of God's Spirit, to
   go as she did--not in body, but in soul--we will stand at that tomb; we
   will examine it, and we trust we shall hear some truth-speaking voice
   coming from its hollow bosom which will comfort and instruct us, so
   that we may say of the grave of Jesus when we go away, "It was none
   other than the gate of heaven"--a sacred place, deeply solemn, and
   sanctified by the slain body of our precious Saviour.

   I. AN INVITATION GIVEN. I shall commence my remarks this morning by
   inviting all Christians to come with me to the tomb of Jesus. "Come,
   see the place where the Lord lay." We will labor to render the place
   attractive, we will gently take your hand to guide you to it; and may
   it please our Master to make our hearts burn within us while we talk by
   the way.

   Away, ye profane--ye souls whose life is laughter, folly, and mirth!
   Away, ye sordid and carnal minds who have no taste for the spiritual,
   no delight in the celestial. We ask not your company; we speak to God's
   beloved, to the heirs of heaven, to the sanctified, the redeemed, the
   pure in heart--and we say to them, "Come, see the place where the Lord
   lay." Surely ye need no argument to move your feet in the direction of
   the holy sepulchre; but still we will use the utmost power to draw your
   spirit thither. Come, then, for tis the shrine of greatness, 'tis the
   resting-place of the man, the Restorer of our race, the Conqueror of
   death and hell. Men will travel hundreds of miles to behold the place
   where a poet first breathed the air of earth; they will journey to the
   ancient tombs of mighty heroes, or the graves of men renowned by fame;
   but whither shall the Christian go to find the grave of one so famous
   as was Jesus? Ask me the greatest man who ever lived--I tell you the
   man Christ Jesus was "anointed with the oil of gladness above his
   fellow." If ye seek a chamber honored as the resting-place of genius,
   turn in hither; if ye would worship at the grave of holiness, come ye
   here; if ye would see the hallowed spot where the choicest bones that
   e'er were fashioned lay for awhile, come with me, Christian, to that
   quiet garden, hard by the walls of Jerusalem.

   Come with me, moreover, because it is the tomb of your best friend. The
   Jews said of Mary, "she goeth unto his grave to weep there." Ye have
   lost your friends, some of you, ye have planted flowers upon their
   tombs, ye go and sit at eventide upon the green sward, bedewing the
   grass with your tears, for there your mother lies, and there your
   father or your wife. Oh! in pensive sorrow come with me to this dark
   garden of our Saviour's burial; come to the grave of your best
   friend--your brother, yea, one who "sticketh closer than a brother."
   Come thou to the grave of thy dearest relative, O Christian, for Jesus
   is thy husband, "Thy maker is thy husband, the Lord of Hosts is his
   name." Doth not affection draw you? Do not the sweet lips of love woo
   you? Is not the place sanctified where one so well-beloved slept,
   although but for a moment ? Surely ye need no eloquence; if it were
   needed I have none. I have but the power, in simple, but earnest
   accents, to repeat the words, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
   On this Easter morning pay a visit to his grave, for it is the grave of
   you best friend.

   Yea, more, I will further urge you to this pious pilgrimage. Come, for
   angels bid you. Angels said, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
   The Syriac version reads, "Come, see the place where our Lord lay."
   Yes, angels put themselves with those poor women, and used one common
   pronoun--our. Jesus is the Lord of angels as well as of men. Ye feeble
   women--ye have called him Lord, ye have washed his feet, ye have
   provided for his wants, ye have hung upon his lips to catch his honeyed
   sentences, ye have sat entranced beneath his mighty eloquence; ye call
   him Master and Lord, and ye do well; "But," said the seraph, "he is my
   Lord too;" bowing his head, he sweetly said, "Come, see the place where
   our Lord lay." Dost fear then, Christian, to step into that tomb? Dost
   dread to enter there, when the angel pointeth with his finger and
   saith, "Come, we will go together, angels and men, and see the royal
   bedchamber?" Ye know that angels did go into his tomb, for they sat one
   at his head and the other at his foot in holy meditation. I picture to
   myself those bright cherubs sitting there talking to one another. One
   of them said, "It was there his feet lay;" and the other replied, "and
   there his hands, and there his head;" and in celestial language did
   they talk concerning the deep things of God; then they stooped and
   kissed the rocky floor, made sacred to the angels themselves, not
   because there they were redeemed, but because there their Master and
   their monarch, whose high behests they were obeying, did for awhile
   become the slave of death, and the captive of destruction. Come,
   Christian, then, for angels are the porters to unbar the door; come,
   for a cherub is thy messenger to usher thee into the death-place of
   death himself. Nay, start not from the entrance; let not the darkness
   affright thee; the vault is not damp with the vapors of death, nor doth
   the air contain aught of contagion. Come, for it is a pure and healthy
   place. Fear not to enter that tomb. I will admit that catacombs are not
   the places where we, who are full of joy, would love to go. There is
   something gloomy and noisome about a vault. there are noxious smells of
   corruption; oft-times pestilence is born where a dead body hath lain;
   but fear it not, Christian, for Christ was not left in hell--in
   Hades--neither did his body see corruption. Come, there is no scent,
   yea, rather a perfume. Step in here, and, if thou didst ever breathe
   the gales of Ceylon, or winds from the groves of Araby, thou shalt find
   them far excelled by that sweet, holy fragrance left by the blessed
   body of Jesus; that alabaster vase which once held divinity, and was
   rendered sweet and precious thereby. Think not thou shalt find aught
   obnoxious to thy senses. Corruption Jesus never saw; no worms ever
   devoured his flesh; no rottenness ever entered into his bones; he saw
   no corruption. Three days he slumbered, but no long enough to putrefy;
   he soon arose, perfect as when he entered, uninjured as when his limbs
   were composed for their slumber. Come then, Christian, summon up thy
   thoughts, gather all thy powers; here is a sweet invitation, let me
   press it again. Let me lead thee by the hand of meditation, my brother;
   let me take thee by the arm of thy fancy, and let me again say to thee,
   "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."

   There is yet one reason more why I would have thee visit this royal
   sepulchre--because it is a quiet spot. Oh! I have longed for rest, for
   I have heard this world's rumors in my ears so long, that I have begged
   for

   "A lodge in some vast wilderness,

   Some boundless contiguity of shade,"

   where I might hide myself forever. I am sick of this tiring and trying
   life; my frame is weary, my soul is mad to repose herself awhile. I
   would I could lay myself down a little by the edge of some pebbly
   brook, with no companion save the fair flowers or the nodding willows.
   I would I could recline in stillness, where the air brings balm to the
   tormented brain, where there is no murmur save the hum of the summer
   bee, no whisper save that of the zephyrs, and no song except the
   caroling of the lark. I wish I could be at ease for a moment. I have
   become a man of the world; my brain is racked, my soul is tired. Oh!
   wouldst thou be quiet, Christian? Merchant, wouldst thou rest from thy
   toils? wouldst thou be calm for once? Then come hither. It is in a
   pleasant garden, far from the hum of Jerusalem; the noise and din of
   business will not reach thee there; "Come, see the place where the Lord
   lay." It is a sweet resting spot, a withdrawing room for thy soul,
   where thou mayest brush from thy garments the dust of earth and muse
   awhile in peace.

   II. ATTENTION REQUESTED. Thus I have pressed the invitation; now we
   will enter the tomb. Let us examine it with deep attention, noticing
   every circumstance connected with it.

   And, first, mark that it is a costly tomb. It is no common grave; it is
   not an excavation dug out by the spade for a pauper, in which to hide
   the last remains of his miserable and overwearied bones. It is a
   princely tomb; it was made of marble, cut in the side of a hill. Stand
   here, believer, and ask why Jesus had such a costly sepulchre. He had
   no elegant garments; he wore a coat without seam, woven from the top
   throughout, without an atom of embroidery. He owned no sumptuous
   palace, for he had not where to lay his head. His sandals were not rich
   with gold, or studded with brilliants. He was poor. Why, then does he
   lie in a noble grave? We answer, for this reason: Christ was unhonored
   till he had finished his sufferings; Christ's body suffered contumely,
   shame, spitting, buffeting, and reproach, until he had completed his
   great work; he was trampled under foot, he was "despised and rejected
   of men; a man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief;" but the moment he
   had finished his undertaking, God said, "No more shall that body be
   disgraced; if it is to sleep, let it slumber in an honorable grave; if
   it is to rest, let nobles bury it; let Joseph, the councillor, and
   Nicodemus, the man of Sanhedrim, be present at the funeral; let the
   body be embalmed with precious spices, let it have honor; it has had
   enough of contumely, and shame, and reproach, and buffeting; let it now
   be treated with respect." Christian, dost thou discern the meaning?
   Jesus, after he had finished his work, slept in a costly grave; for now
   his Father loved and honored him, since his work was done.

   But, though it is a costly grave, it is a borrowed one. I see over the
   top of it, "Sacred to the memory of the family of Joseph of Arimathea;"
   yet Jesus slept there. Yes, he was buried in another's sepulchre. He
   who had no house of his own, and rested in the habitation of other men;
   who had no table, but lived upon the hospitality of his disciples; who
   borrowed boats in which to preach, and had not anything in the wide
   world, was obliged to have a tomb from charity. Oh! should not the poor
   take courage? They dread to be buried at the expense of their
   neighbors, but if their poverty be unavoidable, wherefore should they
   blush, since Jesus Christ himself was interred in another's grave? Ah!
   I wish I might have had Joseph's grave to let Jesus be buried in it.
   Good Joseph thought he had cut it out for himself, and that he should
   lay his bones there. He had it excavated as a family vault, and lo, the
   Son of David makes it one of the tombs of the kings. But he did not
   lose it by lending it to the Lord; rather, he had it back with precious
   interest. He only lent it three days; then Christ resigned it; he had
   not injured, but perfumed and sanctified it, and make it far more holy,
   so that it would be an honor in future to be buried there. It was a
   borrowed tomb; and why? I take it, not to dishonor Christ, but in order
   to show that, as his sins were borrowed sins, so his burial was in a
   borrowed grave. Christ had no transgressions of his own; he took ours
   upon his head; he never committed a wrong, but he took all my sin, and
   all yours, if ye are believers; concerning all his people, it is true,
   he bore their griefs and carried their sorrows in his own body on the
   tree; therefore, as they were others' sins, so he rested in another's
   grave; as they were sins imputed, so that grave was only imputedly his.
   It was not his sepulchre; it was the tomb of Joseph.

   Let us not weary in this pious investigation, but with fixed attention
   observe everything connected with this holy spot. The grave, we
   observe, was cut in a rock. Why was this? the rock of Ages was buried
   in a rock--a Rock within a rock. But why? Most persons suggest that it
   was so ordained, that it might be clear that there was no covert way by
   which the disciples or others could enter and steal the body away. Very
   possibly it was the reason; but O! my soul, canst thou find a spiritual
   reason? Christ's sepulchre was cut in a rock. It was not cut in mould
   that might be worn away by the water, or might crumble and fall into
   decay. The sepulchre stands, I believe, entire to this day; if it does
   not naturally, it does spiritually. The same sepulchre which took the
   sins of Paul, shall take my iniquities into his bosom, for if I ever
   lose my guilt, it must roll off my shoulders into the sepulchre. It was
   cut in a rock, so that if a sinner were saved a thousand years ago, I
   too can be delivered, for it is a rocky sepulchre where sin was
   buried--it was a rocky sepulchre of marble where my crimes were laid
   forever--buried never to have a resurrection.

   You will mark, moreover, that tomb was one wherein no other man had
   ever lain. Christopher Ness says, when Christ was born, he lay in a
   virgin's womb, and when he died, he was placed in a virgin tomb; he
   slept where never man had slept before. The reason was that none might
   say that another person rose, for there never had been any other body
   there, thus a mistake of persons was impossible. Nor could it be said
   that some old prophet was interred in the place, and that Christ rose
   because he had touched his bones. You remember where Elisha was buried;
   and as they were burying a man, behold he touched the prophet's bones
   and arose. Christ touched no prophet's bones, for none had ever slept
   there; it was a new chamber where the monarch of the earth did take his
   rest for three day and three nights.

   We have learned a little, then, with attention; but let us stoop down
   once more before we leave the grave, and notice something else. We see
   the grave, but do you notice the grave-clothes, all wrapped and laid in
   their places, the napkin being folded up by itself? Wherefore are the
   grave-clothes wrapped up? The Jews said robbers had abstracted the
   body; but if so, surely they would have stolen the clothes; they would
   never have thought of wrapping them up an laying them down so
   carefully; they would be too much in haste to think of it. Why was it
   then? To manifest to us that Christ did not come out in a hurried
   manner. He slept till the last moment; then he awoke; he came not in
   haste. They shall not come out in haste, neither by flight, but at the
   appointed moment shall his people come to him. So at the precise hour,
   the decreed instant, Jesus Christ leisurely awoke, took off his
   cerements, left them all behind him, and came forth in his pure and
   naked innocence, perhaps to show us that as clothes were the offspring
   of sin--when sin was atoned for by Christ, he left all raiment behind
   him--for garments are the badges of guilt: if we had not been guilty we
   should never have needed them.

   Then the napkin, mark you, was laid by itself. The grave-clothes were
   left behind for every departed Christian to wear. The bed of death is
   well sheeted with garments of Jesus, but the napkin was laid by itself,
   because the Christian, when he dies, does not need that; it is used by
   the mourners, and the mourners only. We shall all wear grave-clothes,
   but we shall not need the napkin. When our friends die, the napkin is
   laid aside for us to use; but do our ascended brethren and sisters use
   it? No; the Lord God hath wiped away all tears from their eyes. We
   stand and view the corpses of the dear departed, we moisten their faces
   with our tears, letting whole showers of grief fall on their heads; but
   do they weep? Oh, no. Could they speak to us from the upper spheres
   they would say, "Weep not for me, for I am glorified. Sorrow not for
   me; I have left a bad world behind me, and have entered into a far
   better." They have no napkin--they weep not. Strange it is that those
   who endure death weep not; but those who see them die, are weepers.
   When the child is born it weeps while others smile, (say the Arabs,)
   and when it dies it smiles while others weep. It is so with the
   Christian. O blessed thing! The napkin is laid by itself, because
   Christians will never want to use it when they die.

   III. Emotion excited. We have thus surveyed the grave with deep
   attention, and, I hope, with some profit to ourselves. But that is not
   all. I love a religion which consists, in a great measure, of emotion.
   Now, if I had power, like a master, I would touch the strings of your
   hearts, and fetch a glorious tune of solemn music from them, for this
   is a deeply solemn place into which I have conducted you.

   First, I would bid you stand and see the place where the Lord lay with
   emotions of deep sorrow. Oh cone, my beloved brother, thy Jesus once
   lay there. He was a murdered man, my soul, and thou the murderer.

   "Ah, you my sins, my cruel sins,

   His chief tormentors were,

   Each of my crimes became a nail,

   And unbelief the spear."

   "Alas! and did my Saviour bleed?

   And did my Sov'reign die?"

   I slew him--this right hand struck the dagger to his heart. My deeds
   slew Christ. Alas! I slew my best beloved; I killed him who loved me
   with an everlasting love. Ye eyes, why do you refuse to weep when ye
   see Jesus' body mangled and torn? Oh! give vent to your sorrow,
   Christians, for ye have good reason to do so. I believe in what Hart
   says, that there was a time in his experience when he could so
   sympathize with Christ, that he felt more grief at the death of Christ
   than he did joy. It seemed so sad a thing that Christ should have to
   die; and to me it often appears too great a price for Jesus Christ to
   purchase worms with his own blood. Methinks I love him so much, that if
   I had seen him about to suffer, I should have been as bad as Peter, and
   have said, "That be far from thee, Lord;" but then he would have said
   to me, "Get thee behind me, Satan", for he does not approve of that
   love which would stop him from dying. "The cup which my Father hath
   given me, shall I not drink it?" But I think, had I seen him going up
   to his cross, I could fain have pressed him back and said "Oh! Jesus,
   thou shalt not die; I cannot have it. Wilt thou purchase my life with a
   price so dear?" It seems too costly for him who is the Prince of Life
   and Glory to let his fair limbs be tortured in agony; that the hands
   which carried mercies should be pierced with accursed nails; that the
   temples that were always clothed with love should have cruel thorns
   driven through them. It appears too much. Oh! weep, Christian, and let
   your sorrow rise. Is not the price all but too great, that your beloved
   should for you resign himself? Oh! I should think, if a person were
   saved from death by another, he would always feel deep grief if his
   deliverer lost his life in the attempt. I had a friend, who, standing
   by the side of a piece of frozen water, saw a young lad in it, and
   sprang upon the ice in order to save him. After clutching the boy, he
   held him in his hands and cried out, "Here he is! Here he is! I have
   saved him." But, just as they caught hold of the boy, he sank himself,
   and his body was not found for some time afterwards, when he was quite
   dead. Oh! it is so with Jesus. My soul was drowning. From heaven's high
   portals he saw me sinking in the depths of hell; he plunged in:

   "He sank beneath his heavy woes,

   To raise me to a crown;

   There's ne'er a gift his hand bestows,

   But cost his heart a groan."

   Ah! we may indeed regret our sin, since it slew Jesus.

   Now, Christian, change thy note a moment. "Come, see the place where
   the Lord lay," with joy and gladness. He does not lie there now. Weep,
   when ye see the tomb of Christ, but rejoice because it is empty. Thy
   sin slew him, but his divinity raised him up. Thy guilt hath murdered
   him, but his righteousness hath restored him. Oh! he hath burst the
   bonds of death, he hath ungirt the cerements of the tomb, and hath come
   out more than conqueror, crushing death beneath his feet. Rejoice, O
   Christian, for he is not there--he is risen.

   "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."

   One more thought, and then I will speak a little concerning the
   doctrines we may learn from this grave. "Come, see the place where the
   Lord lay." with solemn awe for you and I will have to lie there too.

   "Hark! from the tomb a doleful sound,

   Mine ears, attend the cry,

   Ye living men, come view the ground

   Where ye must shortly lie."

   "Princes, this clay must be your bed,

   In spite of all your powers.

   The tall, the wise, the reverend head,

   Must lie as low as ours."

   It is a fact we do not often think of, that we shall all be dead in a
   little while. I know that I am made of dust, and not of iron; my bones
   are not brass, nor my sinews steel; in a little while my body must
   crumble back to its native elements. But do you ever try to picture to
   yourself the moment of your dissolution? My friends, there are some of
   you who seldom realize how old you are, how near you are to death. One
   way of remembering our age, is to see how much remains. Think how old
   eighty is, and then see how few years there are before you will get
   there. We should remember our frailty. Sometimes I have tried to think
   of the time of my departure. I do not know whether I shall die a
   violent death or not; but I would to God that I might die suddenly; for
   sudden death is sudden glory. I would I might have such a blessed exit
   as Dr. Beaumont, and die in my pulpit, laying down my body with my
   charge, and ceasing at once to work and live. But it is not mine to
   choose. Suppose I lie lingering for weeks, in the midst of pains, and
   griefs, and agonies; when that moment comes, that moment which is too
   solemn for my lips to speak of, when the spirit leaves the clay--let
   the physician put it off for weeks, or years, as we say he does, though
   he does not--when that moment comes, O ye lips, be dumb, and profane
   not its solemnity. When death comes, how is the strong man bowed down!
   How doth the mighty man fall! They may say they will not die, but there
   is no hope for them; they must yield, the arrow has gone home. I knew a
   man who was a wicked wretch, and I remember seeing him pace the floor
   of his bedroom saying "O God, I will not die, I will not die." When I
   begged him to lie on his bed, for he was dying, he said he could not
   die while he could walk, and he would walk till he did die. Ah! he
   expired in the utmost torments, always shrieking, "O God, I will not
   die." Oh! that moment, that last moment. See how clammy is the sweat
   upon the brow, how dry the tongue, how parched the lips. The man shuts
   his eyes and slumbers, then opens them again: and if he be a Christian,
   I can fancy that he will say:

   "Hark! they whisper: angels say,

   Sister spirit, come away.

   What is this absorbs me quite--

   Steals my senses--shuts my sight--

   Drowns my spirit--draws my breath?

   Tell me, my soul, can this be death?"

   We know not when he is dying. One gentle sigh, and the spirit breaks
   away. We can scarcely say, "he is gone," before the ransomed spirit
   takes its mansion near the throne. Come to Christ's tomb, then, for the
   silent vault must soon be your habitation. Come to Christ's grave, for
   ye must slumber there. And even you, ye sinners, for one moment I will
   ask you to come also, because ye must die as well as the rest of us.
   Your sins cannot keep you from the jaws of death. I say, sinner, I want
   thee to look at Christ's sepulchre too, for when thou diest it may have
   done thee great good to think of it. You have heard of Queen Elizabeth,
   crying out that she would give an empire for a single hour. Or have you
   heard the despairing cry of the gentleman on board the "Arctic," when
   it was going down, who shouted to the boat, "Come back! I will give you
   £30,000 if you will come and take me in." Ah! poor man, it were but
   little if he had thirty thousand worlds, if he could thereby prolong
   his life: "Skin for skin, yea, all that a man hath, will he give for
   his life." Some of you who can laugh this morning, who came to spend a
   merry hour in this hall, will be dying, and then ye will pray and crave
   for life, and shriek for another Sabbath-day. Oh! how the Sabbaths ye
   have wasted will walk like ghosts before you! Oh! how they will shake
   their snaky hair in your eyes! How will ye be made to sorrow and weep,
   because ye wasted precious hours, which, when they are gone, are gone
   too far to be recalled. May God save you from the pangs of remorse.

   IV. INSTRUCTION IMPARTED. And now, Christian brethren, "Come, see the
   place where the Lord lay," to learn a doctrine or two. What did you see
   when you visited "the place where the Lord lay?" "He is not here; for
   he is risen." The first thing you perceive, if you stand by his empty
   tomb, is his divinity. The dead in Christ shall rise first at the
   resurrection: but he who rose first--their leader, rose in a different
   fashion. They rise by imparted power. He rose by his own. He could not
   slumber in the grave, because he was God. Death had no more dominion
   over him. There is no better proof of Christ's divinity that that
   startling resurrection of his, when he rose from the grave, by the
   glory of the Father. O Christian, thy Jesus is a God; his broad
   shoulders that hold thee up are indeed divine; and here thou hast the
   best proof of it--because he rose from the grave.

   A second doctrine here taught well may charm thee, if the Holy Spirit
   apply it with power. Behold his empty tomb, O true believer: it is a
   sign of thine acquittal, and thy full discharge. If Jesus had not paid
   the debt, he ne'er had risen from the grave. He would have lain there
   till this moment if he had not cancelled the entire debt, by satisfying
   eternal vengeance. O beloved, is not that an overwhelming thought?

   "It is finished, it is finished,

   Hear the rising Saviour cry."

   The heavenly turnkey came, a bright angel stepped from heaven and
   rolled away the stone; but he would not have done so if Christ had not
   done all: he would have kept him there, he would have said, "Nay, nay,
   thou art the sinner now; thou hast the sins of all thine elect upon thy
   shoulder, and I will not let thee go free till thou hast paid the
   uttermost farthing." In his going free I see my own discharge.

   "My Jesu's blood's my full discharge."

   As a justified man, I have not a sin now against me in God's book. If I
   were to turn over God's eternal book, I should see every debt of mine
   receipted and cancelled.

   "Here's pardon for transgressions past,

   It matter not how black their cast,

   And O my soul, with wonder view,

   For sins to come, here's pardon too.

   Fully discharged by Christ I am,

   From Christ's tremendous curse and blame."

   One more doctrine we learn, and with that we will conclude--the
   doctrine of the resurrection. Jesus rose, and as the Lord our Saviour
   rose, so all his followers must rise. Die I must--this body must be a
   carnival for worms; it must be eaten by those tiny cannibals;
   peradventure it shall be scattered from one portion of the earth to
   another; the constituent particles of this my frame will enter into
   plants, from plants pass into animals, and thus be carried into far
   distant realms; but, at the blast of the archangel's trumpet, every
   separate atom of my body shall find its fellow; like the bones lying in
   the valley of vision, though separated from one another, the moment God
   shall speak, the bone will creep to its bone; then the flesh shall come
   upon it; the four winds of heaven shall blow, and the breath shall
   return. So let me die, let beasts devour me, let fire turn this body
   into gas and vapor, all its particles shall yet again be restored; this
   very self-same, actual body shall start up from its grave, glorified
   and made like Christ's body, yet still the same body, for God hath said
   it. Christ's same body rose; so shall mine. O my soul, dost thou now
   dread to die? Thou wilt lose thy partner body a little while, but thou
   wilt be married again in heaven; soul and body shall again be united
   before the throne of God. The grave--what is it? It is the bath in
   which the Christian puts the clothes of his body to have them washed
   and cleansed. Death--what is it? It is the waiting-room where we robe
   ourselves for immortality; it is the place where the body, like Esther,
   bathes itself in spices that it may be fit for the embrace of its Lord.
   Death is the gate of life; I will not fear to die, then, but will say,

   "Shudder not to pass the stream;

   Venture all thy care on him;

   Him whose dying love and power

   Stilled its tossing, hushed its roar,

   Safe in the expanded wave;

   Gentle as a summer's eve.

   Not one object of his care

   Ever suffered shipwreck there."

   Come, view the place then, with all hallowed meditation, where the Lord
   lay. Spend this afternoon, my beloved brethren, in meditating upon it,
   and very often go to Christ's grave, both to weep and to rejoice. Ye
   timid ones, do not be afraid to approach, for tis no vain thing to
   remember that timidity buried Christ. Faith would not have given him a
   funeral at all; faith would have kept him above ground, and would never
   have let him be buried; for it would have said, it would be useless to
   bury Christ if he were to rise. Fear buried him. Nicodemus, the night
   disciple, and Joseph of Arimathea, secretly, for fear of the Jews, went
   and buried him. Therefore, ye timid ones, ye may go too. Ready-to-halt,
   poor Fearing, and thou, Mrs. Despondency, and Much-afraid, go often
   there; let it be your favorite haunt, there build a tabernacle, there
   abide. And often say to your heart, when you are in distress and
   sorrow, "Come, see the place where the Lord lay."
     __________________________________________________________________

                               David's Dying Song

   A Sermon

   (No. 19)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 15, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Although my house be not so with God; yet he hath made with me an
   everlasting covenant, ordered in all things and sure: for this is all
   my salvation, and all my desire, although he make it not to grow."--2
   Samuel 23:5.

   THESE be the last words of David; so we read at the commencement of the
   chapter. Many have been the precious sentences which have fallen front
   his inspired lips; seraphic has been the music which has dropped from
   his fingers when they flew along the strings of his harp; but now that
   sweet voice is to be hushed in death, and now the son of Jesse is to
   sleep with his fathers. Surely it were well to press around his bed, to
   hear the dying monarch's last testimony; yea, we can conceive that
   angels themselves would for an instant check their rapid flight, that
   they might visit the chamber of the dying mighty one, and listen to his
   last death song. It is always blessed to hear the words of departing
   saints. How many choice thoughts have we gained in the bedchamber of
   the righteous, beloved? I remember one sweet idea, which I once won
   from a death-bed. A dying man desired to have one of the Psalms read to
   him, and the 17th being chosen, he stopped at the 6th verse, "Incline
   thine ear unto me and hear my speech," and faintly whispering, said,
   "Ah, Lord, I cannot speak, my voice fails me; incline thine ear, put it
   against my mouth, that thou mayest hear me." None but a weak and dying
   man, whose life was ebbing fast, could have conceived such a thought.
   It is well to hear saints' words when they are near heaven--when they
   stand upon the banks of Jordan. But here is a special case, for these
   be the last words of David. They are something more than human
   utterances; for we are told that the Spirit of the Lord spake by him,
   and his word was in his tongue. These were his closing accents. Ah!
   methinks, lisping these words he rose from earth to join the chorus of
   the skies. He commenced the sentence upon earth, and he finished it in
   heaven. He began, "Although my house be not so with God;" and as he
   winged his flight to heaven, he still sang, "yet hast thou made with me
   an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure: "and now
   before the throne he constantly hymns the same strain--"yet hast thou
   made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure."
   I hope, my friends, there are many of us who can join in this verse
   this morning, and who hope to close our earthly pilgrimage with this
   upon our tongue.

   We shall notice first, that the Psalmist had sorrow in his house--"
   Although my house be not so with God." Secondly, he had confidence in
   the covenant--" yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant." And
   thirdly, he had satisfaction in his heart, for he says--" this is all
   my salvation, and all my desire.

   I. The Psalmist says he had sorrow in his house--"Although my house be
   not so with God." What man is there of all our race, who, if he had to
   write his history, would not need to use a great many "althoughs"? If
   you read the biography of any man, as recorded in the Sacred Word, you
   will always find a "but," or an "although," before you have finished.
   Naaman was a mighty man of valour, and a great man with his master, but
   he was a leper. There is always a "but" in every condition, a crook in
   every lot, some dark tint upon the marble pillar, some cloud in the
   summer sky, some discord in the music, some alloy in the gold. So
   David, though a man who had been raised from the sheepfold, a mighty
   warrior, a conqueror of giants, a king over a great nation, yet, had
   his "althoughs;" and the "although" which he had, was one in his own
   house. Those are the worst troubles which we have in our own household.
   We love not an evil beast abroad, but we hate the lion most when it
   prowls upon our own estates, or croucheth on the floor of our dwelling.
   The greatest trouble with the thorn is when it lieth in our bed, and we
   feel it in our pillow. Civil war is always the fiercest--those are foes
   indeed who are of our own household. I think, perhaps David intended,
   when he said "Although my house be not so with God," to speak partly of
   his affairs. If any man else had looked at David's affairs--the
   government of his country--he would have said, "David's government is
   the mirror of excellence." His house was so rightly ordered, that few
   of his subjects could murmur at him; but David recollected that a
   greater and keener eye than that of man rested on him; and he says,
   speaking of his empire and his house--for you know the word "house" in
   Scripture often means our business, our affairs, our transactions,
   ("Set thine house in order, for thou must die, and not live,")--he
   says, although before man my house may be well swept, and garnished,
   yet it is not so with God as I can desire. Oh, beloved, there are some
   of us who can walk before our fellow-men conscious of innocence; we
   dare defy the gaze of our fellow-mortals; we can say, "Lord! thou
   knowest I am not wicked;" we are blameless before this perverse
   generation: we walk amongst them as lights in the world, and God has
   helped us, so that we are clean from the great transgression; we are
   not afraid of a criticism of our character, we are not fearful of being
   inspected by the eyes of all men, for we feel that through God's grace
   we have been kept from committing ourselves; he has kept us, and the
   evil one toucheth us not. But with all this conscious innocence--with
   all that dignity with which we stand before our fellows--when we go
   into God's sight, how changed we are! Ah, then, my friends, we say not,
   "Lord! thou knowest I am not wicked;" but rather, we fall prostrate,
   and cry, "Unclean, unclean, unclean;" and as the leper cools his heated
   brow with the water running in the cool sequestered brook, so do we
   have our body in Siloam's stream, and strive to wash ourselves clean in
   the water and blood from Christ's riven side. We feel that our house is
   "not so with God ;" though in the person of Jesus we are free from sin,
   and white as angels are: yet when we stand before God, in our own
   persons, we are obliged to confess, that honest as we may be, upright
   as we have been, just and holy before men, yet our house is "not so
   with God."

   But I imagine that the principal meaning of these words of David refers
   to his family--his children. David had many trials in his children. It
   has often been the lot of good men to have great troubles from their
   sons and daughters. True, we know some households that are the very
   image of peace and happiness, where the father and mother bend the knee
   together in family prayer, and they look upon an offspring, numerous or
   not, as it may be, but most of them devoting their hearts to God. I
   know a household which stands like a green oasis in the desert of this
   world. There be sons who preach God's gospel, and daughters who are
   growing up to fear the Lord, and to love him. Such a household is
   indeed a pleasant halting-place for a weary soul in its pilgrimage
   through this wilderness of life. Oh! happy is that family whom God hath
   blessed. But there are other houses where you will find the children
   are the trials of the parents. "Although my house be not so with God,"
   may many an anxious father say; and ye pious mothers might lift your
   streaming eyes to heaven, and say, "Although my house be not so with
   God." That first-born son of yours, who was your pride, has now turned
   out your disgrace. Oh! how have the arrows of his ingratitude pierced
   into your soul, and how do you keenly feel at this present moment, that
   sooner would you have buried him in his infancy; sooner might he never
   have seen the light, and perished in the birth, than that he should
   live to have acted as he has done, to be the misery of your existence,
   and the sorrow of your life. O sons who are ungodly, unruly, gay, and
   profligate, surely ye do not know the tears of pious mothers, or ye
   would stop your sin. Methinks, young man, thou wouldst not willingly
   allow thy mother to shed tears, however dearly you may love sin. Will
   you not then stop at her entreaties? Can you trample upon your mother?
   Oh! though you are riding a steeple-chase to hell, cannot her weeping
   supplications induce you to stay your mad career? Will you grieve her
   who gave you life, and fondly cherished you at her breast? Surely you
   will long debate e'er you can resolve to bring her grey hairs with
   sorrow to the grave. Or has sin brutalized you? Are ye worse than
   stones? Have natural feelings become extinct? Is the evil one entirely
   your master? Has he dried up all the tender sympathies of your heart?
   Stay! young prodigal, and ponder!

   But, Christian men! ye are not alone in this. If ye have family
   troubles, there are others who have borne the same. Remember Ephraim!
   Though God had promised that Ephraim should abound as a tribe with tens
   of thousands, yet it is recorded in 1 Chron. 7:20--22: "And the sons of
   Ephraim; Shuthelah and Bered his son, and Tahath his son, and Eladah
   his son, and Tahath his son, and Zabad his son, and Shuthelah his son,
   and Ezer and Elead, whom the men of Gath that were born in that land
   slew, because they came down to take away their cattle. And Ephraim
   their father mourned many days, and his brethren came to comfort him."
   Abraham himself had his Ishmael, and he cried to God on account
   thereof. Think of Eli, a man who served God as a high priest, and
   though he could rule the people, he could not rule his sons; and great
   was his grief thereat. Ah! some of you, my brethren in the gospel, may
   lift your hands to heaven, and ye may utter this morning these words
   with a deep and solemn emphasis--you may write "Although" in capitals,
   for it is more than true with some of you--" Although my house be not
   so with God."

   Before we leave this point: What must I say to any of those who are
   thus tried and distressing in estate and family? First, let me say to
   you, my brethren, it is necessary that you should have an "although" in
   your lot, because if you had not, you know what you would do; you would
   build a very downy nest on earth, and there you would lie down in
   sleep; so God puts a thorn in your nest in order that you may sing. It
   is said by the old writers, that the nightingale never sang so sweetly
   as when she sat among thorns, since say they, the thorns prick her
   breast, and remind her of her song. So it may be with you. Ye, like the
   larks, would sleep in your nest did not some trouble pass by and
   affright you; then you stretch your wings, and carolling the matin
   song, rise to greet the sun. Trials are sent to wean you from the
   world; bitters are put into your drink, that ye may learn to live upon
   the dew of heaven: the food of earth is mingled with gall, that ye may
   only seek for true bread in the manna which droppeth from the sky. Your
   soul without trouble would be as the sea if it were without tide or
   motion; it would become foul and obnoxious. As Coleridge describes the
   sea after a wondrous calm, so would the soul breed contagion and death.

   But furthermore, recollect this, O thou who art tried in thy
   children--that prayer can remove thy troubles. There is not a pious
   father or mother here, who is suffering in the family, but may have
   that trial taken away yet. Faith is as omnipotent as God himself, for
   it moves the arm which leads the stars along. Have you prayed long for
   your children without a result? and have ye said, "I will cease to
   pray, for the more I wrestle, the worse they seem to grow, and the more
   am I tried?" Oh! say not so, thou weary watcher. Though the promise
   tarrieth, it will come. Still sow the seed; and when thou sowest it,
   drop a tear with each grain thou puttest into the earth. Oh, steep thy
   seeds in the tears of anxiety, and they cannot rot under the clods, if
   they have been baptized in so vivifying a mixture. And what though thou
   diest without seeing thy sons the heirs of light? They shall be
   converted even after thy death; and though thy bones shall be put in
   the grave, and thy son may stand and curse thy memory for an hour, he
   shall not forget it in the cooler moments of his recollection, when he
   shall meditate alone. Then he shall think of thy prayers, thy tears,
   thy groans; he shall remember thine advice--it shall rise up, and if he
   live in sin, still thy words shall sound as one long voice from the
   realm of spirits, and either affright him in the midst of his revelry,
   or charm him heavenward, like angel's whispers, saying, "Follow on to
   glory, where thy parent is who once did pray for thee." So the
   Christian may say, "Although my house be not so with God now, it may be
   yet;" therefore will I still wait, for there be mighty instances of
   conversion. Think of John Newton. He even became a slaver, yet was
   brought back. Hope on; never despair; faint heart never winneth the
   souls of men, but firm faith winneth all things; therefore watch unto
   prayer. "What I say unto you, I say unto all, watch." There is your
   trouble, a small cup filled from the same sea of tribulation as was the
   Psalmist's when he sung, "Although my house be not so with God."

   II. But secondly: David had confidence in the covenant. Oh! how sweet
   it is to look from the dulness of earth to the brilliancy of heaven!
   How glorious it is to leap from the ever tempest-tossed bark of this
   world, and stand upon the terra firma of the covenant! So did David.
   Having done with his "Although," he then puts in a blessed "yet" Oh! it
   is a "yet," with jewels set: "He hath made with me an everlasting
   covenant, ordered in all things, and sure."

   Now let us notice these words as they come. First, David rejoiced in
   the covenant, because it is divine in its origin. "Yet hath HE made
   with me an everlasting covenant." O that great word HE. Who is that? It
   is not my odd-father or my odd mother who has made a covenant for
   me--none of that nonsense. It is not a covenant man has made for me, or
   with me; but yet hath HE made with me an everlasting covenant." It is
   divine in its origin, not human. The covenant on which the Christian
   rests, is not the covenant of his infant sprinkling: he has altogether
   broken that scores of times, for he has not "renounced the pomps and
   vanities of this wicked world," as he should have done, nor "all the
   lusts of the flesh." Nor has he really become regenerate through those
   holy drops of water which a cassocked priest cast on his face. The
   covenant on which he rests and stands secure, is that covenant which
   God has made with him. "Yet hath HE made." Stop, my soul. God, the
   everlasting Father, has positively made a covenant with thee; yes, that
   God, who in the thickest darkness dwells and reigns for ever in his
   majesty alone; that God, who spake the world into existence by a word;
   who holds it, like an Atlas, upon his shoulders, who poises the destiny
   of all creation upon his finger; that God, stooping from his majesty,
   takes hold of thy hand and makes a covenant with thee. Oh! is it not a
   deed, the stupendous condescension of which might ravish our hearts for
   ever if we could really understand it? Oh! the depths! "HE hath made
   with me a covenant." A king has not made a covenant with me--that were
   somewhat: an emperor has not entered into a compact with me; but the
   Prince of the kings of the earth, the Shaddai, the Lord of all flesh,
   the Jehovah of ages, the everlasting Elohim. "He hath made with me an
   everlasting covenant." O blessed thought! it is of divine origin.

   But notice its particular application. "Yet hath he made with ME an
   everlasting covenant." Here lies the sweetness of it to me, as an
   individual.

   "Oh how sweet to view the flowing

   Of Christ's soul-redeeming blood,

   With divine assurance knowing,

   That he made my peace with God."

   It is nought for me that he made peace for the world; I want to know
   whether he made peace for me: it is little that he hath made a
   covenant, I want to know whether he has made a covenant with ME. David
   could put his hand upon his heart and say, "Yet hath he made a covenant
   with ME." I fear I shall not be wrong in condemning the fashionable
   religion of the day, for it is a religion which belongs to the crowd;
   and not a personal one which is enjoyed by the individual. You will
   hear persons say, "Well, I believe the doctrine of justification; I
   think that men are justified through faith." Yes, but are you justified
   by faith? "I believe," says another, "that we are sanctified by the
   Spirit." Yes, all very well, but are you sanctified by the Spirit? Mark
   you, if ever you talk about personal piety very much, you will always
   be run down as extravagant. If you really say from your heart, "I know
   I am forgiven; I am certain that I am a pardoned sinner;"--and every
   Christian will at times be able to say it, and would always, were it
   not for his unbelief--if you say, "I know in whom I have believed; I am
   confident that I have not a sin now recorded in the black roll; that I
   am free from sin as if I had never transgressed, through the pardoning
   blood of Jesus," men will say it is extravagant. Well, it is a
   delightful extravagance, it is the extravagance of God's Word; and I
   would to God more of us could indulge in that holy, blessed
   extravagance. For we may well be extravagant when we have an infinite
   sum to spend; we may well be lavish when we know we never can exhaust
   the treasure. Oh! how sweet it is to say, "Yet hath he made with ME an
   everlasting covenant. It is nought that you talk to me of my brother
   being saved. I am very glad that my friend should get to glory, and I
   shall rejoice to meet you all; but after all, the thing is, "Shall I be
   there?"

   "Shall I amongst them stand,

   To see his smiling face?"

   Now, Christian, thou canst apply this personally. The covenant is made
   with thee. Man, open thine eyes; there is thy name in the covenant.
   What is it? It is some plain English name, perhaps. It never had an
   M.P. nor an M.A. after it, nor a "Sir," before it. Never mind, that
   name is in the covenant. If you could take down your Father's family
   Bible in heaven, you would find your name put in the register. O
   blessed thought! my name--positively mine! not another's. So, then,
   these eyes shall see him, and not another's for me. Rejoice, Christian;
   it is a personal covenant. "Yet hath he made with me an everlasting
   covenant."

   Furthermore, this covenant is not only divine in its origin, but it is
   everlasting in its duration. I have had some very pretty letters sent
   me from anonymous writers who have listened to me; and being great
   cowards (whom I always abhor) they cannot sign their names. They may
   know what fate they receive; the condign punishment I appoint to them.
   I cut them asunder, and thrust them into the fire. I hope the authors
   will not have a similar fate. Some of them, however, quarrel with me,
   because I preach the everlasting gospel. I dare not preach another, for
   I would not have another if it were offered to me. An everlasting
   gospel is the only one which I think worthy of an everlasting God. I am
   sure it is the only one which can give comfort to a soul that is to
   live throughout eternity. Now, you know what an "everlasting covenant"
   signifies. It meant a covenant which had no beginning, and which shall
   never, never end. Some do not believe in the everlasting nature of
   God's love to his people. They think that God begins to love his people
   when they begin to love him. My Arminian friends, did you ever sing
   that verse in your meeting?--of course you have--

   "O yes, I do love Jesus,

   Because he first lov'd me."

   That is a glorious Calvinistic hymn, though we know whose hymn book it
   is in. Well, then, if Jesus loved you before you loved him, why cannot
   you believe that he always did love you? Besides, how stupid it is to
   talk so, when you know God does not change. There is no such thing as
   time with him; there is no past with him. If you say, "he loves me
   now," you have in fact said, "he loved me yesterday, and he will love
   me for ever." There is nothing but now with God. There is no such thing
   as past or future; and to dispute about eternal election and so on, is
   all of no avail; because, if God did choose his people at all--and we
   all admit that he chooses them now--I do not care about whether you say
   he did so ten thousand, thousand years ago, because there is no such
   thing as the past with God; with him it is all now. He sees things,
   past and future, as present in his eye. Only tell me that he loves me
   now; that word "now," in God's dictionary, means everlasting. Tell me
   that God has now pardoned my sins; it means, that he always has, for
   his acts are eternal acts. Oh how sweet to know an everlasting
   covenant! I would not barter my gospel for fifty thousand other
   gospels. I love a certain salvation; and when I first heard it
   preached, that if I believed, God's grace would keep me all my life
   long, and would never let me fall into hell, but that I should preserve
   my character unblemished, and walk among my fellow-creatures pure and
   holy, then said I, "That is the gospel for me; an everlasting gospel."
   As for that sandy gospel, which bets you fall away and then come back
   again, it is the wickedest falsehood on earth. If I believed it, I
   would preach the gospel and be holy on the Sunday, and fall away on the
   Monday, and be a Christian again on the Tuesday; and I should say, "I
   have fallen from grace and have got up again." But now, as a true
   Calvinistic Christian, I desire to have in myself, and see in others, a
   life of constant consistency; nor can I think it possible to fall away,
   and then return, after the many passages which assert the impossibility
   of such a thing. That is the greatest safeguard on earth--that I have
   something within me that never can be quenched; that I put on the
   regimentals of a service which I never must leave, which I cannot leave
   without having proved that I never was enlisted at all. Oh! that keeps
   me near my God. But once make me doubt that, and you will see me the
   vilest character living under the sun. Take from me the everlastingness
   of the gospel, and you have taken all. Dear old Watts Wilkinson once
   said to Joseph Irons, when he said, "I love you to preach the covenant
   everlasting nature of God's love,"--" Ah!" said the old saint, "What is
   there else in the gospel if you do not preach it?" Brother, what is
   there else? If we do not preach an everlasting gospel, the gospel is
   not worth twopence. You may get anything uncertain anywhere else; it is
   in the Bible alone that we get everlasting things.

   "I to the end shall endure

   As sure as the earnest is given;

   More happy, but not more secure,

   Are the glorified spirits in heaven."

   But notice the next word, for it is a sweet one, and we must not let
   one portion go, " It is ordered in all things." "Order is heaven's
   first law," and God has not a disorderly covenant. It is an orderly
   one. When he planned it, before the world began, it was in all things
   ordered well. He so arranged it, that justice should be fully
   satisfied, and yet mercy should be linked hand-in-hand with it. He so
   planned it that vengeance should have its utmost jot and tittle, and
   yet mercy should save the sinner. Jesus Christ came to confirm it, and
   by his atonement, he ordered it in all things; he paid every drop of
   his blood; he did not leave one farthing of the ransom-money for his
   dear people, but he ordered it in all things. And the Holy Spirit, when
   he sweetly applies it, always applies it in order; he orders it in all
   things. He makes us sometimes understand this order, but if we do not,
   be sure of this, that the covenant is a well-ordered covenant. I have
   heard of a man who bought a piece of land, and when the covenant was
   being made, he thought he knew more about it than the lawyer; but you
   know it is said that when a man is his own lawyer he has a fool for his
   client. In this case the man had a fool for his client; and he drew up
   the covenant so badly, that in a few years it was discovered to be good
   for nothing, and he lost his property. But our Father's covenant is
   drawn up according to the strictest rules of justice; and so is ordered
   in all things. If hell itself should search it--if it were passed round
   amongst a conclave of demons, they could not find a single fault with
   it. There are the technical terms of heaven's court; there is the great
   seal at the bottom, and there is the signature of Jesus, written in his
   own blood. So it is "ordered in all things."

   That word things is not in the original, and we may read it persons, as
   well as things. It is ordered in all persons--all the persons whose
   names are in the covenant; it is ordered for them, and they shall come
   according to the promise: "All that the Father giveth me shall come to
   me; and him that cometh to me I will in no wise cast out." O my beloved
   Christian, stop at this promise a moment, for it is a sweet well of
   precious water to slake thy thirst and refresh thy weariness. It is
   "ordered in all things." What dost thou want more than this? Dost thou
   need constraining grace? It is "ordered in all things." Dost thou
   require more of the spirit of prayer? It is "ordered in all things."
   Dost thou desire more faith? It is "ordered in all things." Art thou
   afraid lest thou shouldst not hold out to the end? It is "ordered in
   all things." There is converting grace in it; pardoning grace in it;
   justifying grace, sanctifying grace, and persevering grace; for it is
   "ordered in all things, and sure." Nothing is left out; so that
   whene'er we come, we find all things there stored up in heavenly order.
   Galen, the celebrated physician, says of the human body, that its bones
   are so well put together, all the parts being so beautifully ordered,
   that we could not change one portion of it without spoiling its harmony
   and beauty; and if we should attempt to draw a model man, we could not,
   with all our ingenuity, fashion a being more wondrous in workmanship
   than man as he is. It is so with regard to the covenant. If we might
   alter it, we could not change it for the better; all its portions are
   beautifully agreed. I always feel when I am preaching the gospel
   covenant that I am secure. If I preach any other gospel, I am
   vulnerable, I am open to attack; but standing upon the firm ground of
   God's covenant, I feel I am in a tower of strength, and so long as I
   hold all the truths, I am not afraid that even the devils of hell can
   storm my castle. So secure is the man who believes the everlasting
   gospel; no logic can stand against it. Only let our preachers give the
   everlasting gospel to the people, and they will drink it as the ox
   drinketh water. You will find they love God's truth. But so long as
   God's gospel is smothered, and the candle is put under a bushel, we
   cannot expect men's souls will be brought to love it. I pray God that
   the candle may burn the bushel up, and that the light may be manifest.

   But now, to wind up our description of this covenant, it is sure. If I
   were a rich man, there would be but one thing I should want to make my
   riches all I desire, and that would be, to have them sure, for riches
   make to themselves wings, and fly away. Health is a great blessing, and
   we want but to write one word on it to make it the greatest blessing,
   that is the adjective "sure." We have relatives, and we love them; ah!
   if we could but write "sure" on them, what a blessed thing it would be.
   We cannot call anything "sure" on earth; the only place where we can
   write that word is on the covenant, which is "ordered in all things and
   sure." Now there is some poor brother come here this morning who has
   lost his covenant, as he thinks. Ah! brother, you once had peaceful
   hours and sweet enjoyment in the presence of God; but now you are in
   gloom and doubt; you have lost your roll. Well, let me tell you, though
   you have lost your roll, the covenant is not lost, for all that. You
   never had the covenant in your hands yet; you only had a copy of it,
   You thought you read your title clear, but you never read the
   title-deeds themselves; you only held a copy of the lease and you have
   lost it. The covenant itself; where is it? It is under the throne of
   God; it is in the archives of heaven, in the ark of the covenant; it is
   in Jesus's breast, it is on his hands, on his heart--it is there. Oh!
   if God were to put my salvation in my hands, I should be lost in ten
   minutes; but my salvation is not there--it is in Christ's hands. You
   have read of the celebrated dream of John Newton, which I will tell you
   to the best of my recollection. He thought he was out at sea, on board
   a vessel, when some bright angel flew down and presented him with a
   ring, saying, "As long as you wear this ring you shall be happy, and
   your soul shall be safe." He put the ring on his finger, and he felt
   happy to have it in his own possession. Then there came a spirit from
   the vasty deep, and said to him; "That ring is nought but folly;" and
   by cajolery and flattery the spirit at last persuaded him to slip the
   ring from off his finger, and he dropped it in the sea. Then there came
   fierce things from the deep; the mountains bellowed, and hurled upward
   their volcanic lava: all the earth was on fire, and his soul in the
   greatest trouble. By-and-bye a spirit came, and diving below, fetched
   up the ring, and showing it to him, said, "Now thou art safe, for I
   have saved the ring." Now might John Newton have said, "Let me put it
   on my finger again." "No, no; you cannot take care of it yourself;" and
   up the angel flew, carrying the ring away with him, so that then he
   felt himself secure, since no cajolery of hell could get it from him
   again, for it was up in heaven. My life is "hid with Christ in God." If
   I had my spiritual life in my own possession, I should be a suicide
   very soon; but it is not with me; and as I cannot save myself, as a
   Christian I cannot destroy myself, for my life is wrapped up in the
   covenant: it is with Christ in heaven. Oh, glorious and precious
   covenant!

   III. Now to close our meditation. The Psalmist had a satisfaction in
   his heart. "This is," he said, all my salvation, and all my desire." I
   should ill like the task of riding till I found a satisfied worldly
   man. I suspect there is not a horse that would not be worn off its legs
   before I found him; I think I should myself grow grey with age before I
   had discovered the happy individual, except I went to one place--that
   is, the heart of a man who has a covenant made with him, "ordered in
   all things, and sure." Go to the palace, but there is not satisfaction
   there; go to the cottage, though the poet talks about sweet retirement
   and blest contentment, there is not satisfaction there. The only solid
   satisfaction--satisfying the mouth with good things--is to be found in
   the true believer, who is satisfied from himself, satisfied with the
   covenant, Behold David: he says, "As for my salvation, I am secure; as
   for my desire, I am gratified: for this is all my salvation, and all my
   desire." He is satisfied with his salvation. Bring up the moralist. He
   has been toiling and working in order to earn salvation. Are you
   confident that if you died you would enter into heaven? "Well, I have
   been as good as other people, and, I dare say, I shall be more
   religious before I die;" but he cannot answer our question. Bring up
   the religious man--I mean the merely outwardly religious man. Are you
   sure that if you were to die you would go to heaven? "Well, I regularly
   attend church or chapel, I cannot say that I make any pretensions to be
   able to say, He hath made with me an everlasting covenant."' Very well,
   you must go. So I might introduce a score of men, and there is not one
   of them who can say, "This is all my salvation." They always want a
   little supplement, and most of you intend making that supplement a
   little while before you die. An old Jewish Rabbi says, that every man
   ought to repent at least one day before his last day; and as we do not
   know when our last day shall be, we ought to repent to-day. How many
   wish they knew when they were going to die, for then they fancy they
   would be sure to repent, and be converted a little while before. Why,
   if you had it revealed to you, that you would die at twenty minutes
   past twelve next Sunday, you would go on in sin up till twelve o'clock,
   and then you would say, "There are twenty minutes more--time enough
   yet;" and so until the twenty minutes past had come, when your soul
   would sink into eternal flames. Such is procrastination. It is the
   thief of time; it steals away our life; and did we know the hour of our
   dissolution, we should be no more prepared for it than we are now. You
   cannot say, can you, that you have all your salvation? But a Christian
   can. He can walk through the cholera and the pestilence, and feel that
   should the arrow smite him, death would be to him the entrance of life;
   he can lie down and grieve but little at the approach of dissolution,
   for he has all his salvation; his jewels are in his breast, gems which
   shall shine in heaven.

   Then, the Psalmist says, he has all his desire. There is nought that
   can fill the heart of man except the Trinity. God has made man's heart
   a triangle. Men have been for centuries trying to make the globe fill
   the triangle, but they cannot do it: it is the Trinity alone that can
   fill a triangle, as old Quarles well says. There is no way of getting
   satisfaction but by gaining Christ, getting heaven, winning glory,
   getting the covenant, for the word covenant comprises all the other
   things. "All my desire,"--says the Psalmist.

   "I nothing want on earth, above,

   Happy in my Saviour's love."

   I have not a desire; I have nothing to do but to live and be happy all
   my life in the company of Christ, and then to ascend to heaven, to be
   in his immediate presence, where

   "Millions of years these wondering eyes

   Shall o'er my Saviour's beauties rove,

   And endless ages I'll adore

   The wonders of his love."

   Just one word with my friends who do not agree with me in doctrine. I
   am sure, my dear friends, that I wish not to anathematize any of those
   whose creed is the reverse of mine; only they must allow me to differ
   from them and to speak freely; and if they do not allow me they know
   very well that I shall. But I have this much to say to those dear
   friends who cannot bear the thought of an everlasting covenant. Now,
   you cannot alter it, can you? If you do not like it, there it is. "God
   hath made with me an everlasting covenant." And you must confess, when
   you read the Bible, that there are some very knotty passages for you.
   You might, perhaps, remove them out of your Bible; but then you cannot
   erase them out of divine verities. You know it is true, that God is
   immutable, do you not? He never changes--you must know that, for the
   Bible says so. It declares that when he has begun a good work, he will
   carry it through. Do not get reading frothy commentators any longer;
   take the Bible as it stands, and if you do not see everlasting love
   there, there is some fault in your eyes, and it is a case rather for
   the Ophthalmic hospital, than for me. If you cannot see everlasting,
   eternal security, blood-bought righteousness, there, I am hopeless
   altogether of your conversion to the truth, while you read it with your
   present prejudices. It has been my privilege to give more prominence in
   the religious world to those old doctrines of the gospel. I have
   delighted in the musty old folios which many of my brethren have kept
   bound in sheepskins and goatskins, on their library shelves. As for new
   books, I leave them to others. Oh! if we might but go back to those
   days when the best of men were our pastors--the days of the Puritans.
   Oh! for a puritanical gospel again; then we should not have the sleepy
   hearers, the empty chapels, the drowsy preachers, the velvet-mouthed
   men who cannot speak the truth; but we should have "Glory to God in the
   highest, on earth peace, and good-will towards men." Do go home and
   search. I have told you what I believe to be true; if it is not true,
   detect the error by reading your Bibles for yourselves, and searching
   out the matter. As for you, ye ungodly, who hitherto have had neither
   portion nor lot in this matter, recollect that God's Word speaks to you
   as well as to the Christian, and says," Turn ye, turn ye; why will ye
   die, O house of Israel?" graciously promising that whosoever cometh to
   Christ he will in no wise cast out. It is a free gospel, free as the
   air, and he who has but life to breathe it may breathe it; so that
   every poor soul here, who is quickened, and has a sense of his guilt,
   may come to Christ.

   "Let not conscience make you linger,

   Nor of fitness fondly dream."

   All the evidence you require is to feel your need of Christ; and
   recollect, if you only once come, if you do but believe, you will be
   safe through all eternity; and amidst the wreck of matter, the crash of
   worlds, the conflagration of the universe, and the destruction of all
   terrestrial things, your soul must still be eternally secure in the
   covenant of God's free grace. God enable you now to become his adopted
   children by faith in Jesus.
     __________________________________________________________________

                       The Carnal Mind Enmity Against God

   A Sermon

   (No. 20)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 22, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "The carnal mind is enmity against God"--Romans 8:7.

   This is a very solemn indictment which the Apostle Paul here prefers
   against the carnal mind. He declares it to be enmity against God. When
   we consider what man once was, only second to the angels, the companion
   of God, who walked with him in the garden of Eden in the cool of the
   day; when we think of him as being made in the very image of his
   Creator, pure, spotless, and unblemished, we cannot but feel bitterly
   grieved to find such an accusation as this preferred against us as a
   race. We may well hang our harps upon the willows, while we listen to
   the voice of Jehovah solemnly speaking to his rebellious creature. "How
   art thou fallen from heaven, thou son of the morning!" "Thou sealest up
   the sum, full of wisdom, and perfect in beauty. Thou hast been in Eden,
   the garden of God; every precious stone was thy covering--the
   workmanship of thy tabrets and of thy pipes was prepared in thee in the
   day that thou wast created. Thou art the anointed cherub that covereth;
   and I have set thee so; thou wast upon the holy mountain of God; thou
   hast walked up and down in the midst of the stones of fire. Thou wast
   perfect in thy ways from the day that thou wast created, till iniquity
   was found in thee, and thou hast sinned; therefore, I will cast thee as
   profane out of the mountain of God; and I will destroy thee, O covering
   cherub, from the midst of the stones of fire."

   There is much to sadden us in a view of the ruins of our race. As the
   Carthaginian, who might tread the desolate site of his much-loved city,
   would shed many tears when he saw it laid in heaps by the Romans; or as
   the Jew, wandering through the deserted streets of Jerusalelm, would
   lament that the ploughshare had marred the beauty and the glory of that
   city which was the joy of the whole earth; so ought we to mourn for
   ourselves and our race, when we behold the ruins of that goodly
   structure which God had piled, that creature, matchless in symmetry,
   second only to angelic intellect, that mighty being, man--when we
   behold how he is "fallen, fallen, fallen, from his high estate," and
   lies in a mass of destruction. A few years ago a star was seen blazing
   out with considerable brilliance, but soon disappeared; it has since
   been affirmed that it was a world on fire, thousands of millions of
   miles from us, and yet the rays of the conflagration reached us; the
   noiseless messenger of light gave to the distant dwellers on this globe
   the alarm of "A world on fire!" But what is the conflagration of a
   distant planet, what is the destruction of the mere material of the
   most ponderous orb, compared with this fall of humanity, this wreck of
   all that is holy and sacred in ourselves? To us, indeed, the things are
   scarcely comparable, since we are deeply interested in one, though not
   in the other. The fall of Adam was OUR fall; we fell in and with him;
   we were equal sufferers; it is the ruin of our own house that we
   lament, it is the destruction of our own city that we bemoan, when we
   stand and see written, in lines too plain for us to mistake their
   meaning, "The carnal mind"--that very self-same mind which was once
   holiness, and has now become carnal--"is enmity against God." May God
   help me, this morning, solemnly to prefer this indictment against all!
   Oh! that the Holy Spirit may so convince us of sin, that we may
   unanimously plead "guilty" before God.

   There is no difficulty in understanding my text; it needs scarcely any
   explanation. We all know that the word "carnal" here signifies fleshly.
   The old translators rendered the passage thus; "The mind of the flesh
   is enmity against God"--that is to say, the natural mind, that soul
   which we inherit from our fathers, that which was born within us when
   our bodies were fashioned by God. The fleshly mind, the phronema
   sarkos, the lusts, the passions of the soul; it is this which has gone
   astray from God, and become enmity against him.

   But, before we enter upon a discussion of the doctrine of the text,
   observe how strongly the Apostle expresses it. "The carnal mind," he
   says, "is ENMITY against God." He uses a noun, and not an adjective. He
   does not say it is opposed to God merely, but it is positive enmity. It
   is not black, but blackness; it is not at enmity, but enmity itself; it
   is not corrupt, but corruption; it is not rebellious, it is rebellion;
   it is not wicked, it is wickedness itself. The heart, though it be
   deceitful, is positively deceit; it is evil in the concrete, sin in the
   essence; it is the distillation, the quintessence of all things that
   are vile; it is not envious against God, it is envy; it is not at
   enmity, it is actual enmity.

   Nor need we say a word to explain that it is "enmity against God." It
   does not charge manhood with an aversion merely to the dominion, laws,
   or doctrines of Jehovah; but it strikes a deeper and surer blow. It
   does not strike man upon the head; it penetrates into his heart; it
   lays the axe at the root of the tree, and pronounces him "enmity
   against God," against the person of the Godhead, against the Deity,
   against the mighty Maker of this world; not at enmity against his Bible
   or against his gospel, though that were true, but against God himself,
   against his essence, his existence, and his person. Let us, then, weigh
   the words of the text, for they are solemn words. They are well put
   together by that master of eloquence, Paul, and they were moreover,
   dictated by the Holy Spirit, who telleth man how to speak aright. May
   he help us to expound, as he has already given us the passage to
   explain.

   We shall be called upon to notice, this morning, first, the
   truthfulness of this assertion; secondly, the universality of the evil
   here complained of; thirdly, we will still further enter into the
   depths of the subject, and press it to your hearts, by showing the
   enormity of the evil; and after that, should we have time, we will
   deduce one or two doctrines from the general fact.

   I. First, we are called upon to speak of the truthfulness of this great
   statement. "The carnal mind is enmity against God." It needs no proof,
   for since it is written in God's word, we, as Christian men, are bound
   to bow before it. The words of the Scriptures are words of infinite
   wisdom, and if reason cannot see the ground of a statement of
   revelation, it is bound, most reverently, to believe it, since we are
   well assured, even should it be above our reason, that it cannot be
   contrary thereunto. Here I find it written in the Scriptures, "The
   carnal mind is enmity against God;" and that of itself is enough for
   me. But did I need witnesses, I would conjure up the nations of
   antiquity; I would unroll the volume of ancient history; I would tell
   you of the awful deeds of mankind. It may be I might move your souls to
   detestation, if I spake of the cruelty of this race to itself, if I
   showed you how it made the world an Aceldama, by its wars, and deluged
   it with blood by its fightings and murders; if I should recite the
   black list of vices in which whole nations have indulged, or even bring
   before you the characters of some of the most eminent philosophsers, I
   should blush to speak of them, and you would refuse to hear; yea, it
   would be impossible for you, as refined inhabitants of a civilized
   country, to endure the mention of the crimes that were committed by
   those very men who, now-a-days, are held up as being paragons of
   perfection. I fear, if all the truth were written, we should rise up
   from reading the lives of earth's mightiest heroes and proudest sages,
   and would say at once of all of them, "They are clean gone out of the
   way; they are altogether become unprofitable; there is none that doeth
   good, no, not one.

   And, did not that suffice, I would point you to the delusions of the
   heathen; I would tell you of their priestcraft, by which their souls
   have been enthralled in superstition; I would drag their gods before
   you; I would let you witness the horrid obscenities, the diabolical
   rites which are to these besotted men most sacred things. Then after
   you had heard what the natural religion of man is, I would ask what
   must his irreligion be? If this is his devotion, what must be his
   impiety? If this be his ardent love of the Godhead, what must his
   hatred thereof be? Ye would, I am sure, at once confess, did ye know
   what the race is, that the indictment is proven, and that the world
   must unreservedly and truthfully exclaim, "guilty."

   A further argument I might find in the fact, that the best of men have
   been always the readiest to confess their depravity. The holiest men,
   the most free from impurity, have always felt it most. He whose
   garments are the whitest, will best perceive the spots upon them. He
   whose crown shineth the brightest, will know when he hath lost a jewel.
   He who giveth the most light to the world, will always be able to
   discover his own darkness. The angels of heaven veil their faces; and
   the angels of God on earth, his chosen people, must always veil their
   faces with humility, when they think of what they were. Hear David: he
   was none of those who boast of a holy nature and a pure disposition. He
   says, "Behold, I was shapen in iniquity; and in sin did my mother
   conceive me." Hear all those holy men who have written in the inspired
   volume, and ye shall find them all confessing that they were not clean,
   no not one; yea, one of them exclaimed, "O wretched man that I am; who
   shall deliver me from the body of this death?"

   And more, I will summon one other witness to the truthfulness of this
   fact, who shall decide the question; it shall be your conscience.
   Conscience, I will put thee in the witness-box, and cross-examine thee
   this morning! Conscience, truly answer! Be not drugged with the
   laudanum of self-security! Speak the truth! Didst thou never hear the
   heart say, "I wish there were no God?" Have not all men, at times,
   wished that our religion were not true? Though they could not entirely
   rid their souls of the idea of the Godhead, did they not wish that
   there might not be a God? Have they not had the desire that it might
   turn out that all these divine realities were a delusion, a farce, and
   an imposture? "Yea," saith every man; "that has crossed my mind
   sometimes. I have wished I might indulge in folly; I have wished there
   were no laws to restrain me; I have wished, as the fool, that there
   were no God." That passage in the Psalms, "The fool hath said in his
   heart, there is no God," is wrongly translated. It should be, "The fool
   hath said in his heart, no God." The fool does not say in his heart
   there is no God, for he knows there is a God; but he says, "No God--I
   don't want any; I wish there were none." And who amongst us has not
   been so foolish as to desire that there were no God? Now, conscience,
   answer another question! Thou hast confessed that thou hast at times
   wished there were no God; now, suppose a man wished another dead, would
   not that show that he hated him? Yes, it would. And so, my friends, the
   wish that there were no God, proves that we dislike God. When I wish
   such a man dead and rotting in his grave; when I desire that he were
   non est, I must hate that man; otherwise I should not wish him to be
   extinct. So that wish--and I do not think there has been a man in this
   world who has not had it--proves that "the carnal mind is enmity
   against God."

   But, conscience, I have another question! Has not thine heart ever
   desired, since there is a God, that he were a little less holy, a
   little less pure, so that those things which are now great crimes might
   be regarded as venial offences, as peccadillos? Has thy heart never
   said, "Would to God these sins were not forbidden! Would that he would
   be merciful and pass them by without an atonement! Would that he were
   not so severe, so rigorously just, so sternly strict to his integrity."
   Hast thou never said that, my heart? Conscience must reply, "Thou
   hast." Well, that wish to change God, proves that thou art not in love
   with the God that now is, the God of heaven and earth; and though thou
   mayest talk of natural religion, and boast that thou dost reverence the
   God of the green fields, the grassy meads, the swelling flood, the
   rolling thunder, the azure sky, the starry night, and the great
   universe--though thou lovest the poetic beau ideal of Deity, it is not
   the God of Scripture, for thou hast wished to change his nature, and in
   that hast thou proved that thou art at enmity with him. But wherefore,
   conscience, should I go thus round about? Thou canst bear faithful
   witness, if thou wouldst speak the truth, that each person here has so
   transgressed against God, so continually broken his laws, violated his
   Sabbath, trampled on his statutes, despised his gospel, that it is
   true, aye, most true, that "the carnal mind is enmity against God."

   II. Now Secondly, we are called upon to notice the universality of this
   evil. What a broad assertion it is. It is not a single carnal mind, or
   a certain class of characters, but "the carnal mind." It is an
   unqualified statement, including every individual. Whatever mind may
   properly be called carnal, not having been spiritualized by the power
   of God's Holy Ghost, is "enmity against God."

   Observe then, first of all, the universality of this as to all persons.
   Every carnal mind in the world is at enmity against God. This does not
   exclude even infants at the mothers' breast. We call them innocent, and
   so they are of actual transgression, but as the poet says, "Within the
   youngest breast there lies a stone." There is in the carnal mind of an
   infant, enmity against God; it is not developed, but it lieth there.
   Some say that children learn sin by imitation. But no; take a child
   away, place it under the most pious influences, let the very air it
   breathes be purified by piety; let it constantly drink in draughts of
   holiness; let it hear nothing but the voice of prayer and praise; let
   its ear be always kept in tune by notes of sacred song; and that child,
   notwithstanding, may still become one of the grossest of transgressors;
   and though placed apparently on the very road to heaven, it shall, if
   not directed by divine grace, march downwards to the pit. Oh! how true
   it is that some who have had the best of parents, have been the worst
   of sons; that many who have been trained up under the most holy
   auspices, in the midst of the most favorable scenes for piety, have
   nevertheless, become loose and wanton! So it is not by imitation, but
   it is by nature, that the child is evil. Grant me that the child is
   carnal, and my text says, "the carnal mind is enmity against God." The
   young crocodile, I have heard, when broken from the shell, will in a
   moment begin to put itself in a posture of attack, opening its mouth as
   if it had been taught and trained. We know that young lions, when tamed
   and domesticated, still will have the wild nature of their fellows of
   the forest, and were liberty given them, would prey as fiercely as
   others. So with the child; you may bind him with the green withes of
   education, you may do what you will with him, since you cannot change
   his heart, that carnal mind shall still be at enmity against God; and
   notwithstanding intellect, talent, and all you may give to boot, it
   shall be of the same sinful complexion as every other child, if not as
   apparently evil; for "the carnal mind is enmity against God."

   And if this applies to children, equally does it include every class of
   men. There be some men that are born into this world master-spirits,
   who walk about it as giants, wrapped in mantles of light and glory. I
   refer to the poets, men who stand aloft like Colossi, mightier than we,
   seeming to be descended from celestial spheres. There be others of
   acute intellect, who, searching into mysteries of science, discover
   things that have been hidden from the creation of the world; men of
   keen research, and mighty erudition; and yet of each of these--poet,
   philosopher, metaphysician, and great discoverer--it shall be said,
   "The carnal mind is enmity against God." Ye may train him up, ye may
   make his intellect almost angelic, ye may strengthen his soul until he
   shall take what are riddles to us, and unravel them with his fingers in
   a moment; ye may make him so mighty, that he can grasp the iron secrets
   of the eternal hills and grind them to atoms in his fist; ye may give
   him an eye so keen, that he can penetrate the arcana of rocks and
   mountains; ye may add a soul so potent, that he may slay the giant
   Sphinx, that had for ages troubled the mightiest men of learning; yet,
   when ye have done all, his mind shall be a depraved one, and his carnal
   heart shall still be in opposition to God. Yea, more, ye shall bring
   him to the house of prayer; ye shall make him sit constantly under the
   clearest preaching of the word, where he shall hear the doctrines of
   grace in all their purity, attended by a holy unction; but if that holy
   unction does not rest upon him, all shall be vain; he shall still come
   most regularly, but, like the pious door of the chapel, that turneth in
   and out, he shall still be the same; having an outside superficial
   religion, and his carnal mind shall still be at enmity against God.
   Now, this is not my assertion, it is the declaration of God's word, and
   you must leave it if you do not believe it; but quarrel not with me, it
   is my Master's message; and it is true of every one of you--men, women,
   and children, and myself too--that if we have not been regenerated and
   converted, if we have not experienced a change of heart, our carnal
   mind is still at enmity against God.

   Again, notice the universality of this at all times. The carnal mind is
   at all times enmity against God. "Oh," say some, "it may be true that
   we are at times opposed to God, but surely we are not always so."
   "There be moments," says one, "when I feel rebellious; at times my
   passions lead me astray; but surely there are other favorable seasons
   when I really am friendly to God, and offer true devotion. I have
   (continues the objector), stood upon the mountain-top, until my whole
   soul has kindled with the scene below, and my lips have uttered the
   song of praise,--

   "These are thy glorious works, parent of good,

   Almighty, thine this universal frame,

   Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then!"

   Yes, but mark, what is true one day is not false another; "the carnal
   mind is enmity against God" at all times. The wolf may sleep, but it is
   a wolf still. The snake with its azure hues, may slumber amid the
   flowers, and the child may stroke its slimy back, but it is a serpent
   still; it does not change its nature, though it is dormant. The sea is
   the house of storms, even when it is glassy as a lake; the thunder is
   still the mighty rolling thunder, when it is so much aloft that we hear
   it not. And the heart, when we perceive not its ebullitions, when it
   belches not forth its lava, and sendeth not forth the hot stones of its
   corruption, is still the same dread volcano. At all times, at all
   hours, at every moment, (I speak this as God speaketh it), if ye are
   carnal, ye are each one of you enmity against God.

   Another thought concerning the universality of this statement. The
   whole of the mind is enmity against God. The text says, "The carnal
   mind is enmity against God." That is, the entire man, every part of
   him--every power, every passion. It is a question often asked, "What
   part of man was injured by the fall?" Some think that the fall was only
   felt by the affections, and that the intellect was unimpaired; this
   they argue from the wisdom of man, and the mighty discoveries he has
   made, such as the law of gravitation, the steam-engine, and the
   sciences. Now, I consider these things as being a very mean display of
   wisdom, compared with what is to come in a hundred years, and very
   small compared with what might have been, if man's intellect had
   continued in its pristine condition. I believe that the fall crushed
   man entirely, albeit, when it rolled like an avalanche upon the mighty
   temple of human nature, some shafts were still left undestroyed, and
   amidst the ruins you find here and there, a flute, a pedestal, a
   cornice, a column, not quite broken, yet the entire structure fell, and
   its most glorious relics are fallen ones, levelled in the dust. The
   whole of man is defaced. Look at our memory; is it not true that the
   memory is fallen? I can recollect evil things far better than those
   which savor of piety. I hear a ribald song; that music of hell shall
   jar in my ear when gray hairs shall be upon my head. I hear a note of
   holy praise; alas! it is forgotten! For memory graspeth with an iron
   hand ill things, but the good she holdeth with feeble fingers. She
   suffereth the glorious timbers from the forest of Lebanon to swim down
   the stream of oblivion, but she stoppeth all the draff that floateth
   from the foul city of Sodom. She will retain evil, she will lose good.
   Memory is fallen. So are the affections. We love everything earthly
   better than we ought; we soon fix our heart upon a creature, but very
   seldom on the Creator; and when the heart is given to Jesus, it is
   prone to wander. Look at the imagination, too. Oh! how can the
   imagination revel, when the body is in an ill condition? Only give man
   something that shall well nigh intoxicate him; drug him with opium; and
   how will his imagination dance with joy! Like a bird uncaged, how will
   it mount with more than eagles' wings! He sees things he had not
   dreamed of even in the shades of night. Why did not his imagination
   work when his body was in a normal state--when it was healthy? Simply
   because it is depraved; and until he had entered a foul element--until
   the body had begun to quiver with a kind of intoxication--the fancy
   would not hold its carnival. We have some splendid specimens of what
   men could write, when they have been under the accursed influence of
   ardent spirits. It is because the mind is so depraved that it loves
   something which puts the body into an abnormal condition; and here we
   have a proof that the imagination itself has gone astray. So with the
   judgement--I might prove how ill it decides. So might I accuse the
   conscience, and tell you how blind it is, and how it winks at the
   greatest follies. I might review all our powers, and write upon the
   brow of each one, "Traitor against heaven! traitor against God!" The
   whole "carnal mind is enmity against God."

   Now, my hearers, "the Bible alone is the religion of Protestants;" but
   whenever I find a certain book much held in reverence by our
   Episcopalian brethren, entirely on my side, I always feel the greatest
   delight in quoting from it. Do you know I am one of the best churchmen
   in the world; the very best, if you will judge me by the articles, and
   the very worst, if you measure me in any other way. Measure me by the
   articles of the Church of England, and I will not stand second to any
   man under heaven's blue sky in preaching the gospel contained in them;
   for if there be an excellent epitome of the gospel, it is to be found
   in the articles of the Church of England. Let me show you that you have
   not been hearing strange doctrine. Here is the 9th article, upon
   Original or Birth Sin: "Original Sin standeth not in the following of
   Adam; (as the Pelagians do vainly talk); but it is the fault and
   corruption of the nature of every man, that naturally is engendered of
   the offspring of Adam; whereby man is very far gone from original
   righteousness, and is of his own nature inclined to evil, so that the
   flesh lusteth always contrary to the spirit; and, therefore, in every
   person born into this world, it deserveth God's wrath and damnation.
   And this infection of nature doth remain, yea, in them that are
   regenerated; whereby the lust of the flesh, called in the Greek,
   phronema sarkos, which some do expound the wisdom, some sensuality,
   some the affection, some the desire, of the flesh, is not subject to
   the Law of God. And although there is no condemnation for them that
   believe and are baptized, yet the apostle doth confess, that
   concupiscence and lust hath of itself the nature of sin." I want
   nothing more. Will any one who believes in the Prayer Book dissent from
   the doctrine that "the carnal mind is enmity against God?"

   III. I have said that I would endeavor, in the third place, to show the
   great enormity of this guilt. I do fear, my brethren, that very often
   when we consider our state, we think not so much of the guilt as of the
   misery. I have sometimes read sermons upon the inclination of the
   sinner to evil, in which it has been very powerfully proved, and
   certainly the pride of human nature has been well humbled and brought
   low; but one thing always strikes me, if it is left out, as being a
   very great omission; viz.--the doctrine that man is guilty in all these
   things. If his heart is against God, we ought to tell him it is his
   sin; and if he cannot repent, we ought to show him that sin is the sole
   cause of his disability--that all his alienation from God is sin--that
   as long as he keeps from God it is sin. I fear many of us here must
   acknowledge that we do not charge the sin of it to our own consciences.
   Yes, say we, we have many corruptions. Oh! yes. But we sit down very
   contented. My brethren, we ought not to do so. The having those
   corruptions is our crime which should be confessed as an enormous evil;
   and if I, as a minister of the gospel, do not press home the sin of the
   thing, I have missed what is the very virus of it. I have left out the
   very essence, if I have not shown that it is a crime. Now, "The carnal
   mind is enmity against God." What a sin it is! This will appear in two
   ways. Consider the relation in which we stand to God, and then remember
   what God is; and after I have spoken of these two things, I hope you
   will see, indeed, that it is a sin to be at enmity with God.

   What is God to us? He is the Creator of the heavens and the earth; he
   bears up the pillars of the universe; his breath perfumes the flowers;
   his pencil paints them; he is the author of this fair creation; "we are
   the sheep of his pasture; he hath made us, and not we ourselves." He
   stands to us in the relationship of a Maker and Creator; and from that
   fact he claims to be our King. He is our legislator, our law-maker; and
   then, to make our crime still worse and worse, he is the ruler of
   providence; for it is he who keeps up from day to day. He supplys our
   wants; he keeps the breath within our nostrils; he bids the blood still
   pursue its course through the veins; he holdeth us in life, and
   preventeth us from death; he standeth before us, our creator, our king,
   our sustainer, our benefactor, and I ask, is it not a sin of enormous
   magnitude--is it not high treason against the emperor of heaven--is it
   not an awful sin, the depth of which we cannot fathom with the line of
   all our judgment--that we, his creatures, dependent upon him, should be
   at enmity with God?

   But the crime may seem to be worse when we think of what God is. Let me
   appeal personally to you in an interrogatory style, for this has weight
   with it. Sinner! why art thou at enmity with God? God is the God of
   love; he is kind to his creatures; he regards you with his love of
   benevolence; for this very day his sun hath shone upon you, this day
   you have had food and raiment, and you have come up here in health and
   strength. Do you hate God because he loves you? Is that the reason?
   Consider how many mercies you have received at his hands all your life
   long! You are born with a body not deformed; you have had a tolerable
   share of health; you have been recovered many times from sickness; when
   lying at the gates of death, his arm has held back your soul from the
   last step to destruction. Do you hate God for all this? Do you hate him
   because he spared your life by his tender mercy? Behold his goodness
   that he hath spread before you! He might have sent you to hell; but you
   are here. Now, do you hate God for sparing you? Oh, wherefore art thou
   at enmity with him? My fellow creature, dost thou not know that God
   sent his Son from his bosom, hung him on the tree, and there suffered
   him to die for sinners, the just for the unjust? And dost thou hate God
   for that? Oh, sinner! is this the cause of thine enmity? Art thou so
   estranged that thou givest enmity for love? And when he surroundeth
   thee with favors, girdeth thee with mercies, encircleth thee with
   loving kindness, dost thou hate him for this? He might say, as Jesus
   did to the Jews, "For which of these works do ye stone me?" For which
   of these works do ye hate God? Did an earthly benefactor feed you,
   would you hate him? Did he clothe you, would you abuse him to his face?
   Did he give you talents, would you turn those powers against him? Oh,
   speak! Would you forge the iron and strike the dagger into the heart of
   your best friend? Do you hate your mother, who nursed you on her knee?
   Do you curse your father, who so wisely watched over you? Nay, ye say,
   we have some little gratitude towards earthly relatives. Where are your
   hearts, then? Where are your hearts, that ye can still despise God, and
   be at enmity with him? Oh! diabolical crime! Oh! satanic enormity! Oh!
   iniquity for which words fail in description! To hate the
   all-lovely--to despise the essentially good--to abhor the constantly
   merciful--to spurn the ever beneficent--to scorn the kind, the gracious
   one; above all, to hate the God who sent his son to die for man! Ah! in
   that thought--"The carnal mind is enmity with God;" there is something
   which may make us shake; for it is a terrible sin to be at enmity with
   God. I would I could speak more powerfully, but my Master alone can
   impress upon you the enormous evil of this horrid state of heart.

   IV. But there are one or two doctrines which we will try to deduce from
   this. Is the carnal mind at enmity against God? Then salvation cannot
   be by merit; it must be by grace. If we are at enmity with God, what
   merit can we have? How can we deserve anything from the being we hate?
   Even if we were pure as Adam, we could not have any merit; for I do not
   think Adam had any desert before his Creator. When he had kept all his
   Master's law he was but an unprofitable servant; he had done no more
   than he ought to have done; he had no surplus, no balance. But since we
   have become enemies, how much less can we hope to be saved by works!
   Oh! no; but the whole Bible tells us, from beginning to end, that
   salvation is not by the works of the law, but by the deeds of grace.
   Martin Luther declared that he constantly preached justification by
   faith alone, "because," said he, "the people would forget it; so that I
   was obliged almost to knock my Bible against their heads, to send it
   into their hearts." So it is true; we constantly forget that salvation
   is by grace alone. We always want to be putting in some little scrap of
   our own virtue; we want to be doing something. I remember a saying of
   old Matthew Wilkes: "Saved by your works! you might as well try to go
   to America in a paper boat!" Saved by your works! It is impossible! Oh!
   no, the poor legalist is like a blind horse going round and round the
   mill, or like the prisoner going up the treadwheel, and finding himself
   no higher after all he has done; he has no solid confidence, no firm
   ground to rest upon. He has not done enough--"never enough;" conscience
   always says, "this is not perfection; it ought to have been better,"
   Salvation for enemies must be by an ambassador,--by an atonement,--yea,
   by Christ.

   Another doctrine we gather from this is, the necessity of an entire
   change of our nature. It is true, that by birth we are at enmity with
   God. How necessary then it is that our nature should be changed! There
   are few people who sincerely believe this. They think that if they cry,
   "Lord, have mercy upon me," when they lay a-dying, they shall go to
   heaven directly. Let me suppose an impossible case for a moment. Let me
   imagine a man entering heaven without a change of heart. He comes
   within the gates. He hears a sonnet. He starts! It is to the praise of
   his enemy. He sees a throne, and on it sits one who is glorious; but it
   is his enemy. He walks streets of gold, but those streets belong to his
   enemy. He sees hosts of angels; but those hosts are the servants of his
   enemy. He is in an enemy's house; for he is at enmity with God. He
   could not join the song, for he would not know the tune. There he would
   stand, silent, motionless; till Christ would say, with a voice louder
   than ten thousand thunders, "What dost thou here? Enemies at a marriage
   banquet? Enemies in the children's house? Enemies in heaven? Get thee
   gone? Depart, ye cursed, into everlasting fire in hell!'" Oh! sirs, if
   the unregenerate man could enter heaven, I mention once more the
   oft-repeated saying of Whitefield, he would be so unhappy in heaven,
   that he would ask God to let him run down to hell for shelter. There
   must be a change, if ye consider the future state; for how can enemies
   to God ever sit down at the banquet of the Lamb?

   And to conclude, let me remind you--and it is in the text after
   all--that this change must be worked by a power beyond your own. An
   enemy may possibly make himself a friend; but enmity cannot. If it be
   but an adjunct of his nature to be an enemy, he may change himself into
   a friend; but if it is the very essence of his existence to be enmity,
   positive enmity, enmity cannot change itself. No, there must be
   something done more than we can accomplish. This is just what is
   forgotten in these days. We must have more preaching of the Holy
   Spirit, if we are to have more conversion work. I tell you, sirs, if
   you change yourselves, and make yourselves better, and better, and
   better, a thousand times, you will never be good enough for heaven,
   till God's Spirit has laid his hand upon you; till he has renewed the
   heart, till he has purified the soul, till he has changed the entire
   spirit and new-made the man, there can be no entering heaven. How
   seriously, then, should each stand and think. Here am I, a creature of
   a day, a mortal born to die, but yet an immortal! At present I am at
   enmity with God. What shall I do? Is it not my duty, as well as my
   happiness, to ask whether there be a way to be reconciled to God?

   Oh! weary slaves of sin, are not your ways the paths of folly? Is it
   wisdom, O my fellow-creatures, is it wisdom to hate your Creator? Is it
   wisdom to stand in opposition against him? Is it prudent to despise the
   riches of his grace? If it be wisdom, it is hell's wisdom; if it be
   wisdom, it is a wisdom which is folly with God. Oh! may God grant that
   you may turn unto Jesus with full purpose of heart! He is the
   ambassador; he it is who can make peace through his blood; and though
   you came in here an enemy, it is possible you may go out through that
   door a friend yet, if you can but look to Jesus Christ, the brazen
   serpent which was lifted up.

   And now, it may be, some of you are convinced of sin, by the Holy
   Spirit. I will now proclaim to you the way of salvation. "As Moses
   lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so must the Son of man be
   lifted up; that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have
   eternal life." Behold, O trembling penitent, the means of thy
   deliverance. Turn thy tearful eye to yonder Mount of Calvary! See the
   victim of justice--the sacrifice of atonement for your transgression.
   View the Saviour in his agonies, with streams of blood purchasing thy
   soul, and with intensest agonies enduring thy punishment. He died for
   thee, if now thou dost confess thy guilt. O come, thou condemned one,
   self-condemned, and turn thine eye this way, for one look will save.
   Sinner! thou art bitten. Look! It is naught but "Look!" It is simply
   "Look!" If thou canst but look to Jesus, thou art safe. Hear the voice
   of the Redeemer: "look unto me, and be ye saved." Look! Look! Look! O
   guilty souls.

   "Venture on him, venture wholly,

   Let no other trust intrude;

   None but Jesus, kind and loving,

   Can do helpless sinners good."

   May my blessed Master help you to come to him, and draw you to his Son,
   for Jesu's sake. Amen and Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                       Christ's People--Imitators of Him

   A Sermon

   (No. 21)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 29, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Now when they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived that
   they were unlearned and ignorant men, they marvelled; and they took
   knowledge of them, that they had been with Jesus."--Acts 4:13.

   BEHOLD! what a change divine grace will work in a man, and in how short
   a time. That same Peter, who so lately followed his master afar off,
   and with oaths and curses denied that he knew his name, is now to be
   found side by side with the loving John, boldly declaring that there is
   salvation in none other name save that of Jesus Christ, and preaching
   the resurrection of the dead, through the sacrifice of his dying Lord.
   The Scribes and Pharisees soon discover the reason of his boldness.
   Rightly did they guess that it rested not in his learning or his
   talents, for neither Peter nor John had been educated; they had been
   trained as fishermen; their education was a knowledge of the sea--of
   the fisherman's craft; none other had they; their boldness could not
   therefore spring from the self-sufficiency of knowledge, but from the
   Spirit of the living God. Nor did they acquire their courage from their
   station; for rank will confer a sort of dignity upon a man, and make
   him speak with a feigned authority, even when he has no talent or
   genius; but these men were, as it says in the original text, idiotai,
   private men, who stood in no official capacity; men without rank or
   station. When they saw the boldness of Peter and John, and perceived
   that they were unlearned and private individuals, they marveled, and
   they came to a right conclusion as to the source of their power--they
   had been dwelling with Jesus. Their conversation with the Prince of
   light and glory, backed up, as they might also have known, by the
   influence of the Holy Spirit, without which even that eminently holy
   example would have been in vain, had made them bold for their Master's
   cause. Oh! my brethren, it were well if this condemnation, so forced
   from the lips of enemies, could also be compelled by our own example.
   If we could live like Peter and John; if our lives were "living
   epistles of God, known and read of all men;" if, whenever we were seen,
   men would take knowledge of us, that we had been with Jesus, it would
   be a happy thing for this world, and a blessed thing for us. It is
   concerning that I am to speak to you this morning; and as God gives me
   grace, I will endeavor to stir up your minds by way of remembrance, and
   urge you so to imitate Jesus Christ, our heavenly pattern, that men may
   perceive that you are disciples of the Holy Son of God.

   First, then, this morning, I will tell you what a Christian should be;
   secondly, I will tell you when he should be so; thirdly, why he should
   be so; and then fourthly how he can be so.

   I. As God may help us then, first of all, we will speak of WHAT A
   BELIEVER SHOULD BE. A Christian should be a striking likeness of Jesus
   Christ. You have read lives of Christ, beautifully and eloquently
   written, and you have admired the talent of the persons who could write
   so well; but the best life of Christ is his living biography, written
   out in the words and actions of his people. If we, my brethren, were
   what we profess to be; if the Spirit of the Lord were in the heart of
   all his children, as we could desire; and if, instead of having
   abundance of formal professors, we were all possessors of that vital
   grace, I will tell you not only what we ought to be, but what we should
   be: we should be pictures of Christ, yea, such striking likenesses of
   him that the world would not have to hold us up by the hour together,
   and say, "Well, it seems somewhat of a likeness;" but they would, when
   they once beheld us, exclaim, "He has been with Jesus; he has been
   taught of him; he is like him; he has caught the very idea of the holy
   Man of Nazareth, and he expands it out into his very life and every day
   actions."

   In enlarging upon this point, it will be necessary to premise, that
   when we here affirm that men should be such and such a thing, we refer
   to the people of God. We do not wish to speak to them in any legal way.
   We are not under the law, but under grace. Christian men hold
   themselves bound to keep all God's precepts; but the reason why they do
   so is not because the law is binding upon them, but because the gospel
   constrains them; they believe, that having been redeemed by blood
   divine; having been purchased by Jesus Christ, they are more bound to
   keep his commands, than they would have been if they were under the
   law; they hold themselves to be ten thousand fold more debtors to God,
   than they could have been under the Mosaic dispensation. Not of force;
   not of compulsion; not through fear of the whip; not through legal
   bondage; but through pure, disinterested love and gratitude to God,
   they lay themselves out for his service, seeking to be Israelites
   indeed, in whom there is no guile. This much I have declared lest any
   man should think that I am preaching works as the way to salvation; I
   will yield to none in this, that I will ever maintain--that by grace we
   are saved, and not by ourselves; but equally must I testify, that where
   the grace of God is, it will produce fitting deeds. To these I am ever
   bound to exhort you, while ye are ever expected to have good works for
   necessary purposes. Again, I do not, when I say that a believer should
   be a striking likeness of Jesus, suppose that any one Christian will
   perfectly exhibit all the features of our Lord and Saviour Jesus
   Christ; yet, my brethren, the fact that perfection is beyond our reach,
   should not diminish the ardore of our desire after it. The artist, when
   he paints, knows right well that he shall not be able to excel Apelles;
   but that does not discourage him; he uses his brush with all the
   greater pains, that he may, at least in some humble measure, resemble
   the great master. So the sculptor, though persuaded that he will not
   rival Praxiteles, will hew out the marble still, and seek to be as near
   the model as possible. Thus so the Christian man; though he feels he
   never can mount to the heights of complete excellence, and perceives
   that he never can on earth become the exact image of Christ, still
   holds it up before him, and measures his own deficiencies by the
   distance between himself and Jesus. This will he do; forgetting all he
   has attained, he will press forward, crying, Excelsior! going upwards
   still, desiring to be conformed more and more to the image of Christ
   Jesus.

   First, then, a Christian should be like Christ in his boldness. This is
   a virtue now-a-days called impudence, but the grace is equally valuable
   by whatever name it may be called. I suppose if the Scribes had given a
   definition of Peter and John, they would have called them impudent
   fellows.

   Jesus Christ and his disciples were noted for their courage. "When they
   saw the boldness of Peter and John, they took knowledge of them, that
   they had been with Jesus." Jesus Christ never fawned upon the rich; he
   stooped not to the great and noble; he stood erect, a man before
   men--the prophet of the people; speaking out boldly and freely what he
   thought. Have you never admired that mighty deed of his, when going to
   the city where he had lived and been brought up? Knowing that a prophet
   had no honor in his own country, the book was put into his hands (he
   had but then commenced his ministry), yet without tremor he unrolled
   the sacred volume, and what did he take for his text? Most men, coming
   to their own neighborhood, would have chosen a subject adapted to the
   taste, in order to earn fame. But what doctrine did Jesus preach that
   morning? One which in our age is scorned and hated--the doctrine of
   election. He opened the Scriptures, and began to read thus: "Many
   widows were in Israel in the days of Elias, when the heaven was shut up
   three years and six months, when great famine was throughout all the
   land; but unto none of them was Elias sent, save unto Sarepta, a city
   of Sodom, unto a woman that was a widow. And many lepers were in Israel
   in the time of Eliseus, the prophet; and none of them were cleansed,
   saving Naaman, the Syrian." Then he began to tell, how God saveth whom
   he pleases, and rescues whom he chooses. Ah! how they gnashed their
   teeth upon him, dragged him out, and would have cast him from the brow
   of the hill. Do you not admire his intrepidity? He saw their teeth
   gnashing; he knew their hearts were hot with enmity, while their mouths
   foamed withe revenge and malice; still he stood like the angel who shut
   the lions' mouths; he feared them not; faithfully he proclaimed what he
   knew to be the truth of God, and still read on, despite them all. So,
   in his discourses. If he saw a Scribe or a Pharisee in the
   congregation, he did not keep back part of the price, but pointing his
   finger, he said, "Woe unto you, Scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites;" and
   when a lawyer came, saying, "Master, in speaking thus, thou condemnest
   us also;" he turned round and said "Woe unto you, lawyers, for ye bind
   heavy burdens upon men, while ye yourselves will not touch them with so
   much as one of your fingers." He dealt out honest truth; he never knew
   the fear of man; he trembled at none; he stood out God's chosen, whom
   he had anointed above his fellows, careless of man's esteem. My
   friends, be like Christ in this. Have none of the time-serving religion
   of the present day, which is merely exhibited in evangelical
   drawing-rooms,--a religion which only flourishes in a hot-bed
   atmosphere, a religion which is only to be perceived in good company.
   No; if ye are the servants of God, be like Jesus Christ, bold for your
   master; never blush to own your religion; your profession will never
   disgrace you; take care you never disgrace that. Your love to Christ
   will never dishonor you; it may bring some temporary slight from your
   friends, or slanders from your enemies; but live on, and you shall live
   down their calumnies; live on, and ye shall stand amongst the
   glorified, honored even by those who hissed you, when he shall come to
   be glorified by his angels, and admired by them that love him. Be like
   Jesus, very valiant for your God, so that when they shall see your
   boldness, they may say, "He has been with Jesus."

   But no one feature will give a portrait of a man; so the one virtue of
   boldness will never make you like Christ. There have been some who have
   been noble men, but have carried their courage to excess; they have
   thus been caricatures of Christ, and not portraits of him. We must
   amalgamate with our boldness the loveliness of Jesus' disposition. Let
   courage be the brass, let love be the gold. Let us mix the two
   together; so shall we produce a rich Corinthian metal, fit to be
   manufactured into the beautiful gate of the temple. Let your love and
   courage be mingled together. The man who is bold may indeed accomplish
   wonders. John Knox did much, but he might perhaps have done more if he
   had had a little love. Luther was a conqueror--peace to his ashes, and
   honor to his name!--still, we who look upon him at a distance, think
   that if he had sometimes mixed a little mildness with it--if, while he
   had the fortitier in re, he had been also suaviter in modo, and spoken
   somewhat more gently, he might have done even more good than he did. So
   brethren, while we too are bold, let us ever imitate the loving Jesus.
   The child comes to him; he takes it on his knee, saying, "Suffer little
   children to come unto me, and forbid them not." A widow has just lost
   her only son; he weeps at the bier, and with a word, restores life to
   the dead man. He sees a paralytic, a leper, or a man long confined to
   his bed; he speaks, they rise, and are healed. He lived for others, not
   for himself. His constant labors were without any motive, except the
   good of those who lived in the world. And to crown all, ye know the
   mighty sacrifice he made, when he condescended to lay down his life for
   man--when on the tree, quivering with agony, and hanging in the utmost
   extremity of suffering, he submitted to die for our sakes, that we
   might be saved. Behold in Christ love consolidated! He was one mighty
   pillar of benevolence. As God is love, so Christ is love. Oh, ye
   Christians, be ye loving also. Let you love and your beneficence beam
   out on all men. Say not, "Be ye warmed, and be ye filled," but "give a
   portion to seven, and also to eight." If ye cannot imitate Howard, and
   unlock the prison doors--if ye cannot visit the sad house of misery,
   yet each in your proper sphere, speak kind words, do kind actions; live
   out Christ again in the kindness of your life. If there is one virtue
   which most commends Christians, it is that of kindness; it is to love
   the people of God, to love the church, to love the world, to love all.
   But how many have we in our churches of Crab-tree Christians, who have
   mixed such a vast amount of vinegar, and such a tremendous quantity of
   gall in their constitutions, that they can scarcely speak one good word
   to you: they imagine it impossible to defend religion except by
   passionate ebullitions; they cannot speak for their dishonored Master
   without being angry with their opponent; and if anything is awry,
   whether it be in the house, the church, or anywhere else, they conceive
   it to be their duty to set their faces like flint, and to defy
   everybody. They are like isolated icebergs, no one cares to go near
   them. They float about on the sea of forgetfulness, until at last they
   are melted and gone; and though, good souls, we shall be happy enough
   to meet them in heaven, we are precious glad to get rid of them from
   the earth. They were always so unamiable in disposition, that we would
   rather live an eternity with them in heaven than five minutes on earth.
   Be ye not thus, my brethren. Imitate Christ in you loving spirits;
   speak kindly, act kindly, and do kindly, that men may say of you, "He
   has been with Jesus."

   Another great feature in the life of Christ was his deep and sincere
   humility; in which let us imitate him. While we will not cringe or
   bow3(far from it; we are the freemen whom the truth makes free; we walk
   through this world equal to all, inferior to none)3yet we would
   endeavor to be like Christ, continually humble. Oh, thou proud
   Christian (for though it be a paradox, there must be some, I think; I
   would not be so uncharitable as to say that there are not some such
   persons), if thou art a Christian, I bid thee look at thy Master,
   talking to the children, bending from the majesty of his divinity to
   speak to mankind on earth, tabernacling with the peasants of Galilee,
   and then--aye, depth of condescension unparalleled--washing his
   disciples' feet, and wiping them with the towel after supper. This is
   your Master, whom ye profess to worship; this is your Lord, whom ye
   adore. And ye, some of you who count yourselves Christians, cannot
   speak to a person who is not dressed in the same kind of clothing as
   yourselves, who have not exactly as much money per year as you have. In
   England, it is true that a sovereign will not speak to a shilling, and
   a shilling will not notice a sixpence, and a sixpence will sneer at a
   penny. But it should not be so with Christians. We ought to forget
   caste, degree, and rank, when we come into Christ's church. Recollect,
   Christian, who your Master was--a man of the poor. He lived with them;
   he ate with them. And will ye walk with lofty heads and stiff necks,
   looking with insufferable contempt upon you meaner fellow-worms? What
   are ye? The meanest of all, because your trickeries and adornments make
   you proud. Pitiful, despicable souls ye are! How small ye look in God's
   sight! Christ was humble; he stooped to do anything which might serve
   others. He had no pride; he was an humble man, a friend of publicans
   and sinners, living and walking with them. So, Christian, be thou like
   thy Master--one who can stoop; yea, be thou one who thinks it no
   stooping, but rather esteems others better than himself, counts it his
   honor to sit with the poorest of Christ's people, and says, "If my name
   may be but written in the obscurest part of the book of life, it is
   enough for me, so unworthy am I of his notice!" Be like Christ in his
   humility.

   So might I continue, dear brethren, speaking of the various
   characteristics of Christ Jesus; but as you can think of them as well
   as I can, I shall not do so. It is easy for you to sit down and paint
   Jesus Christ, for you have him drawn out here in his word. I find that
   time would fail me if I were to give you an entire likeness of Jesus;
   but let me say, imitate him in his holiness. Was zealous for his
   master? So be you. Ever go about doing good. Let not time be wasted. It
   is too precious. Was he self-denying, never looking to his own
   interest? So be you. Was he devout? So be you fervent in your prayers.
   Had he deference to his Father's will? So submit yourselves to him. Was
   he patient? So learn to endure. And best of all, as the highest
   portraiture of Jesus, try to forgive your enemies as he did; and let
   those sublime words of you Master, "Father, forgive them, for they know
   not what they do," always ring in your ears. When you are prompted to
   revenge; when hot anger starts, bridle the steed at once, and let it
   not dash forward with you headlong. Remember, anger is temporary
   insanity. Forgive as you hope to be forgiven. Heap coals of fire on the
   head of your foe by your kindness to him. Good for evil, recollect, is
   god-like. Be god-like, then; and in all ways, and by all means, so live
   that your enemies may say, "He has been with Jesus."

   II. Now, WHEN SHOULD CHRISTIANS BE THUS? For there is an idea in the
   world that persons ought to be very religious on a Sunday, but it does
   not matter what they are on a Monday. How many pious preachers are
   there on a Sabbath-day, who are very impious preachers during the rest
   of the week! How many are there who come up to the house of God with a
   solemn countenance, who join the song and profess to pray, yet have
   neither part nor lot in the matter, but are "in the gall of bitterness
   and in the bonds of iniquity!" This is true of some of you who are
   present here. When should a Christian, then, be like Jesus Christ? Is
   there a time when he may strip off his regimentals--when the warrior
   may unbuckle his armor, and become like other men? Oh! no; at all times
   and in every place let the Christian be what he professes to be. I
   remember talking some time ago with a person who said, "I do not like
   visitors who come to my house and introduce religion; I think we ought
   to have religion on the Sabbath-day, when we go to the house of God,
   but not in the drawing-room." I suggested to the individual that there
   would be a great deal of work for the upholsterers, if there should be
   no religion except in the house of God. "How is that?" was the
   question. "Why," I replied, "we should need to have beds fitted up in
   all our places of worship, for surely we need religion to die with, and
   consequently, every one would want to die there." Aye, we all need the
   consolations of God at last; but how can we expect to enjoy them unless
   we obey the precepts of religion during life? My brethren, let me say,
   be ye like Christ at all times. Imitate him in public. Most of us live
   in some sort of publicity; many of us are called to work before our
   fellow-men every day. We are watched; our words are caught; our lives
   are examined--taken to pieces. The eagle-eyed, argus-eyed world
   observes everything we do, and sharp critics are upon us. Let us live
   the life of Christ in public. Let us take care that we exhibit our
   Master, and not ourselves--so that we can say, "It is no longer I that
   live, but Christ that liveth in me." Take heed that you carry this into
   the church too, you who are church-members. Be like Christ in the
   church. How many there are of you like Diotrephes, seeking
   pre-eminence? How many are trying to have some dignity and power over
   their fellow Christians, instead of remembering that it is the
   fundamental rule of all our churches, that there all men are
   equal--alike brethren, alike to be received as such. Carry out the
   spirit of Christ, then, in your churches, wherever ye are; let your
   fellow members say of you, "He has been with Jesus."

   But, most of all, take care to have religion in your houses. A
   religious house is the best proof of true piety. It is not my chapel,
   it is my house--it is not my minister, it is my home-companion--who can
   best judge me; it is the servant, the child, the wife, the friend, that
   can discern most of my real character. A good man will improve his
   household. Rowland Hill once said, he would not believe a man to be a
   true Christian if his wife, his children, the servants, and even the
   dog and cat, were not the better for it. That is being religious. If
   your household is not the better for your Christianity--if men cannot
   say, "This is a better house than others," then be not deceived--ye
   have nothing of the grace of God. Let not your servant, on leaving your
   employ, say, "Well, this is a queer sort of a religious family; there
   was no prayer in the morning, I began the day with my drudgery; there
   was no prayer at night, I was kept at home all the Sabbath-day. Once a
   fortnight, perhaps, I was allowed to go out in the afternoon, when
   there was nowhere to go where I could hear a gospel sermon. My master
   and mistress went to a place where of course they heard the blessed
   gospel of God--that was all for them; as for me, I might have the dregs
   and leavings of some overworked curate in the afternoon." Surely,
   Christian men will not act in that way. No! Carry out your godliness in
   your family. Let everyone say that you have practical religion. Let it
   be known and read in the house, as well as in the world. Take care of
   your character there; for what we are there, we really are. Our life
   abroad is often but a borrowed part, the actor's part of a great scene,
   but at home the wizard is removed, and men are what they seem. Take
   care of you home duties.

   Yet again, my brethren, before I leave this point, imitate Jesus in
   secret. When no eye seeth you except the eye of God, when darkness
   covers you, when you are shut up from the observation of mortals, even
   then be ye like Jesus Christ. Remember his ardent piety, his secret
   devotion--how, after laboriously preaching the whole day, he stole away
   in the midnight shades to cry for help from his God. Recollect how his
   entire life was constantly sustained by fresh inspirations of the Holy
   Spirit, derived by prayer. Take care of your secret life; let it be
   such that you will not be ashamed to read at the last great day. Your
   inner life is written in the book of God, and it shall one day be open
   before you. If the entire life of some of you were known, it would be
   no life at all; it would be a death. Yea, even of some true Christians
   we may say it is scarce a life. It is a dragging on of an
   existence--one hasty prayer a day--one breathing, just enough to save
   their souls alive, but no more. O, my brethren, strive to be more like
   Jesus Christ. These are times when we want more secret prayer. I have
   had much fear all this week. I know not whether it is true; but when I
   feel such a thing I like to tell it to those of you who belong to my
   own church and congregation. I have trembled lest, by being away from
   our own place, you have ceased to pray as earnestly as you once did. I
   remember your earnest groans and petitions--how you would assemble
   together in the house of prayer in multitudes, and cry out to God to
   help his servant. We cannot meet in such style at present; but do you
   still pray in private? Have you forgotten me? Have you ceased to cry
   out to God? Oh! my friends, with all the entreaties that a man can use,
   let me appeal to you. Recollect who I am, and what I am--a child,
   having little education, little learning, ability or talent; and here
   am I called upon week after week, to preach to this crowd of people.
   Will ye not, my beloved, still plead for me? Has not God been pleased
   to hear your prayers ten thousand times? And will ye now cease, when a
   mighty revival is taking place in many churches? Will ye now stop your
   petitions? Oh! no; go to your houses, fall upon your knees, cry aloud
   to God to enable you still to hold up your hands like Moses on the
   hill, that Joshua below may fight and overcome the Amalekites. Now is
   the time for victory; shall we lose it? This is the high tide that will
   float us over the bar; now let us put out the oars; let us pull by
   earnest prayer, crying for God the Spirit to fill the sails! Ye who
   love God, of every place and every denomination, wrestle for your
   ministers; pray for them; for why should not God even now put out his
   Spirit? What is the reason why we are to be denied Pentecostal seasons?
   Why not this hour, as one mighty band, fall down before him and entreat
   him, for his Son's sake, to revive his drooping church? Then would all
   men discern that we are verily the disciples of Christ.

   III. But now, thirdly, WHY SHOULD CHRISTIANS IMITATE CHRIST? The answer
   comes very naturally and easily, Christians should be like Christ,
   first, for their own sakes. For their honesty's sake, and for their
   credit's sake, let them not be found liars before God and men. For
   their own healthful state, if they wish to be kept from sin and
   preserved from going astray, let them imitate Jesus. For their own
   happiness' sake, if they would drink wine on the lees well refined; if
   they would enjoy holy and happy communion with Jesus; if they would be
   lifted up above the cares and troubles of this world, let them imitate
   Jesus Christ. Oh! my brethren, there is nothing that can so advantage
   you, nothing can so prosper you, so assist you, so make you walk
   towards heaven rapidly, so keep you head upwards towards the sky, and
   your eyes radiant with glory, like the imitation of Jesus Christ. It is
   when, by the power of the Holy Spirit, you are enabled to walk with
   Jesus in his very footsteps, and tread in his ways, you are most happy
   and you are most known to be the sons of God. For your own sake, my
   brethren, I say, be like Christ.

   Next, for religion's sake, strive to imitate Jesus. Ah! poor religion,
   thou hast been sorely shot at by cruel foes, but thou hast not been
   wounded one-half so much by them as by thy friends. None have hurt
   thee, O, Christianity, so much as those who profess to be thy
   followers. Who have made these wounds in this fair hand of godliness? I
   say, the professor has done this, who has not lived up to his
   profession; the man who with pretences enters the fold, being naught
   but a wolf in sheep's clothing. Such men, sirs, injure the gospel more
   than others; more than the laughing infidel, more than the sneering
   critic, doth the man hurt our cause who professes to love it, but in
   his actions doth belie his love. Christian, lovest thou that cause? Is
   the name of the dear Redeemer precious to thee? Wouldst thou see the
   kingdoms of the world become the kingdoms of our Lord and his Christ?
   Dost thou wish to see the proud man humbled and the mighty abased? Dost
   thou long for the souls of perishing sinners, and art thou desirous to
   win them, and save their souls from the everlasting burning? Wouldst
   thou prevent their fall into the regions of the damned? Is it thy
   desire that Christ should see the travail of his soul, and be
   abundantly satisfied? Doth thy heart yearn over thy fellow-immortals?
   Dost thou long to see them forgiven? Then be consistent with thy
   religion. Walk before God in the land of the living. Behave as an elect
   man should do. Recollect what manner of people we ought to be in all
   holy conversation and godliness. This is the best way to convert the
   world; yea, such conduct would do more than even the efforts of
   missionary societies, excellent as they are. Let but men see that our
   conduct is superior to others, then they will believe there is
   something in our religion; but , if they see us quite the contrary to
   what we avow, what will they say? "These religious people are no better
   than others! Why should we go amongst them?" And they say quite
   rightly. It is but common-sense judgment. Ah! my friends, if ye love
   religion for her own sake, be consistent, and walk in the love of God.
   Follow Christ Jesus.

   Then, to put it in the strongest form I can, let me say, for Christ's
   sake, endeavor to be like him. Oh! could I fetch the dying Jesus here,
   and let him speak to you! My own tongue is tied this morning, but I
   would make his blood, his scars, and his wounds speak. Poor dumb
   mouths, I bid each of them plead in his behalf. How would Jesus,
   standing here, show you his hands this morning! "My friends," he would
   say, "hehold me! these hands were pierced for you; and look ye here at
   this my side. It was opened as the fountain of your salvation. See my
   feet; there entered the cruel nails. Each of these bones were
   dislocated for your sake. These eyes gushed with torrents of tears.
   This head was crowned with thorns. These cheeks were smitten; this hair
   was plucked; my body became the centre and focus of agony. I hung
   quivering in the burning sun; and all for you, my people. And will ye
   not love me now? I bid you be like me. Is there any fault in me? Oh!
   no. Ye believe that I am fairer than ten thousand fairs, and lovelier
   than ten thousand loves. Have I injured you? Have I not rather done all
   for your salvation? And do I not sit at my Father's throne, and e'en
   now intercede on your behalf? If ye love me,"-Christian, hear that
   word; let the sweet syllables ring forever in your ears, like the
   prolonged sounding of silver-toned bells;--"if ye love me, if ye love
   me, keep my commandments." Oh, Christian, let that "if" be put to thee
   this morning. "If ye love me." Glorious Redeemer! is it an "if" at all?
   Thou precious, bleeding Lamb, can there be an "if?" What, when I see
   thy blood gushing from thee; is it an "if?" Yes, I weep to say it is an
   "if." Oft my thoughts make it "if," and oft my words make it "if." But
   yet methinks my soul feels it is not "if," either.

   "Not to mine eyes is light so dear,

   Nor friendship half so sweet."

   "Yes, I love thee, I know that I love thee. Lord, thou knowest all
   things, thou knowest that I love thee," can the Christian say. "Well,
   then," says Jesus, looking down with a glance of affectionate
   approbation, "since thou lovest me, keep my commandments." O beloved,
   what mightier reason can I give than this? It is the argument of love
   and affection . Be like Christ, since gratitude demands obedience; so
   shall the world know that ye have been with Jesus.

   IV. Ah! then ye wept; and I perceive ye felt the force of pity, and
   some of you are inquiring, "HOW CAN I IMITATE HIM?" It is my business,
   then, before you depart, to tell you how you can become transformed
   into the image of Christ.

   In the first place, then, my beloved friends, in answer to your
   inquiry, let me say, you must know Christ as your Redeemer before you
   can follow him as your Exemplar. Much is said about the example of
   Jesus, and we scarcely find a man now who does not believe that our
   Lord was an excellent and holy man, much to be admired. But excellent
   as was his example, it would be impossible to imitate it, had he not
   also been our sacrifice. Do ye this morning know that his blood was
   shed for you? Can ye join with me in this verse,--

   "O the sweet wonders of that cross,

   Where God the Saviour lov'd and died;

   Her noblest life my spirit draws

   From his dear wounds and bleeding side."

   If so, you are in a fair way to imitate Christ. But do not seek to copy
   him until you are bathed in the fountain filled with blood drawn from
   his veins. It is not possible for you to do so; your passions will be
   too strong and corrupt, and you will be building without a foundation,
   a structure, which will be about as stable as a dream. You cannot mould
   your life to his pattern until you have had his spirit, till you have
   been clothed in his righteousness. "Well," say some, "we have proceeded
   so far, what next shall we do? We know we have an interest in him, but
   we are still sensible of manifold deficiencies." Next, then, let me
   entreat you to study Christ's character. This poor Bible is become an
   almost obsolete book, even with some Christians. There are so many
   magazines, periodicals, and such like ephemeral productions, that we
   are in danger of neglecting to search the Scriptures. Christian,
   wouldst thou know thy master? Look at him. There is a wondrous power
   about the character of Christ, for the more you regard it the more you
   will be conformed to it. I view myself in the glass, I go away, and
   forget what I was. I behold Christ, and I become like Christ. Look at
   him, then; study him in the evangelists, studiously examine his
   character. "But," say you, "we have done that, and we have proceeded
   but little farther." Then, in the next place, correct your poor copy
   every day. At night, try and recount all the actions of the twenty-four
   hours, scrupulously putting them under review. When I have proof-sheets
   sent to me of any of my writings, I have to make the corrections in the
   margin. I might read them over fifty times, and the printers would
   still put in the errors if I did not mark them. So must you do; if you
   find anything faulty at night, make a mark in the margin, that you may
   know where the fault is, and to-morrow may amend it. Do this day after
   day, continually noting your faults one by one, so that you may better
   avoid them. It was a maxim of the old philosophers, that, three times
   in the day, we should go over our actions. So let us do; let us not be
   forgetful; let us rather examine ourselves each night, and see wherin
   we have done amiss, that we may reform our lives.

   Lastly, as the best advice I can give, seek more of the Spirit of God;
   for this is the way to become Christ-like. Vain are all your attempts
   to be like him till you have sought his spirit. Take the cold iron, and
   attempt to weld it if you can into a certain shape. How fruitless the
   effort! Lay it on the anvil, seize the blacksmith's hammer with all you
   might, let blow after blow fall upon it, and you shall have done
   nothing. Twist it, turn it, use all your implements, but you shall not
   be able to fashion it as you would. But put it in the fire, let it be
   softened and made malleable, then lay it on the anvil, and each stroke
   shall have a mighty effect, so that you may fashion it into any form
   you may desire. So take your heart, not cold as it is, not stony as it
   is by nature, but put it into the furnace; there let it be molten, and
   after that it can be turned like wax to the seal, and fashioned into
   the image of Jesus Christ.

   Oh, my brethren, what can I say now to enforce my text, but that, if ye
   are like Christ on earth, ye shall be like him in heaven? If by the
   power of the Spirit ye become followers of Jesus, ye shall enter glory.
   For at heaven's gate there sits an angel, who admits no one who has not
   the same features as our adorable Lord. There comes a man with a crown
   upon his head, "Yes," he says, "thou hast a crown, it is true, but
   crowns are not the medium of access here." Another approaches, dressed
   in robes of state and the gown of learning. "Yes," says the angel, "it
   may be good, but gowns and learning are not the marks that shall admit
   you here." Another advances, fair, beautiful, and comely. "Yes," saith
   the angel, "that might please on earth, but beauty is not wanted here."
   There cometh up another, who is heralded by fame, and prefaced by the
   blast of the clamor of mankind; but the angel saith, "It is well with
   man, but thou hast no right to enter here." Then there appears another;
   poor he may have been; illiterate he may have been; but the angel, as
   he looks at him, smiles and says, "It is Christ again; a second edition
   of Jesus Christ is there. Come in, come in. Eternal glory thou shalt
   win. Thou art like Christ; in heaven thou shalt sit, because thou art
   like him." Oh! to be like Christ is to enter heaven; but to be unlike
   Christ is to descend to hell. Likes shall be gathered together at last,
   tares with tares, wheat with wheat. If ye have sinned with Adam and
   have died, ye shall lie with the spiritually dead forever, unless ye
   rise in Christ to newness of life; then shall we live with him
   throughout eternity. Wheat with wheat, tares with tares. "Be not
   deceived; God is not mocked: whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he
   also reap." Go away with this one thought, then my brethren, that you
   can test yourselves by Christ. If you are like Christ, you are of
   Christ, and shall be with Christ. If you are unlike him, you have no
   portion in the great inheritance. May my poor discourse help to fan the
   floor and reveal the chaff; yea, may it lead many of you to seek to be
   partakers of the inheritance of the saints in light, to the praise of
   his grace. To him be all honor given! Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                         A Caution to the Presumptuous

   A Sermon

   (No. 22)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, May 13, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." --1 Cor.
   10:12

   IT is a singular fact, but nevertheless most certain, that the vices
   are the counterfeits of virtues. Whenever God sends from the mint of
   heaven a precious coin of genuine metal, Satan will imitate the
   impress, and utter a vile production of no value. God gives love; it is
   his nature and his essence. Satan also fashioneth a thing which he
   calls love, but it is lust. God bestows courage; and it is a good thing
   to be able to look one's fellow in the face, fearless of all men in
   doing our duty. Satan inspires fool-hardiness, styles it courage, and
   bids the man rush to the cannon's mouth for "bubble reputation." God
   creates in man holy fear. Satan gives him unbelief, and we often
   mistake the one for the other. So with the best of virtues, the saving
   grace of faith, when it comes to its perfection it ripens into
   confidence, and there is nothing so comfortable and so desirable to the
   Christian, as the full assurance of faith. Hence, we find Satan, when
   he sees this good coin, at once takes the metal of the bottomless pit,
   imitates the heavenly image and superscription of assurance, and palms
   upon us the vice of presumption.

   We are astonished, perhaps, as Calvinistic Christians, to find Paul
   saying, "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall;" but
   we need not be astonished, for though we have a great right to believe
   that we stand, if we think we stand through the power of God--though we
   cannot be too confident of the might of the Most High, there is a thing
   so near akin to true confidence, that unless you use the greatest
   discernment you cannot tell the difference. Unholy presumption--it is
   against that which I am to speak this morning. Let me not be
   misunderstood. I shall not utter one word against the strongest faith.
   I wish all Little-Faiths were Strong-Faiths, that all Fearings were
   made Valiants-for-Truth, and the Ready-to-Halts Asahel's
   Nimble-of-Foot, that they might all run in their Master's work. I speak
   not against strong faith or full assurance; God giveth it to us; it is
   the holiest, happiest thing that a Christian can have, and there is no
   state so desirable as that of being able to say, "I know whom I have
   believed, and am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have
   committed unto him." It is not against that I speak, but I warn you
   against that evil thing, a false confidence and presumption which
   creepeth over a Christian, like the cold death-sleep on the
   mountain-top, from which, if he is not awakened, as God will see that
   he shall be, death will be the inevitable consequence. "Let him that
   thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall."

   I shall this morning attempt first, to find out the character;
   secondly, to show the danger; and thirdly, to give the counsel. The
   character is, the man who thinks he stands; the danger is, that he may
   fall; and the counsel is, "let him take heed.

   1. My first business shall be to FIND OUT THE CHARACTER intended by the
   presumptuous man, the man who thinks he stands. I could find a
   multitude of such if I might search the wide world o'er. I could find
   men in business filled with an arrogant hardihood, who, because they
   have in one speculation been successful will wade far out into the
   stormy sea of this contending life, risk their all--and lose it too. I
   might mention others who, presuming upon their health, are spending
   their years in sin and their lives in iniquity, because they think
   their bones iron and their nerves steel, and "all men mortal but
   themselves." I might speak of men who will venture into the midst of
   temptation, confident in their boasted power, exclaiming with
   self-complacency, "Do you think I am so weak as to sin? Oh! no; I shall
   stand. Give me the glass; I shall never be a drunkard. Give me the
   song; you will not find me a midnight reveller. I can drink a little
   and then I can stop." Such are presumptuous men. But I am not about to
   find them there; my business this morning is with God's church. The
   fanning must begin with the floor; the winnowing must try the wheat. So
   we are to winnow the church this morning to discover the presumptuous.
   We need not go far to find them. There are in every Christian church
   men who think they stand, men who vaunt themselves in fancied might and
   power, children of nature finely dressed, but not the living children
   of the living God; they have not been humbled or broken in spirit, or
   if they have, they have fostered carnal security until it has grown to
   a giant and trampled the sweet flower of humility under its foot. They
   think they stand. I speak now of real Christians, who, notwithstanding,
   have grown presumptuous, and indulge in a fleshly security. May my
   Master arouse such, while in preaching I endeavour to go to the core
   and root of the matter. For a little while I will expatiate upon the
   frequent causes of presumption in a Christian.

   1. And first, a very common cause, is continued worldly prosperity.
   Moab is settled on his lees, he hath not been emptied from vessel to
   vessel. Give a man wealth; let his ships bring home continually rich
   freights; let the winds and waves appear to be his servants to bear his
   vessels across the bosom of the mighty deep; let his lands yield
   abundantly; let the weather be propitious to his crops, and the skies
   smile pleasantly upon his enterprise; let the bands of Orion be loosed
   for him; let the sweet influence of the Pleiades descend upon him; let
   uninterrupted success attend him; let him stand among men as a
   successful merchant, as a princely Dives, as a man who is heaping up
   riches to a large extent, who is always prospering: or, if not wealth,
   let him enjoy continued health; let him know no sickness; allow him
   with braced nerve and brilliant eye, to march through the world, and
   live happily; give him the buoyant spirit; let him have the song
   perpetually on his lips, and his eye be ever sparkling with joy:--the
   happy, happy man who laughs at care, and cries, "Begone, dull care, I
   prithee begone from me." I say the consequence of such a state to a
   man, let him be the best Christian who ever breathed, will be
   presumption; and he will say, "I stand." "In my prosperity," says
   David, "I said, I shall never be moved." And we are not much better
   than David, nor half as good. If God should always rock us in the
   cradle of prosperity--if we were always dandled on the knees of
   fortune--if we had not some stain on the alabaster pillar, if there
   were not a few clouds in the sky, some specks in our sunshine--if we
   had not some bitter drops in the wine of this life, we should become
   intoxicated with pleasure, we should dream "we stand;" and stand we
   should, but it would be upon a pinnacle; stand we might, but hike the
   man asleep upon the mast, each moment we should be in jeopardy. We
   bless God, then, for our afflictions; we thank him for our depressions
   of spirit; we extol his name for the losses of our property; for we
   feel that had it not so happened to us, had he not chastened us every
   morning, and vexed us every evening, we might have become too secure.
   Continued worldly prosperity is a fiery trial. If it be so with any of
   you, apply this proverb to your own state, "As the fining pot for
   silver, and the furnace for gold: so is a man to his praise."

   2. Again, light thoughts of sin will engender presumption. When we are
   first converted, our conscience is so very tender, that we are afraid
   of the slightest sin. I have known young converts almost afraid to
   proceed a step, lest they should put their feet in the wrong direction.
   They will ask advice of their minister, and difficult cases of moral
   casuistry will they bring before us, such as we hardly know how to
   answer. They have a holy timidity, a godly fear, lest they should
   offend against God. But alas! very soon the fine bloom upon these first
   ripe fruits is removed by the rough handling of the surrounding world.
   The sensitive plant of young piety turns into a willow in after life,
   too pliant, too easily yielding. It is sadly true, that even a
   Christian will grow by degrees so callous, that the sin which once
   startled him and made his blood run cold, does not alarm him in the
   least. I can speak from my own experience. When first I heard an oath,
   I stood aghast, and knew not where to hide myself; yet now I can hear
   an imprecation or blasphemy against God, and though a shudder still
   runs through my veins, there is not that solemn feeling, that intense
   anguish, which I felt when first I heard such evil utterances. By
   degrees we get familiar with sin. The ear in which the cannon has been
   booming will not notice slight sounds. The men who work in those huge
   vessels, the hammering of which causes immense noise, cannot at first
   sleep, for the continual din in their ears; but by-and-by, they, when
   they are used to it, think nothing of it. So with sin. First, a little
   sin doth startle us. Soon we say, "Is it not a little one?" like Lot
   did of Zoar. Then there comes another, larger, and then another, until
   by degrees we begin to regard it as but a little ill; and then you
   know, there comes an unholy presumption, and we think we stand. "We
   have not fallen," say we, "we only did such a little thing; we have not
   gone astray. True, we tripped a little, but we stood upright in the
   main. We might have uttered one unholy word, but as for the most of our
   conversation, it was consistent." So we palliate sin; we throw a gloss
   over it, we try to hide it. Christian, beware! when thou thinkest
   lightly of sin, then thou hast become presumptuous. Take heed, lest
   thou shouldst fall. Sin-- a little thing! Is it not a poison! Who knows
   its deadliness? Sin-- a little thing! Do not the little foxes spoil the
   vines? Sin--a little thing! Doth not the tiny coral insect build a rock
   that wrecks a navy? Do not little strokes fell lofty oaks? Will not
   continual droppings wear away stones? Sin--a little thing! It girded
   his head with thorns that now is crowned with glory. Sin--a little
   thing! It made him suffer anguish, bitterness, and woe, till he endured

   "All that incarnate God could bear, with strength enough, and none to
   spare."

   It is not a little thing, sirs. Could you weigh it in the scales of
   eternity, you would fly from it as from a serpent, and abhor the least
   appearance of evil. But alas! loose thoughts of sin often beget a
   presumptuous spirit, and we think we stand.

   3. A third reason often is, low thoughts of the value of religion. We
   none of us value religion enough. Religious furor, as it is called, is
   laughed at everywhere; but I do not believe there is such a thing as
   religious furor at all. If a man could be so enthusiastic as to give
   his body to be burned at the stake, could he pour out his drops of
   blood and turn each drop into a life, and then let that life be
   slaughtered in perpetual martyrdom, he would not love his God too much.
   Oh, no! when we think that this world is but a narrow space; that time
   will soon be gone, and we shall be in the for-ever of eternity; when we
   consider we must be either in hell or in heaven throughout a never-
   ending state of immortality, how sirs, can we love too much? how can we
   set too high a value on the immortal soul? Can we ask too great a price
   for heaven? Can we think we do too much to serve that God who gave
   himself for our sins? Ah! no; and yet my friends, most of us do not
   sufficiently regard the value of religion. We cannot any of us estimate
   the soul rightly; we have nothing with which to compare it. Gold is
   sordid dust; diamonds are but small lumps of congealed air that can be
   made to melt away. We have nought with which to compare the soul;
   therefore we cannot tell its value. It is because we do not know this,
   that we presume. Doth the miser who loves his gold let it be scattered
   on the floor that his servant may steal it? Doth he not hide it in some
   secret place where no eye shall behold it? Day after day, night after
   night, he counteth out his treasure because he loves it. Doth the
   mother trust her babe by the river-side? Doth she not in her sleep
   think of it? and when it is sick, will she leave it to the care of some
   poor nurse, who may suffer it to die? Oh! no; what we love, we will not
   wantonly throw away; what we esteem most precious, we will guard with
   the most anxious care. So, if Christians knew the value of their souls,
   if they estimated religion at its proper rate, they never would
   presume; but low thoughts of Christ, low thoughts of God, mean thoughts
   of our souls' eternal state--these things tend to make us carelessly
   secure. Take heed, therefore, of low ideas of the gospel, lest ye be
   overtaken by the evil one.

   4. But again, this presumption often springs from ignorance of what we
   are, and where we stand. Many Christians have not yet learned what they
   are. It is true, the first teaching of God is to shew us our own state,
   but we do not know that thoroughly till many year s after we have known
   Jesus Christ. The fountains of the great deep within our hearts are not
   broken up all at once; the corruption of our soul is not developed in
   an hour. "Son of man," said the angel of Ezekiel, "I will show thee the
   abominations of Israel." He then took him in at one door, where he saw
   abominable things, and stood aghast. "Son of man, I will show thee
   greater abominations than these;" then he takes him into another
   chamber, and Ezekiel says, "Surely I have now seen the worst." "No,"
   says the angel, "I will show thee greater things than these." So, all
   our life long the Holy Spirit reveals to us the horrid abomination of
   our hearts. I know there are some here who do not think anything about
   it; they think they are good-hearted creatures. Good hearts, have you?
   Good hearts! Jeremiah had a better heart than you, yet he said, "The
   heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked; who can
   know it?" No; the black lesson cannot be learned in a night. God alone
   knows the evil of the heart; and Young says, "God spares all eyes but
   his own that awful sight--the vision of a human heart." If we could but
   see it, we should stand aghast. Well, it is ignorance of this that
   makes us presume. We say, "I have a good nature, I have a noble
   disposition; I have none of those hot and angry passions that some
   have; I can stand secure; I have not that dry, tindery heart that is on
   fire in a moment; my passions are weakened; my powers for evil are
   somewhat taken down, and I may stand safely." Ah! ye little know that
   it is when ye talk like this, that ye presume. O worm of the dust, thou
   art not yet free from an evil nature, for sin and corruption remain in
   the heart even of the regenerate; and it is strangely true, though it
   appears a paradox, as Ralph Erskine said, that a Christian sometimes
   thinks himself

   "To good and evil equal bent

   And both a devil and a saint."

   There is such corruption in a Christian, that while he is a saint in
   his life, and justified through Christ, he seems a devil sometimes in
   imagination, and a demon in the wishes and corruptions of his soul.
   Take heed, Christian, thou hast need to be upon the watch tower; thou
   hast a heart of unbelief; therefore watch thou both night and day.

   5. But to finish this delineation of a presumptuous man--Pride is the
   most pregnant cause of presumption. In all its various shapes it is the
   fountain of carnal security. Sometimes it is pride of talent. God has
   endowed a man with gifts; he is able to stand before the multitude, or
   to write for the many; he has a discerning mind, he has a judgment, and
   such like things. Then says he, " As for the ignorant, those who have
   no talent, they may fall; my brother ought to take care: but look at
   me. How am I wrapped in grandeur!" And thus in his self-complacency he
   thinks he stands. Ah! those are the men that fall. How many that flamed
   like comets in the sky of the religious world have rushed into space
   and been quenched in darkness! How many a man who has stood like a
   prophet before his fellows, and who would exclaim as he wrapped himself
   in his conceit, "I, only I am alive, I am the only prophet of God;" and
   yet that only prophet fell; his lamp was quenched, and his light put
   out in darkness. How many have boasted of their might and dignity, and
   have said, "I have built this mighty Babylon," but then they thought
   they stood, and they fell at once. "Let him that thinketh he standeth,"
   with the proudest talents, "take heed lest he fall."

   Others have the pride of grace. That is a curious fact; but there is
   such a thing as being proud of grace. A man says, "I have great faith,
   I shall not fall; poor little faith may, but I never shall." " I have
   fervent love," says another man, "I can stand, there is no danger of my
   going astray; as for my brother over there, he is so cold and slow, he
   will fall, I dare say." Says another, "I have a most burning hope of
   heaven, and that hope will triumph; it will purge my soul from sense
   and sin, as Christ the Lord is pure. I am safe." He who boasts of
   grace, has little grace to boast of. But there are some who do that,
   who think their graces can keep them, knowing not that the stream must
   flow constantly from the fountain head, else the bed of the brook shall
   soon be dry, and ye shall see the pebbles at the bottom. If a
   continuous stream of oil come not to the lamp, though it burn brightly
   to-day, it shall smoke to-morrow, and noxous will be the scent thereof.
   Take heed that thou neither gloriest in thy talents nor in thy graces.

   Many are worse still; they think they shall not fall because of their
   privileges. "I take the sacrament, I have been baptized in an orthodox
   manner, as written in God's word; I attend such and such a ministry; I
   am well fed; I am fat and flourishing in the courts of my God. If I
   were one of those starved creatures who hear a false gospel, possibly I
   might sin; but oh! our minister is the model of perfection; we are
   constantly fed and made fat; surely we shall stand." Thus in the
   complacency of their priviledges they run down others, exclaiming, "My
   mountain standeth firm, I shall never be moved." Take heed,
   presumption, take heed. Pride cometh before a fall; and a haughty
   spirit is the usher of destruction. Take heed; watch thy footsteps; for
   where pride creepeth in, it is the worm at the root of the gourd,
   causing it to wither and die. "Let him that thinketh he standeth,"
   because of pride of talent, or grace, or privilege, "take heed lest he
   fall."

   I hope I have touched some here; I trust the lancet has been sharp; I
   have taken the scalpel, and I hope I have discovered something. O ye
   presumptuous ones, I speak to you; and I shall do so while next I warn
   you of your danger.

   II. I shall be more brief on the second point--THE DANGER. He who
   thinks he stands is in danger of a fall. The true Christian cannot
   possibly suffer a final fall, but he is very much disposed to a foul
   fall. Though the Christian shall not stumble so as to destroy his life,
   he may break his limb. Though God has given his angels charge over him,
   to keep him in all his ways, yet there is no commission to keep him
   when he goes astray; and when he is astray he may thrust himself
   through with many sorrows.

   1. I must now try and give you the reason why a man who thinks he
   stands is more exposed to the danger of falling than any other. First,
   because such a man in the midst of temptation will be sure to be more
   or less careless. Make a man believe he is very strong, and what will
   he do? The fight is thickening around him; yet he has his sword in his
   scabbard. "Oh," saith he, " my arm is nimble and strong; I can draw it
   out and strike home." So perhaps he lies down in the field, or
   sloth-fully sleeps in his tent; "for," saith he, "when I hear enemies
   approaching, such is my prowess and such my might, that I can mow them
   down by thousands. Ye sentinels watch the weak; go to the
   Ready-to-halts and the Fearings, and arouse them. But I am a giant; and
   let me once get this old Toledo blade in my hand, it will cut through
   body and soul. Whenever I meet my enemies I shall be more than
   conqueror." The man is careless in battle. He lifteth up his helmet, as
   it is said Goliath did, and then a stone pierceth his forehead; he
   throws away his shield, and then an arrow penetrateth his flesh; he
   will put his sword into his scabbard, then the enemy smiteth him, and
   he is ill prepared to resist. The man who thinks he is strong, is off
   his guard; he is not ready to parry the stroke of the evil one, and
   then the poignard entereth his soul.

   2. Again, the man who thinks he stands will not be careful to keep out
   of the way of temptation, but rather will run into it. I remember
   seeing a man who was going to a place of worldly amusement--he was a
   professor of religion--and I called to him, "What doest thou there,
   Elijah?" "Why do you ask me such a question as that?" said he. I said,
   "What doest thou here, Elijah? Thou art going there." "Yes," he
   replied, with some sort of blush, "but I can do that with impunity." "I
   could not," said I; "if I were there I know I should commit sin. I
   should not care what people said about it; I always do as I like, so
   far as I believe it to be right; I leave the saying to anybody who
   likes to talk about me. But it is a place of danger, and I could not go
   there with impunity." "Ah!" said he, "I could; I have been before, and
   I have had some sweet thoughts there. I find it enlarges the intellect.
   You are narrow-minded; you do not get these good things. It is a rich
   treat I assure you. I would go if I were you." "No," I said, "it would
   be dangerous for me: from what I hear, the name of Jesus is profaned
   there; and there is much said that is altogether contrary to the
   religion we believe. The persons who attend there are none of the best,
   and it will surely be said that birds of a feather flock together."
   "Ah, well," he replied, "perhaps you young men had better keep away; I
   am a strong man, I can go;" and off he went to the place of amusement.
   That man, sirs, was an apple of Sodom. He was a professor of religion.
   I guessed there was something rotten at the core from that very fact;
   and I found it so by experience, for the man was a downright sensualist
   even then. He wore a mask, he was a hypocrite, and had none of the
   grace of God in his heart. Presumptuous men will say they can go into
   sin, they are so full of moral strength; but when a man tells you he is
   so good, always read his words backwards, and understand him to mean
   that he is as bad as he can be. The self- confident man is in danger of
   falling because he will even run into temptation in the confidence that
   he is strong, and able to make his escape.

   3. Another reason is, that these strong men sometimes will not use the
   means of grace, and therefore they fall. There are some persons here,
   who never attend a place of worship very likely; they do not profess to
   be religious; but I am sure they would be astonished if I were to tell
   them, that I know some professedly religious people who are accepted in
   some churches as being true children of God, who yet make it a habit of
   stopping away from the house of God, because they conceive they are so
   advanced that they do not want it. You smile at such a thing as that.
   They boast such deep experience within; they have a volume of sweet
   sermons at home, and they will stop and read them; they need not go to
   the house of God, for they are fat and flourishing. They conceit
   themselves that they have received food enough seven years ago to last
   them the next ten years. They imagine that old food will feed their
   souls now. These are your presumptuous men. They are not to be found at
   the Lord's table, eating the body and drinking the blood of Christ, in
   the holy emblems of bread and wine. You do not see them in their
   closets; you do not find them searching the Scriptures with holy
   curiosity. They think they stand--they shall never be moved; they fancy
   that means are intended for weaker Christians; and leaving those means,
   they fall. They will not have the shoe to put upon the foot, and
   therefore the flint cutteth them; they will not put on the armour, and
   therefore the enemy wounds them--sometimes well- nigh unto death. In
   this deep quagmire of neglect of the means, many a haughty professor
   has been smothered.

   4. Once more, the man who is self- confident runs a fearful hazard,
   because God's Spirit always leaves the proud. The gracious Spirit
   delights to dwell in the low places. The holy dove came to Jordan; we
   read not that it ever rested on Bashan. The man upon the white horse
   rode among the myrtle trees, not among the cedars. The myrtle trees
   grew at the foot of the mountains; the cedars on the summit thereof.
   God loves humility. He who walks with fear and trembling, fearing lest
   he should go astray, that man the Spirit loves; but when once pride
   creeps in, and the man declares, "Now I am in no danger," away goes the
   dove; it flies to heaven and will have nought to do with him. Proud
   souls, ye quench the Spirit. Ye arrogant men, ye grieve the Holy Ghost.
   He leaves every heart where pride dwelleth; that evil spirit of Lucifer
   he abhors; he will not rest with it; he will not tarry in its company.
   Here is your greatest danger, ye proud ones-- that the Spirit leaves
   those who deny their entire dependence on him.

   III. The third point is THE COUNSEL. I have been expounding the text;
   now I want to enforce it. I would, if my Lord would allow me, speak
   home to your souls, and so picture the danger of a presumptuous man,
   that I would make you all cry out to heaven that sooner might you die
   than presume; that sooner might you be found amongst those who lie
   prostrate at the foot of Christ, trembling all their lives, than
   amongst those who think they stand, and therefore fall. Christian men,
   the counsel of Scripture is--" Take heed."

   1. First, take heed, because so many have fallen. My brother, could I
   take thee into the wards of that hospital where lie sick and wounded
   Christians, I could make you tremble. I would show you one, who, by a
   sin that occupied him not a single moment, is so sore broken, that his
   life is one continued scene of misery. I could show you another one, a
   brilliant genius, who served his God with energy, who is now--not a
   priest of the devil it is true, but almost that--sitting down in
   despair, because of his sin. I could point you to another person, who
   once stood in the church, pious and consistent, but who now comes up to
   the same house of prayer as if he were ashamed of himself, sits in some
   remote corner, and is no longer treated with the kindness he formerly
   received, the brethren themselves being suspicious, because he so
   greatly deceived them, and brought such dishonor upon the cause of
   Christ. Oh! did ye know the sad pain which those endure who fall. Could
   ye tell how many have fallen, (and have not perished, it is true,) but
   still have dragged themselves along, in misery, throughout their entire
   existence, I am sure ye would take heed. Come with me to the foot of
   the mountain of presumption. See there the maimed and writhing forms of
   many who once soared with Icarian wings in the airy regions of
   self-confidence; yet there they lie with their bones broken, and their
   peace destroyed. There lies one who had immortal life within him; see
   how full of pain he appears, and he looks a mass of helpless matter. He
   is alive, it is true, but just alive. Ye know not how some of those
   enter heaven who are saved, "so as by fire." One man walks to heaven;
   he keeps consistent; God is with him, and he is happy all his journey
   through. Another says, "I am strong, I shall not fall." He runs aside
   to pluck a flower; he sees something which the devil has laid in his
   way; he is caught first in this gin, and then in that trap; and when he
   comes near the river, instead of finding before him that stream of
   nectar of which the dying Christian drinks, he sees fire through which
   he has to pass, blazing upon the surface of the water. The river is on
   fire, and as he enters it he is scorched and burned. The hand of God is
   lifted up saying, "Come on, come on;" but as he dips his foot in the
   stream, he finds the fire kindling around him, and though the hand
   clutches him by the hair of the head, and drags him through, he stands
   upon the shore of heaven, and cries, " I am a monument of divine mercy,
   for I have been saved so as by fire." Oh ! do you want to be saved by
   fire, Christians? Would ye no rather enter heaven, singing songs of
   praises? Would ye not glorify him on earth, and then give your last
   testimony with, "Victory, victory, victory, unto him that loved us;"
   then shut your eyes on earth, and open them in heaven? If you would do
   so, presume not. "Let him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he
   fall."

   2. Once more, my brother, take heed, because a fall will so much damage
   the cause of Christ. Nothing has hurt religion one-half, or one
   thousandth part, so much as the fall of God's people. Ah ! when a true
   believer sins, how will the world point at him. "That man was a deacon,
   but he knows how to charge exorbitantly. That man was a professor, but
   he can cheat as well as his neighbours. That man is a minister, and he
   lives in sin." Oh ! when the mighty fall--it is rejoice fir tree, for
   the cedar has fallen--how does the world exult ! They chuckle over our
   sin; they rejoice over our faults; they fly around us, and if they can
   see one point where we are vulnerable, how will they say, "See these
   holy people are no better than they should be." Because there is one
   hypocrite, men set down all the rest the same. I heard one man say, a
   little while ago, that he did not believe there was a true Christian
   living, because he had found out so many hypocrites. I reminded him
   that there could be no hypocrites if there were no genuine ones. No one
   would try to forge bank notes if there were no genuine ones. No one
   would think of passing a bad sovereign if there were no sterling coin.
   So the fact of their being some hypocrites proves that there are some
   genuine characters. But let those who are so, take heed; let them
   always, in their conduct, have the ring of true gold. Let your
   conversation be such as to become the gospel of Christ, lest by any
   means the enemy get the advantage over us, and slander the name of
   Jesus.

   And especially is this incumbent upon the members of our own
   denomination, for it is often said that the doctrines we believe have a
   tendency to lead us to sin. I have heard it asserted most positively,
   that those high doctrines which we love and which we find in the
   Scriptures, are licentious ones. I do not know who has the hardihood to
   make that assertion, when they consider that the holiest of men have
   been believers in them. I ask the man who dares to say that Calvinism
   is a licentious religion, what he thinks of the character of Augustine,
   or Calvin, or Whitfield, who in successive ages were the great
   exponents of the system of grace; or what will he say of those
   Puritans, whose works are full of them? Had a man been an Arminian in
   those days, he would have been accounted the vilest heretic breathing;
   but now we are looked upon as the heretics, and they the orthodox. We
   have gone back to the old school; we can trace our descent from the
   Apostles. It is that vein of free grace running through the sermonising
   of Baptists, which has saved us as a denomination. Were it not for
   that, we should not stand where we are. We can run a golden link from
   hence up to Jesus Christ himself, through a holy succession of mighty
   fathers, who all held these glorious truths; and we can say of them,
   where will you find holier and better men in the world? We are not
   ashamed to say of ourselves, that however much we may be maligned and
   slandered, ye will not find a people who will live closer to God than
   those who believe that they are saved not by their works, but by free
   grace alone. But, oh ! ye believers in free grace, be careful. Our
   enemies hate the doctrine; and if one falls, "Ah there," say they, "see
   the tendency of your principles." Nay, we might reply, see what is the
   tendency of your doctrine. The exception in our case proves the rule is
   true, that after all, our gospel does lead us to holiness. Of all men,
   those have the most disinterested piety, the sublimest reverence, the
   most ardent devotion, who believe that they are saved by grace, without
   works, through faith, and that not of themselves, it is the gift of
   God. Christian take heed, lest by any means Christ should be crucified
   afresh, and should be put unto an open shame.

   And now what more can I say ? Oh ye, my beloved, ye my brethren, think
   not that ye stand, lest ye should fall. Oh ye fellow heirs of
   everlasting life and glory, we are marching along through this weary
   pilgrimage; and I, whom God hath called to preach to you, would turn
   affectionately to you little ones, and say, take heed lest ye fall. My
   brother, stumble not. There lieth the gin, there the snare. I am come
   to gather the stones out of the road, and take away the stumbling
   blocks. But what can I do unless, with due care and caution, ye
   yourselves walk guardedly. Oh, my brethren; be much more in prayer than
   ever. Spend more time in pious adoration. Read the Scriptures more
   earnestly and constantly. Watch your lives more carefully. Live nearer
   to God. Take the best examples for your pattern. Let your conversation
   be redolent of heaven. Let your hearts be perfumed with affection for
   men's souls. So live that men may take knowledge of you that you have
   been with Jesus, and have learned of him; and when that happy day shall
   come when he whom you love shall say, "Come up higher," let it be your
   happiness to hear him say, "Come my beloved, thou hast fought a good
   fight, thou hast finished thy course, and henceforth there is laid up
   for thee a crown of righteousness that fadeth not away". On, Christian,
   with care and caution ! On, with holy fear and trembling ! On yet, with
   faith and confidence, for thou shalt not fall. Read the next verse of
   this very chapter: "He will not suffer you to be tempted above that
   which ye are able to bear, but will, with the temptation, also make a
   way to escape."

   But I have some here, perhaps, who may never hear my voice again; and I
   will not let my congregation go, God helping me, without telling them
   the way of salvation. Sirs, there are some of you who know ye have not
   believed in Christ. If ye were to die where ye now sit ye have no hope
   that ye would rise amongst the glorified in bliss. How many are there
   here who if their hearts could speak, must testify that they are
   without God, without Christ, and strangers from the common-wealth of
   Israel. Oh, let me tell you then, what ye must do to be saved. Does
   your heart beat high? Do ye grieve over your sins? Do ye repent of your
   iniquities? Will ye turn unto the living God? If so, this is the way of
   salvation; "Whosoever believeth and is baptised shall be saved." I
   cannot reverse my Master's order--he says, "believeth," and then
   "baptised;" and he tells me that "he that believeth not shall be
   damned." Oh, my hearers, your works cannot save you. Though I have
   spoken to Christians, and exhorted them to live in good works, I talk
   not so to you. I ask ye not to get the flower before ye have the seed.
   I will not bid you get the roof of your house before ye lay the
   foundation. Believe on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, and ye shall
   be saved. Whosoever here will now cast himself as a guilty worm flat on
   Jesus--whoever will throw himself into the arms of everlasting love,
   that man shall be accepted; he shall go from that door justified and
   forgiven, with his soul as safe as if he were in heaven, without the
   danger of its ever being lost. All this is through belief in Christ.

   Surely ye need no argument. If I thought ye did I would use it. I would
   stand and weep till ye came to Christ. If I thought I was strong enough
   to fetch a soul to Jesus, if I thought that moral suasion could win
   you, I would go round to each of your seats and beg of you in God's
   name to repent. But since I cannot do that, I have done my duty when I
   have prophesied to the dry bones. Remember we shall meet again. I boast
   of neither eloquence nor talent, and I cannot understand why ye come
   here; I only speak right on, and tell you what I feel; but mark me,
   when we meet before God's bar, however ill I may have spoken, I shall
   be able to say, that I said to you, "Believe on the name of Jesus, and
   ye shall be saved." Why will ye die, O house of Israel? Is hell so
   sweet, is everlasting torment so much to be desired, that therefore ye
   can let go the glories of heaven, the bliss of eternity? Men, are ye to
   live for ever? or, are ye to die like brutes? "Live !" say you, Well,
   then, are you not desirous to live in a state of bliss? Oh, may God
   grant you grace to turn to him with full purpose of heart! Come, guilty
   sinner, come! God help you to come, and I shall be well repaid, if but
   one soul be added to the visible fold of Jesus, through aught I may
   have said.
     __________________________________________________________________

                          Thoughts on the Last Battle

   A Sermon

   (No. 23)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, May 13, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "The sting of death is sin; and the strength of sin is the law. But,
   thanks be unto God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus
   Christ."--1 Corinthians 15:56-57.

   While the Bible is one of the most poetical of books, though its
   language is unutterably sublime, yet we must remark how constantly it
   is true to nature. There is no straining of a fact, no glossing over a
   truth. However dark may be the subject, while it lights it up with
   brilliance, yet it does not deny the gloom connected with it. If you
   will read this chapter of Paul's epistle, so justly celebrated as a
   master-piece of language, you will find him speaking of that which is
   to come after death with such exultation and glory that you feel, "If
   this be to die, then it were well to depart at once." Who has not
   rejoiced, and whose heart has not been lifted up or filled with a holy
   fire, while he has read such sentences as these: "In a moment, in the
   twinkling of an eye, at the last trump; for the trumpet shall sound,
   and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed.
   For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put
   on immortality. So, when this corruptible shall have put on
   incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall
   be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in
   victory. O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?"
   Yet, with all that majestic language, with all that bold flight of
   eloquence, he does not deny that death is a gloomy thing. Even his very
   figures imply it. He does not laugh at it; he does not say, "Oh, it is
   nothing to die;" he describes death as a monster; he speaks of it as
   having a sting; he tells us wherein the strength of that sting lies;
   and even in the exclamation of triumph, he imputes that victory not to
   unaided flesh, but he says, "Thanks be to God, who giveth us the
   victory through our Lord Jesus Christ."

   When I select such a text as this, I feel that I cannot preach from it.
   The thought o'ermasters me; my words do stagger; there are no
   utterances that are great enough to convey the mighty meaning of this
   wondrous text. If I had the eloquence of all men united in one, if I
   could speak as never man spake (with the exception of that one godlike
   man of Nazareth), I could not compass so vast a subject as this. I will
   not therefore pretend to do so, but offer you such thoughts as my mind
   is capable of producing.

   To-night we shall speak of three things: first, the sting of death;
   secondly, the strength of sin; and thirdly, the victory of faith.

   I. First, THE STING OF DEATH. The apostle pictures death as a terrible
   dragon, or monster, which, coming upon all men, must be fought with by
   each one for himself. He gives us no hopes whatever that any of us can
   avoid it. He tells us of no bridge across the river Death; he does not
   give us the faintest hope that it is possible to emerge from this state
   of existence into another without dying; he describes the monster as
   being exactly in our path, and with it we must fight, each man
   personally, separately, and alone; each man must die; we all must cross
   the black stream; each one of us must go through the iron gate. There
   is no passage from this world into another without death. Having told
   us, then, that there is no hope of our escape, he braces up our nerves
   for the combat; but he gives us no hope that we shall be able to slay
   the monster; he does not tell us that we can strike our sword into his
   heart, and so overturn and overwhelm death; but, pointing to the
   dragon, he seems to say, "Thou canst not slay it, man; there is no hope
   that thou shouldst ever put thy foot upon its neck and crush its head;
   but one thing can be done--it has a sting which thou mayest extract;
   thou canst not crush death under foot, but thou mayest pull out the
   sting which is deadly; and then thou need not fear the monster, for
   monster it shall be no longer, but rather it shall be a swift-winged
   angel to waft thee aloft to heaven. Where, then, is the sting of this
   dragon? Where must I strike? What is the sting? The apostle tells us,
   "that the sting of death is sin." Once let me cut off that, and then,
   though death may be dreary and solemn, I shall not dread it; but,
   holding up the monster's sting, I shall exclaim, "O death, where is thy
   sting? O grave, where is thy victory?" Let us now dwell upon the fact,
   that "the sting of death is sin."

   1. First, sin puts a sting into death, from the fact that sin brought
   death into the world. Men could be more content to die if they did not
   know it was a punishment. I suppose if we had never sinned, there would
   have been some means for us to go from this world to another. It cannot
   be supposed that so huge a population would have existed, that all the
   myriads who have lived from Adam down till now could ever have
   inhabited so small a globe as this; there would not have been space
   enough for them. But there might have been provided some means for
   taking us off when the proper time should come, and bearing us safely
   to heaven. God might have furnished horses and chariots of fire for
   each of his Elijahs; or, as it was said of Enoch, so it might have been
   declared of each of us, "He is not, for God hath taken him." Thus to
   die, if we may call it death to depart from this body and to be with
   God, would have been no disgrace; in fact, it would have been the
   highest honor; fitting the loftiest aspiration of the soul, to live
   quickly its little time in this world, then to mount and be with its
   God; and in the prayers of the most pious and devout man, one of his
   sublimest petitions would be, "O God, hasten the time of my departure,
   when I shall be with thee." When such sinless beings thought of their
   departure, they would not tremble, for the gate would be one of ivory
   and pearl--not as now, of iron--the stream would be as nectar, far
   different from the present "bitterness of death." But alas! how
   different! Death is now the punishment of sin. "In the day thou eatest
   there of thou shalt surely die." "In Adam all die." By his sin every
   one of us become subject to the penalty of death, and thus, being a
   punishment, death has its sting. To the best man, the holiest
   Christian, the most sanctified intellect, the soul that has the nearest
   and dearest intercourse with God, death must appear to have a sting,
   because sin was its mother. O fatal offspring of sin, I only dread thee
   because of they parentage! If thou didst come to me as an honor, I
   could wade through Jordan even now, and, when its chilling billows were
   around me, I would smile amidst its surges; and in the swellings of
   Jordan my song should swell too, and the liquid music of my voice
   should join with the liquid swellings of the floods, "Hallelujah! It is
   blessed to cross to the land of the glorified." This is one reason why
   the sting of sin is death.

   2. But I must take it in another sense. "The sting of death is
   sin:"--that is to say, that which shall make death most terrible to man
   will be sin, if it is not forgiven. If that be not the exact meaning of
   the apostle, still it is a great truth, and I may find it here. If sin
   lay heavy on me and were not forgiven--if my transgressions were
   unpardoned--if such were the fact (though I rejoice to know it is not
   so) it would be the very sting of death to me. Let us consider a man
   dying, and looking back on his past life: he will find in death a
   sting, and that sting will be his past sin. Imagine a conqueror's
   deathbed. He has been a man of blood from his youth up. Bred in the
   camp, his lips were early set to the bugle, and his hand, even in
   infancy, struck the drum. He had a martial spirit; he delighted in the
   fame and applause of men; he loved the dust of battle and the garment
   rolled in blood. He has lived a life of what men call glory. He has
   stormed cities, conquered countries, ravaged continents, overrun the
   world. See his banners hanging in the hall, and the marks of glory on
   his escutcheon. He is one of earth's proudest warriors. But now he
   comes to die, and when he lies down to expire, what shall invest his
   death with horror? It shall be his sin. Methinks I see the monarch
   dying; he lies in state; around him are his nobles and his councillors;
   but there is somewhat else there. Hard by his side there stands a
   spirit from Hades; it is a soul of a departed woman. She looks on him
   and says, "Monster! my husband was slain in battle through thy
   ambition: I was made a widow, and my helpless orphans and myself were
   starved." And she passes by. Her husband comes, and opening wide his
   bloody wounds, he cries, "Once I called thee monarch; but, by thy vile
   covetousness thou didst provoke an unjust war. See here these wounds--I
   gained them in the siege. For thy sake I mounted first the scaling
   ladder; this foot stood upon the top of the wall, and I waved my sword
   in triumph, but in hell I lifted up my eyes in torment. Base wretch,
   thine ambition hurried me thither!" Turning his horrid eyes upon him,
   he passes by. Then up comes another, and another, and another yet;
   waking from their tombs, they stalk around his bed and haunt him; the
   dreary procession still marches on, looking at the dying tyrant. He
   shuts his eyes, but he feels the cold and bony hand upon his forehead;
   he quivers, for the siting of death is in his heart. "O Death!" says
   he; "to leave this large estate, this mighty realm, this pomp and
   power--this were somewhat; but to meet those men, those women, and
   those orphan children, face to face; to hear them saying, Art thou
   become like one of us?' while kings whom I have dethroned, and monarchs
   whom I have cast down shall rattle their chains in my ears, and say,
   Thou wast our destroyer, but how art thou fallen from heaven, O
   Lucifer, son of the morning! How art thou brought down as in a moment
   from thy glory and thy pride!'" There, you see, the sting of death
   would be the man's sin. It would not sting him that he had to die, but
   that he had sinned, that he had been a bloody man, that his hands were
   red with wholesale murder--this would plague him indeed, for "the sting
   of death is sin."

   Or, suppose another character--a minister. He has stood before the
   world, proclaiming something which he called the gospel. He has been a
   noted preacher; the multitude have been hanging on his lips; they have
   listened to his words; before his eloquence a nation stood amazed, and
   thousands trembled at his voice. But his preaching is over; the time
   when he can mount the pulpit is gone; another standing-place awaits
   him, another congregation, and he must hear another and a better
   preacher than himself. There he lies. He has been unfaithful to his
   charge. He preached philosophy to charm his people, instead of
   preaching truth and aiming at their hearts. And, as he pants upon his
   bed, that worst and most accursed of men--for surely none can be worse
   than he--there comes up one, a soul from the pit, and looking him in
   the face, says, "I came to thee once, trembling on account of sin; "I
   asked thee the road to heaven, and thou didst say, Do such and such
   good works,' and I did them, and am damned. Thou didst tell me an
   untruth; thou didst not declare plainly the word of God." He vanishes
   only to be followed by another; he has been an irreligious character,
   and as he sees the minister upon his deathbed, he says, "Ah! and art
   thou here? Once I strolled into thy house of prayer, but thou hadst
   such a sermon that I could not understand. I listened; I wanted to hear
   something from thy lips, some truth that might burn my soul and make me
   repent; but I knew not what thou saidst; and here I am." The ghost
   stamps his foot, and the man quivers like an aspen leaf, because he
   knows it is all true. Then the whole congregation arise before him as
   he lies upon his bed; he looks upon the motley group; he beholds the
   snowy heads of the old, and glittering eyes of the young; and lying
   there upon his pillow, he pictures all the sins of his past life, and
   he hears it said, "Go thou! unfaithful to thy charge; thou didst no
   divest thyself of thy love of pomp and dignity; thou didst not speak

   'As though thou ne'er might'st speak again,

   A dying man to dying men.'"

   Oh! it may be something for that minister to leave his charge, somewhat
   for him to die; but worst of all, the sting of death will be his sin:
   to hear his parish come howling after him to hell; to see his
   congregation following behind him in one mingled herd, he having led
   them astray, having been a false prophet instead of a true one,
   speaking peace, peace, where there was no peace, deluding them with
   lies, charming them with music, when he ought rather to have told them
   in rough and rugged accents the Word of God. Verily, it is true, it is
   true, the sting of death to such a man shall be his great, his
   enormous, his heinous sin of having deluded others.

   Thus, then having painted two full-length pictures, I might give each
   one of you miniatures of yourselves. I might picture thee, O drunkard,
   when thy cups are drained, and when thy liquor shall no longer be sweet
   to thy taste, when worse than gall shall be the dainties that thou
   drinkest, when, within an hour, the worms shall make a carnival upon
   thy flesh; I might picture thee as thou lookest back upon they misspent
   life. And thou, O swearer, methinks I see thee there, with thine oaths
   echoed back by memory to thine own dismay. And thou, man of lust and
   wickedness, thou who hast debauched and seduced others, I see thee
   there; and the sting of death to thee, how horrible, how dreadful! It
   shall not be that thou art groaning with pain, it shall not be that
   thou art racked with agony, it shall not be that thy heart and flesh
   faileth, but the sting, the sting, shall be thy sin. How many in this
   place can spell the word "remorse?" I pray you may never know its awful
   meaning. Remorse, remorse! You know its derivation; it signifies to
   bite. Ah! now we dance with our sins--it is a merry life with us--we
   take their hands, and, sporting in the noontide sun, we dance, we
   dance, and live in joy. But then those sins shall bite us. The young
   lions we have stroked and played with shall bite; the young adder, the
   serpent, whose azure hues have well delighted us, shall bite, shall
   sting, when remorse shall occupy our souls. I might, but I will not,
   tell you a few stories of the awful power of remorse; it is the first
   pang of hell; it is the ante-chamber of the pit. To have remorse is to
   feel the sparks that blaze upwards from the fire of the bottomless
   Gehenna; to feel remorse is to have eternal torment commenced within
   the soul. The sting of death shall be unforgiven, unrepented sin.

   3. But if sin in the retrospect be the sting of death, what must sin in
   the prospect be? My friends, we do not often enough look at what sin is
   to be. We see what it is; first the seed, then the blade, then the ear,
   and then the full corn in the ear. It is the wish, the imagination, the
   desire, the sight, the taste, the deed; but what is sin in its next
   development? We have observed sin as it grows; we have seen it, at
   first, a very little thing, but expanding itself until it has swelled
   into a mountain. We have seen it like "a little cloud, the size of a
   man's hand," but we have beheld it gather until it covered the skies
   with blackness, and sent down drops of bitter rain. But what is sin to
   be in the next state? We have gone so far, but sin is a thing that
   cannot stop. We have seen whereunto it has grown, but whereunto will it
   grow? for it is not ripe when we die; it has to go on still; it is set
   going, but it has to unfold itself forever. The moment we die, the
   voice of justice cries, "Seal up the fountain of blood; stop the stream
   of forgiveness; he that is holy, let him be holy still; he that is
   filthy, let him be filthy still." And after that, the man goes on
   growing filthier and filthier still; his lust developes itself, his
   vice increases; all those evil passions blaze with tenfold more fury,
   and, amidst the companionship of others like himself, without the
   restraints of grace, without the preached word, the man becomes worse
   and worse; and who can tell whereunto his sin may grow? I have
   sometimes likened the hour of our death to that celebrated picture,
   which I think you have seen in the National Gallery, of Perseus holding
   up the head of Medusa. That head turned all persons into stone who
   looked upon it. There is a warrior there with a dart in his hand; he
   stands stiffened, turned into stone, with the javelin even in his fist.
   There is another, with a poniard beneath his robe, about to stab; he is
   now the statue of an assassin, motionless and cold. Another is creeping
   along stealthily, like a man in ambuscade, and there he stands a
   consolidated rock; he has looked only upon that head, and he is frozen
   into stone. Well, such is death. What I am when death is held before
   me, that I must be forever. When my spirit goes, if God finds me
   hymning his praise, I shall hymn it in heaven; doth he find me
   breathing out oaths, I shall follow up those oaths in hell. Where death
   leaves me, judgment finds me. As I die, so shall I live eternally.

   "There are no acts of pardon passed

   In the cold grave to which we haste."

   It is forever, forever, forever! Ah! there are a set of heretics in
   these days who talk of short punishment, and preach about God's
   transporting souls for a term of years, and then letting them die.
   Where did such men learn their doctrine, I wonder? I read in God's word
   that the angel shall plant one foot upon the earth, and the other upon
   the sea, and shall swear by him that liveth and was dead, that time
   shall be no longer. But, if a soul could die in a thousand years, it
   would die in time; if a million of years could elapse, and then the
   soul could be extinguished, there would be such a thing as time; for,
   talk to me of years, and there is time. But, sirs, when that angel has
   spoken the word, "Time shall be no longer," things will then be
   eternal; the spirit shall proceed in its ceaseless revolution of weal
   or woe, never to be stayed, for there is no time to stop it; the fact
   of its stopping would imply time; but everything shall be eternal, for
   time shall cease to be. It well becomes you, then, to consider where ye
   are and what ye are. Oh! stand and tremble on the narrow neck of land
   twixt the two unbounded seas, for God in heaven alone can tell how soon
   thou mayest be launched upon the eternal future. May God grant that,
   when that last hour may come, we may be prepared for it! Like the
   thief, unheard, unseen, it steals through night's dark shade. Perhaps,
   as here I stand, and rudely speak of these dark, hidden things, soon
   may the hand be stretched, and dumb the mouth that lisps the faltering
   strain. Oh! thou that dwellest in heaven, thou power supreme, thou
   everlasting King, let not that hour intrude upon me in an illspent
   season; but may it find me rapt in meditation high, hymning my great
   Creator. So, in the last moment of my life, I will hasten beyond the
   azure, to bathe the wings of this my spirit in their native element,
   and then to dwell with thee for ever--

   "Far from a world of grief and sin,

   With God eternally shut in."

   II. "THE STRENGTH OF SIN is the law."

   I have attempted to show how to fight this monster--it is by extracting
   and destroying its sting. I prepare myself for the battle. It is true I
   have sinned, and therefore I have put a sting into death, but I will
   endeavor to take it away. I attempt it, but the monster laughs me in
   the face, and cries, "The strength of sin is the law. Before thou canst
   destroy sin thou must in some way satisfy the law. Sin cannot be
   removed by thy tears or by thy deeds, for the law is its strength; and
   until thou hast satisfied the vengeance of the law, until thou hast
   paid the uttermost farthing of its demands, my sting cannot be taken
   away, for the very strength of sin is the law." Now, I must try and
   explain this doctrine that the strength of sin is the law. Most men
   think that sin has no strength at all. "Oh," say many, "we may have
   sinned very much, but we will repent, and we will be better for the
   rest of our lives; no doubt God is merciful, and he will forgive us."
   And we hear many divines often speak of sin as if it were a very venial
   thing. Inquire of them what is a man to do? There is no deep repentance
   required, no real inward workings of divine grace, no casting himself
   upon the blood of Christ. They never tell us about a complete atonement
   having been made. They have, indeed, some shadowy idea of an atonement,
   that Christ died just as a matter of form to satisfy justice; but as to
   any literal taking away of our sins, and suffering the actual penalty
   for us, they do not consider that God's law requires any such thing. I
   suppose they do not, for I never hear them assert the positive
   satisfaction and substitution of our Lord Jesus Christ. But without
   that, how can we take away the strength of sin?

   1. The strength of sin is in the law, first, in this respect, that the
   law being spiritual, it is quite impossible for us to live without sin.
   If the law were merely carnal, and referred to the flesh; if it simply
   related to open and overt actions, I question, even then, whether we
   could live without sin; but when I turn over the ten commandments and
   read, "Thou shalt not covet," I know it refers even to the wish of my
   heart. It is said, "Thou shalt not commit adultery;" but it is said,
   also that whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath already
   committed that sin. So that it is not merely the act, it is the
   thought; it is not the deed simply, it is the very imagination, that is
   a sin. Oh now, sinner, how canst thou get rid of sin? Thy very
   thoughts, the inward workings of thy mind, these are crimes--this is
   guilt and desperate wickedness. Is there not, now, strength in sin?
   Hath not the law put a potency in it? Has it not nerved sin with such a
   power that all thy strength cannot hope to wipe away the black enormity
   of thy transgression?

   2. Then, again, the law puts strength into sin in this respect--that it
   will not abate one tittle of its stern demands. It says to every man
   who breaks it, "I will not forgive you." You hear persons talk about
   God's mercy. Now, if they do not believe in the gospel, they must be
   under the law; but where in the law do we read of mercy? If you will
   read the commandments through, there is a curse after them, but there
   is no provision made for pardon. The law itself speaks not of that; it
   thunders out without the slightest mitigation, "The soul that sinneth
   it shall die." If any of you desire to be saved by works, remember one
   sin will spoil your righteousness; one dust of this earth's dross will
   spoil the beauty of that perfect righteousness which God requires at
   your hands. If ye would be saved by works, men and brethren, ye must be
   as holy as the angels, ye must be as pure and as immaculate as Jesus;
   for the law requires perfection, and nothing short of it; and God, with
   unflinching vengeance, will smite every man low who cannot bring him a
   perfect obedience. If I cannot, when I come before his throne, plead a
   perfect righteousness as being mine, God will say, "you have not
   fulfilled the demands of my law; depart, accursed one! You have sinned,
   and you must die." "Ah," says one, "can we ever have a perfect
   righteousness, then? Yes, I will tell you of that in the third point;
   thanks be unto Christ, who giveth us the victory through his blood and
   through his righteousness, who adorns us as a bride in her jewels as a
   husband arrays his wife with ornaments.

   3. Yet again; the law gives strength to sin from the fact that, for
   every transgression it will exact a punishment. The law never remits a
   farthing of debt: it says, "Sin--punishment." They are linked together
   with adamantine chains; they are tied, and cannot be severed. The law
   speaks not of sin and mercy; mercy comes in the gospel. The law says,
   "Sin--die; transgress--be chastised; sin--hell." Thus are they linked
   together. Once let me sin, and I may go to the foot of stern Justice,
   and as, with blind eyes, she holds the scales, I may say, "O Justice,
   remember, I was holy once; remember that on such and such an occasion I
   did keep the law." "Yes," saith Justice, "all I owe thee thou shalt
   have; I will not punish thee for what thou hast not done; but remember
   you this crime, O sinner?" and she puts in the heavy weight. The sinner
   trembles, and he cries, "But canst thou not forget that? Wilt thou not
   cast it away?" "Nay," saith Justice, and she puts in another weight.
   "Sinner, dost thou recollect this crime?" "Oh!" says the sinner, "wilt
   thou not for mercy's sake-?" "I will not have mercy," says Justice;
   "Mercy has its own palace, but I have naught to do with forgiveness
   here; mercy belongs to Christ. If you will be saved by Justice, you
   shall have your full of it. If you come to me for salvation, I will not
   have mercy brought in to help me; she is not my vicegerent; I stand
   here alone without her." And again, as she holds the scales, she puts
   in another iniquity, another crime, another enormous transgression; and
   each time the man begs and prays that he may have that passed by. Says
   Justice, "Nay, I must exact the penalty; I have sworn I will, and I
   will. Canst thou find a substitute for thyself? If thou canst, there is
   the only room I have for mercy. I will exact it of that substitute, but
   even at his hands I will have the utmost jot and tittle; I will abate
   nothing; I am God's Justice, stern and unflinching, I will not alter, I
   will not mitigate the penalty." She still holds the scales. The plea is
   in vain. "Never will I change!" she cries; "bring me the blood, bring
   me the price to its utmost; count it down, or else, sinner, thou shalt
   die.

   Now, my friends, I ask you, if ye consider the spirituality of the law,
   the perfection it requires, and its unflinching severity, are you
   prepared to take away the sting of death in your own persons? Can you
   hope to overcome sin yourselves? Can you trust that, by some righteous
   works, you may yet cancel your guilt? If you think so, go, O foolish
   one, go! O madman, go! work out thine own salvation with fear and
   trembling, without the God that worketh in thee; go, twist thy rope of
   sand; go, build a pyramid of air; go, prepare a house with bubbles, and
   think it is to last forever; but know it will be a dream with an awful
   awakening, for as a dream when one awaketh will he despise alike your
   image and your righteousness. "The strength of sin is the law."

   III. But now, in the last place, we have before us THE VICTORY OF
   FAITH. The Christian is the only champion who can smite the dragon of
   death, and even he cannot do it of himself; but when he has done it, he
   shall cry, "Thanks be to God who giveth us the victory through our Lord
   Jesus Christ." One moment, and I will show you how the Christian can
   look upon death with complacency, through the merits of Jesus Christ.

   First, Christ has taken away the strength of sin in this respect, that
   he has removed the law. We are not under bondage, but under grace. Law
   is not our directing principle, grace is. Do not misunderstand me. The
   principle that I must do a thing--that is to say, the principle of law,
   "do, or be punished; do, or be rewarded," is not the motive of the
   Christian's life; his principle is grace: "God has done so much for me,
   what ought I to do for him?" We are not under the law in that sense,
   but under grace.

   Then Christ has removed the law in this sense, that he has completely
   satisfied it. The law demands a perfect righteousness; Christ says,
   "Law, thou hast it; find fault with me; I am the sinner's substitute;
   have I not kept thy commandments? Wherein have I violated thy
   statutes?" "Come here, my beloved," he says, and then he cries to
   Justice, "Find a fault in this man; I have put my robe upon him; I have
   washed him in my blood; I have cleansed him from his sin. All the past
   is gone; as for the future, I have secured it by sanctification; as for
   the penalty, I have borne it myself; at one tremendous draught of love
   I have drunk that man's destruction dry; I have borne what he should
   have suffered; I have endured the agonies he ought to have endured.
   Justice, have I not satisfied thee? Did I not say upon the tree, and
   didst thou not coincide with it, It is finished; it is finished?' Have
   I not made so complete an atonement that there is now no need for that
   man to die and expiate his guilt? Do I not complete the perfect
   righteousness of this poor, once condemned, but now justified spirit?"
   "Yes" saith Justice, "I am well satisfied, and even more content, if
   possible, than if the sinner had brought a spotless righteousness of
   his own." And now, what saith the Christian after this? Boldly he comes
   to the realms of death, and entering the gates there, he cries, "Who
   shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect?" And when he had said
   it, the dragon drops his sting. He descends into the grave; he passes
   by the place where fiends lie down in fetters of iron; he sees their
   chains, and looks into the dungeon where they dwell, and as he passes
   by the prison door, he shouts, "Who shall lay anything to the charge of
   God's elect?" They growl and bite their iron bonds, and hiss in secret,
   but they cannot lay aught to his charge. Now see him mount aloft. He
   approaches God's heaven, he come against the gates, and Faith still
   triumphantly shouts, "Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's
   elect?" And a voice comes from within: "Not Christ, for he hath died;
   not God, for he hath justified." Received by Jesus, Faith enters
   heaven, and again she cries, "Who even here amongst the spotless and
   ransomed, shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect?" Now the law
   is satisfied, sin is gone; and now surely we need not fear the sting of
   the dragon, but we may say, as Paul did, when he rose into the majesty
   of poetry--such beautiful poetry that Pope himself borrowed his words,
   only transposing the sentences, "O grave, where is thy victory? O
   death, where is thy sting?"

   If it were necessary to-night, I might speak to you concerning the
   resurrection, and I might tell you how much that takes away the sting
   of death, but I will confine myself to the simple fact, that the sting
   of death is sin, that the strength of sin is the law, and that Christ
   gives us the victory by taking the sting away, and removing the
   strength of sin by his perfect obedience.

   And now, sirs, how many are there here who have any hope that for them
   Christ Jesus died? Am I coming too close home, when most solemnly I put
   the question to each one of you, as I stand in God's presence this
   night, to free my head of your blood; as I stand and appeal with all
   the earnestness this heart is capable of? Are you prepared to die? I
   sin pardoned? Is the law satisfied? Can you view the flowing

   "Of Christ's soul-redeeming blood,

   With divine assurance knowing,

   That he hath made your peace with God?"

   O! can ye now put one hand upon your heart, and the other upon the
   Bible, and say, "God's word and I agree; the witness of the Spirit here
   and the witness there are one. I have renounced my sins, I have given
   up my evil practices; I have abhorred my own righteousness; I trust in
   naught but Jesus' doings; simply do I depend on him.

   'Nothing in my hand I bring,

   Simply to thy cross I cling.'"

   If so, should you die where you are--sudden death were sudden glory.

   But, my hearers, shall I be faithful with you? or shall I belie my
   soul? Which shall it be? Are there not many here who, each time the
   bell tolls the departure of a soul, might well ask the question, "Am I
   prepared?" and they must say, "No." I shall not turn prophet to-night;
   but were it right for me to say so, I fear not one-half of you are
   prepared to die. Is that true? Yea, let the speaker ask himself the
   question, "Am I prepared to meet my Maker face to face?" Oh, sit in
   your seat and catechise your souls with that solemn question. Let each
   one ask himself, "Am I prepared, should I be called, to die?" Methinks
   I hear one say with confidence, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." "Let
   him that thinketh he standeth take heed lest he fall." I hear another
   say with trembling accents--

   "Ah! guilty, weak, and helpless worm,

   On Christ's kind arms I fall;

   He is my strength and righteousness,

   My Jesus and my all."

   Yes, sweet words! I would rather have written that one verse than
   Milton's "Paradise Lost." It is such a matchless picture of the true
   condition of the believing soul. But I hear another say, "I shall not
   answer such a question as that. I am not going to be dull to-day. It
   may be gloomy weather outside to-day, but I do not want to be made
   melancholy." Young man, young man, go thy way. Let thine heart cheer
   thee in the days of thy youth; but for all this the Lord shall bring
   thee to judgment. What wilt thou do, careless spirit, when thy friends
   have forsaken thee, when thou art alone with God? Thou dost not like to
   be alone, young man, now, dost thou? A falling leaf will startle thee.
   To be alone an hour will bring on an insufferable feeling of
   melancholy. But thou wilt be alone--and a dreary alone it will be--with
   God an enemy! How wilt thou do in the swellings of Jordan? What wilt
   thou do when he taketh thee by the hand at eventide, and asketh thee
   for an account; when he says, "What didst thou do in the beginning of
   thy days? how didst thou spend thy life?" When he asks thee, "Where are
   the years of thy manhood?" When he questions thee about thy wasted
   Sabbaths, and inquires how thy latter years were spent, what wilt thou
   say then? Speechless, without an answer, thou wilt stand. Oh, I beseech
   you, as ye love yourselves, take care! Even now, begin to weigh the
   solemn matters of eternal life. Oh! say not, "Why so earnest? why in
   such haste?" Sirs, if I saw you lying in your bed, and your house was
   on fire, the fire might be at the bottom of the house, and you might
   slumber safely for the next five minutes; but with all my might I would
   pull you from your bed, or I would shout, "Awake! awake! the flame is
   under thee." So with some of you who are sleeping over hell's mouth,
   slumbering over the pit of perdition, may I not awake you? may I not
   depart a little from clerical rules, and speak to you as one speaketh
   to his fellow whom he loves? Ah! if I loved you not, I need not be
   here. It is because I wish to win your souls, and, if it be possible,
   to win for my Master some honor, that I would thus pour out my heart
   before you. As the Lord liveth, sinner, thou standest on a single plank
   over the mouth of hell, and that plank is rotten. Thou hangest over the
   pit by a solitary rope, and the strands of that rope are breaking. Thou
   art like that man of old, whom Dionysius placed at the head of the
   table; before him was a dainty feast, but the man ate not, for directly
   over his head was a sword suspended by a hair. So art thou, sinner. Let
   thy cup be full, let thy pleasures be high, let thy soul be elevated,
   seest thou that sword? The next time thou sittest in the theatre, look
   up and see that sword: when next in thy business thou scornest the
   rules of God's gospel, look at that sword. Though thou seest it not, it
   is there. Even now, ye may hear God saying to Gabriel, "Gabriel, that
   man is sitting in his seat in the hall; he is hearing, but is as though
   he heard not; unsheathe thy blade; let the glittering sword cut through
   that hair; let the weapon fall upon him and divide his soul and body."
   Stop, thou Gabriel, stop! Save the man a little while. Give him yet an
   hour, that he may repent. Oh, let him not die. True, he has been here
   these ten or dozen nights, and he has listened without a tear; but
   stop, and peradventure he may repent yet. Jesus backs up my entreaty,
   and he cries, "Spare him yet another year, till I dig about him and
   dung him, and though he now cumbers the ground, he may yet bring forth
   fruit, that he may not be hewn down and cast into the fire." I thank
   thee, O god; thou wilt not cut him down to-night; but to-morrow may be
   his last day. Ye may never see the sun rise, though you have seen it
   set. Take heed. Hear the word of God's gospel, and depart with God's
   blessing. "Whosoever believeth on the name of the Lord Jesus Christ
   shall be saved." "He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved."
   "He is able to save to the uttermost, all that come unto him."
   "Whosoever cometh unto him, he will in no wise cast out." Let every one
   that heareth say, "Come; whosoever is athirst, let him come and take of
   the water of life, freely."
     __________________________________________________________________

                                  Forgiveness

   A Sermon

   (No. 24)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, May 20, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own
   sake, and will not remember thy sins."--Isaiah 43:25.

   THERE ARE SOME passages of sacred writ which have been more abundantly
   blessed to the conversion of souls than others. They may be called
   salvation texts. We may not be able to discover how it is, or why it
   is, but certainly it is the fact, that some chosen verses have been
   more used of God to bring men to the cross of Christ than any others in
   his Word. Certainly they are not more inspired, but I suppose they are
   more noticeable from their position, from their peculiar phraseology
   more adapted to catch the eye of the reader, and more suitable to a
   prevailing spiritual condition. All the stars in the heavens shine very
   brightly, but only a few attract the eye of the mariner, and direct his
   course; the reason is this, that those few stars from their peculiar
   grouping are more readily distinguished, and the eye easily fixes upon
   them. So I suppose it is with those passages of God's Word which
   especially attract attention, and direct the sinner to the cross of
   Christ. It so happens that this text is one of the chief of them. I
   have found it, in my experience, to be a most useful one; for out of
   the hundreds of persons who have come to me to narrate their conversion
   and experience, I have found a very large proportion who have traced
   the divine change which has been wrought in their hearts to the hearing
   of this precious declaration of sovereign mercy read, and the
   application of it with power to their souls: "I, even I, am he that
   blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not
   remember thy sins." Hence I feel this morning somewhat pleased to have
   such a text, because I anticipate that my Master will give me souls;
   and I feel likewise somewhat afraid lest I should spoil the passage by
   my own imperfect handling thereof. I will, therefore, cast myself
   implicitly on the help of the Spirit, so that whatever I speak, may be
   suggested by him, and whatever he saith that may I speak, to the
   exclusion of my own thoughts as much as possible.

   We shall notice first, this morning, the recipients of mercy--the
   persons of whom the Lord is here speaking; secondly, the deed of
   mercy,--"I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions;"
   thirdly, the reason for mercy--"for mine own sake;" and fourthly, the
   promise of mercy-- "I will not remember thy sins."

   I. We are about to see who are THE RECIPIENTS OF MERCY; and I would
   have you all listen; peradventure there be some strayed in here who are
   the very chief of sinners--some who have sinned against light and
   knowledge, who have gone the full length of their powers for sin, so
   that they come here self-condemned, and fearing that for them there is
   neither mercy nor pardon. I am about to talk to you of the
   lovingkindness of our glorious Jehovah, and may some of you be led to
   read your own condition in those characters which I shall describe to
   you.

   If you will turn to your Bibles, you will find who are the persons here
   spoken of. Look for example at the 22nd verse of the chapter from which
   our text is taken, and you will see, first, that they were prayerless
   people: "Thou hast not called upon me, O Jacob." And are there not some
   prayerless ones sitting or standing here this morning? Might I not walk
   along these benches, and point my finger to one and another, and say,
   "Thou art not a praying one?" Or might I not reach out my hand to one
   and another upon this platform, and say, "Thou hast not been with God
   in secret, and held heart converse with him?" These prayerless ones may
   have repeated many a form of prayer, but the breathing desire, the
   living words, have not come from their lips. Thou hast lived, sinner,
   up to this time without sincere prayer, and if an ejaculation has bee
   forced from thy lips from a fear that took hold of thee; if a cry has
   gone forth from thee when in the sufferings of a sick bed, because the
   pains of death gat hold upon thee; if it has not been thy habit to
   pray, the impressions of that trying period have soon been forgotten.
   Is prayer your constant practice, my hearers? How many of you now
   before me, ay, and behind me too, must confess that you have not
   prayed, that it is not your habit to hold communion with God.
   Prayerless souls are Christless souls; for you can have no real
   fellowship with Christ, no communion with the Father, unless you
   approach his mercy-seat, and be often there; and yet if you are
   condemning yourselves, and lamenting that this has been your condition,
   you need not despair, for this mercy is for you: "Thou hast not called
   upon me, O Jacob;" yet, "I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy
   transgressions for mine own sake."

   Next, these persons were despisers of religion, for observe the
   language of the same verse:--"Thou hast been weary of me, O Israel."
   And may I not say to some here--thou despisest religion, thou hatest
   God; thou art weary of him, and lovest not his services. As for the
   Sabbath-day, do not too many of you find it the most tiresome day in
   the week, and do you not, in fact, look over your ledger on the Sabbath
   afternoon? If you were compelled to attend a place of worship twice on
   the Sabbath-day, would you not think it the greatest and most terrible
   hardship that could be inflicted upon you? You have to find some
   worldly amusement to make the hours of the Sabbath-day pass away with
   any comfort at all. So far from wishing that "congregations might ne'er
   break up." and the Sabbath last for eternity, is it not to some of you
   the most tedious day of the week? You feel it to be a weariness, and
   are glad when it is gone. You do not understand the sentiment expressed
   by the poet:

   "Sweet is the work, my God, my King,

   To praise thy name, give thanks and sing.

   You know nothing of the pain of banishment from the courts of Zion,
   whither the sacred tribes repair; and when there you do not hold
   communion with God, rejoicing that the hallowed place has become a
   Bethel--the house of God--the very gate of heaven. You can never say--

   "My willing soul would stay

   In such a frame as this

   And sit and sing herself away

   To everlasting bliss."

   Ah, no! not only is religion unlovely to you, but it is a weariness.
   But if you are now convinced of this sin, and are repenting of it, and
   desire to be delivered from its power, then God speaks to you this
   morning, and says, "I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy
   transgressions for mine own sake--return unto me, with unfeigned
   repentance, and I will have mercy upon you."

   Note, again, the character. They have been thankless persons: "Thou
   hast not brought me the small cattle of thy burnt offerings." They have
   been unthankful. They had their cattle and their flocks all multiplied
   and increased many fold, but they did not bring even one of the small
   cattle to him in return. Thou never gavest him a kid for a burnt
   offering, but hast been like the swine, regardless of the oak which
   strews food upon the ground for thee; thou hast been a carnal worldly
   character, receiving a gift, but never thanking the Almighty who caused
   it to be bestowed; while the little chicken, after it has drunk of the
   stream, lifteth its head, as if to thank God who provided the water.
   Thou hast been fed, day by day, by an Almighty power, and yet thou hast
   never given in return even one of the small cattle of thy flock for a
   burnt offering. This is true of some who attend our houses of prayer;
   they very rarely give to any collection for the cause of God; they are
   like the man in America, of whom some one has told us, who boasted that
   religion had been to him a very cheap thing, costing him only a few
   cents a year, of whom a good man said, "The Lord have mercy on your
   little stingy soul." If a man has no more religion than that, if he has
   not a religion that will make him generous, he has no religion at all.
   I thought of that passage last Thursday night, while I was preaching:
   "Thou hast bought me no sweet cane with money." God needeth nothing at
   your hands, but he likes little presents, he loves now and then to
   receive of your substance; for you know that little as it is in his
   eyes, comparatively speaking it is great, because it comes from a
   friend. But some of you have never bought him a sweet cane with your
   money--never sang a hymn to his praise; you have attributed everything
   to your good luck, and have boasted that you have obtained everything
   you have got by the labour of your own hands, and that you can say, I
   have need to thank nobody for what I have. That has been thy spirit;
   thou hast given no thanks to God,--the God of heaven and earth; thou
   hast not gloried him, but thyself, and yet the Most High is willing to
   pardon thy sin in this thing, if thou art but unfeignedly penitent, and
   dost sue for forgiveness, for he saith also to you, "I, even I, am he
   that blotteth out thy transgressions."

   Yet, again, these people were a useless people. "Neither hast thou
   filled me with the fat of thy sacrifices; but thou hast made me to
   serve with thy sins." It is well said, the chief end of man is to
   glorify God. For that purpose God made the sun, moon, and stars, and
   all his works, that they might honor him. And yet how many are there,
   even, perhaps among my hearers this morning, who have never honored God
   in their lives. Ask yourselves what have you done? If you were to write
   your own history, it would be little better than that of Belzoni's
   toad, which existed in the rock for three thousand years; you may have
   lived like it, but you have done nothing. What souls have you ever won
   to the Saviour? How has his name been magnified by you? Have you ever
   served him? How have you ever worked for him? What have you done for
   God? Have you not been cumberers of the ground; taking the nourishment
   of the earth where some better tree might have grown, and bearing no
   fruit to the great husbandman, or at least, only a few sorry crabs,
   that were not worth his acceptance. For all you have done, the world
   might as well have never known you. You have not been even so much use
   as the glow-worm, which, at least, serves to light the steps of the
   traveller. The world may possibly be glad to get rid of some of you,
   and rejoice when you are gone. Perhaps you have assisted in destroying
   the souls of those with whom you have been connected in life. You can
   recollect the time when you led that young man first into the ale
   house. You can remember the hour when you swore a most horrible oath;
   your child was within hearing, and learned to be profane also. You may
   look upon some souls who are going even now to damnation through your
   example; and in hell you may see spirits starting up from their iron
   beds, and hear them shrieking in their woe: "Who is it that led me
   here, and caused my soul to be destroyed?--thou art the author of my
   damnation." Is the indictment true? Will you not be compelled to plead
   guilty to the charge? Do you not even now repent of your great
   transgressions? Even if it be so, my Master authorizes me to say again,
   "Thus saith the Lord, I, even I, am he that blotteth out my
   transgressions, and will not remember thy sins."

   Again, there are some who may be termed sanctuary sinnersþsinners in
   Zion--and these are the worst of sinners. I can usually tell whether
   inquirers have been the children of pious parents or no, if after a
   confession of great guilt they feel unable to proceed at the
   remembrance of what they once were. Groaning, and sobbing, and tears
   running down their cheeks, are the silent language of their woe. When I
   see this, I always know that the language that succeeds will be: "I
   have been the child of pious parents; and I feel that I am one of the
   worst of sinners, because I was brought up to religion; and yet I
   disregarded it, and turned aside from it." O yes, the worst of sinners
   are sinners in Zion, because they sin against light and knowledge; they
   force their way to hell, as John Bunyan says, over the Cross of Christ;
   and the worst way to hell is to go by the cross to it. Many of you now
   before me were consecrated to God by a beloved mother, and your father
   taught you to read and love the Scriptures of truth. You were brought
   up like Timothy; you well understand the theory of the way of
   salvation, and yet you come here, young men, some of you enemies to God
   and without Christ, and despisers of his word; some of you are even
   scoffers, or if not actually scoffers, you say religion is nought to
   you, and by your actions, if not by your words, declare it is nothing
   to you that Jesus should die. Ah! when I speak to you, I would not
   forget myself. Should it ever be my lot to wake up in hell, I should be
   amongst the most horribly damned there, for I had a most pious
   training, and should be forced to take my place with the sanctuary
   sinners. And you that are such, whom I am addressing now, are you not
   afraid? Ask yourselves now, "Who among us shall dwell with devouring
   fire?" Do you tremble and shake for fear, and with a penitent heart
   desire forgiveness? If so, then I say again, in my Master's name--who
   spake nothing but love and mercy to penitent sinners, who said,
   "Neither do I condemn thee"--Jehovah now declares "I, even I am he that
   blotteth out thy transgressions for mine own sake, and will not
   remember thy sins."

   Yet, once more, we have here men who had wearied God: "Thou hast made
   me to serve with thy sins, thou hast wearied me with thine iniquities."
   You see the man who has been a professor of religion, and can look back
   twenty years ago, when he was a member of a Christian church; he was
   apparently walking in the fear of the Lord, and all men thought he had
   received the grace of God in truth; but he has turned aside into the
   paths of sin; sometimes his lips have been defiled with oaths, and his
   soul the bondslave of sin; but even now he is often found in God's
   house; sometimes he is affected to tears, and says within himself,
   "Surely I will return unto the Lord, for then was it better with me
   than now." Self-condemned, he stands and weeps in the bitterness of his
   heart; and mark you, it may be this morning he has stepped into this
   vast assembly, and that his knees are knocking one against the other,
   yet it may be that his goodness shall prove like the morning cloud and
   the early dew, that passeth away; or it may be that the turning point
   is now come; "Now or never," as Baxter used to say; now God or Satan,
   now accepted or condemned. Poor backslider, return unto the Lord, and
   he will have mercy upon thee; he will blot out all thy sins, and so
   blot them out that he will not remember them against thee any more for
   ever.

   These, then, are the characters who receive mercy. Some of you may say,
   "You seem to think us a bad lot"--and so I do. Others exclaim, "How can
   you talk to us in this way? We are a honest, moral, and upright
   people." If so, then I have no gospel to preach to you. You may go
   elsewhere if you will, for you may get moral sermons in scores of
   chapels if you want them; but I am come in my Master's name to preach
   to sinners, and so I will not say a word to you Pharisees except
   this--By so much as you think yourself righteous and holy, by so much
   shall ye be cast out of God's presence at last. Your sentence will be
   eternal banishment from the presence of him who hath said to every
   repenting sinner, "I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy
   transgressions, and will not remember thy sins."

   II. The second point is, THE DEED OF MERCY. We have found out the
   persons to whom God will give mercy; now what is mercy's deed? It is a
   deed of forgiveness, and in speaking of it, I shall speak first of its
   being a divine forgiveness--"I, even I, am he." Divine pardon is the
   only forgiveness possible; for no one can remit sin but God only, and
   it matters not whether a Roman Catholic Priest, or any other priest
   shall say in the name of God, "I absolve thee from thy transgressions,"
   it is abominable blasphemy. If a man has offended me I can forgive him,
   but if he has offended God I cannot forgive him. The only discharge
   possible is pardon by God; but then it is the only pardon necessary.
   Suppose I have so sinned that the king or the queen will not pardon me,
   that my brethren will not forgive me, and that I cannot pardon myself;
   if God absolves me, that is all the acquittal that will be necessary
   for my salvation. Perhaps I stand condemned by the law of my country: I
   am a murderer and must suffer on the scaffold; the queen refuses to
   pardon, and perhaps she does right in such a refusal; but I do not want
   her forgiveness in order to enter heaven; if God acquits me, that will
   be enough. Were I such a reprobate that all men hissed at me and wished
   me gone from existence, if I knew that they would never forgive my
   crime--though I ought to desire my fellow- creatures' forgiveness--it
   would not be necessary that I should have it to enter heaven. It God
   says, I forgive thee, that is enough. It is only God that can forgive
   satisfactorily; because no human pardon can ease the troubled
   conscience. The self-righteous Pharisee may be content to give himself
   into the hands of a priest to be rocked to sleep in the cradle of
   delusion, but the poor convinced sinner wants something more than the
   arrogant dictum of a priest--ten thousand of them, with all their
   enchantments, he feels to be all in vain, unless Jehovah himself shall
   say, "I have blotted out thy sins for mine own sake."

   Again, it is surprising forgiveness; for the text speaks as if God
   himself were surprised that such sins should be remitted: "I, even, I;"
   it is so surprising that it is repeated in this way, lest any of us
   should doubt it. And it is amazing to the poor sinner when first
   awakened to his sin and danger. It seems to be too good too be true,
   and he "wonders to feel his own hardness depart," the mercy offered is
   so overwhelming. It is said that Alexander, whenever he attacked a
   city, put a light before the gate of it; and if the inhabitants
   surrendered before the light was burnt out, he spared them; but if the
   light went out first, he put them all to death. But our Master is more
   merciful than this; for if he had manifested grace only while a small
   light would burn, where should we have been? There be some here seventy
   or eighty years of age, and God has mercy on you still; but there is a
   light you know which when once quenched, extinguishes all hope of
   pardon--the light of life. See then, grey-headed man, thy candle is
   burnt almost to the socket--it has but the snuff left. Seventy years
   thou hast been here living in sin, and yet mercy waits on thee; but
   thou shalt soon depart, and mark me, there is no hope for thee then.
   But surprising grace, mercy's message is still proclaiming--

   "For while the lamp holds out to burn,

   The vilest sinner may return."

   Unutterable mercy! There is no sinner out of hell so black but that God
   can wash him white. There is not out of the pit one so guilty that God
   is not able and willing to forgive him; for he declares the wondrous
   fact--"I, even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions."

   Notice once more, that it is a present forgiveness. It does not say I
   am he that will blot out thy transgressions, but that blotteth them out
   now. There are some who believe, or at least seem to imagine, that it
   is not possible to know whether our sins are forgiven in this life. We
   may have hope, it is thought, that at last there will be a balance to
   strike on our side. But this will not satisfy the poor soul who is
   really seeking pardon, and is anxious to find it; and God has therefore
   blessedly told us, that he blotteth out our sin now; that he will do it
   at any moment the sinner believes. As soon as he trusts in his
   crucified God, all his sins are forgiven, whether past, present, or to
   come. Even supposing that he is yet to commit them, they are all
   pardoned. If I live eighty years after I receive pardon, doubtless I
   shall fall into many errors, but the one pardon will avail for them as
   well as for the past. Jesus Christ bore our punishment, and God will
   never require at my hands the fulfilment of that law which Christ has
   honored in my stead; for then would there be injustice in heaven: and
   that be far from God. It is no more possible for a pardoned man to be
   lost than for Christ to be lost, because Christ is the sinner's surety.
   Jehovah will never require my debt to be paid twice. Let none impute
   injustice to the God of the whole earth: let none suppose that he will
   twice exact the penalty of one sin. If you have been the chief of
   sinners, you may have the chief of sinner's forgiveness, and God can
   bestow it now.

   I cannot help noticing the completeness of this forgiveness. Suppose
   you call on your creditor, and say to him, "I have nothing to pay
   with." "Well," says he, "I can issue a distress against you, and place
   you in prison and keep you there." You still reply that you have
   nothing and he must do what he can. Suppose he should then say, "I will
   forgive all." You now stand amazed and say, "Can it be possible that
   you will give me that great debt of a thousand pounds?" He replies,
   "Yes, I will." "But how am I to know it?" There is a bond: he takes it
   and crosses it all out and hands it back to you, and says, "There is a
   full discharge, I have blotted it all out." So does the Lord deal with
   penitents. He has a book in which all your debts are written; but with
   the blood of Christ he crosses out the handwriting of ordinances which
   is there written against you. The bond is destroyed, and he will not
   demand payment for it again. The devil will sometimes insinuate to the
   contrary, as he did to Martin Luther. "Bring me the catalogue of my
   sins," said Luther; and he brought a scroll black and long. "Is that
   all?" said Luther. "No," said the devil; and he brought yet another.
   "And now," said the heroic saint of God, "write at the foot of the
   scroll: "The blood of Jesus Christ his Son cleanseth from all sin."
   That is a full discharge."

   III. Now, very briefly, the third thing--THE REASON FOR MERCY. Says one
   poor sinner, "Why should God forgive me? I am sure there is no reason
   why he should, for I have never done anything to deserve his mercy."
   Hear what God says, "I am not about to forgive you for your own sake,
   but for my own sake." "But, Lord, I shall not be thankful enough." "I
   am not about to pardon you because of your gratitude, but for my name's
   sake." "But, Lord, if I am taken into thy church I can do very little
   for thy cause in future years, for I have spent my best days in the
   devil's service, surely the impure dregs of my life cannot be sweet to
   thee, O God." "I will not engage to forgive you for your sake, but for
   my own. I do not want you," says God, "I can do as well without you as
   with you, the cattle upon a thousand hills are mine; and if I pleased I
   could create a whole race of men for my service, who should be as
   renowned as the greatest monarchs, or the most eloquent preachers, but
   I can do as well without them, as with them; and I forgive you
   therefore for my own sake." Is there not hope for a guilty sinner here?
   It cannot be pleaded by any one that his sins are too great to be
   pardoned, for the amount of guilt is hereby put entirely out of
   consideration, seeing that God forgives not on account of the sinner,
   but for his own sake. Did you never hear of a physician visiting a man
   upon a sick bed, when the poor man said, "I have nothing to give you
   for your attention to me." "But," says the doctor, "I did not ask for
   anything; I attend you from pure benevolence; and moreover to prove my
   skill. It will make no difference to me how long you live, I love to
   try my skill, and let the world know that I have power to heal
   diseases. I want to get myself a name." And so God says, I desire to
   have a name for mercy; so that the worse you are, the more God is
   honored in your salvation. Go then to Christ, poor sinner--naked,
   filthy, poor, wretched, vile, lost, dead, come as thou art, for there
   is nothing required in thee, except the need of him:

   "This he gives you,

   'Tis his Spirit's rising beam."

   "for mine own sake," says God, "I will forgive."

   IV. Now to conclude--THE PROMISE OF MERCY. "And will not remember thy
   sins." There are some things which even God cannot do. Though it is
   true he is Omnipotent, yet there are some things he cannot do. God
   cannot lie--he cannot forsake his people--he cannot disown his
   covenant; and this is one of the things it might be thought he could
   not do--that is, forget. Is it impossible for God to forget? We finite
   creatures suffer many things to slip, but can the Almighty ever do so?
   That God who counteth the stars and calleth them all by their
   names--who knoweth how many animalculae there are in the mighty
   ocean--who notices every grain of dust that floats in the summer air,
   and is acquainted with every leaf of the forest, can he cease to
   remember? Perhaps we may answer "No." Not as to the absolute fact of
   the committal of the deed; but there are senses in which the expression
   is entirely accurate. In what sense are we to understand God's
   forgetfulness of our sins?

   First of all, he will not exact punishment for them when we come before
   his judgment bar at last. The Christian will have many accusers. The
   devil will come and say "That man is a great sinner." "I don't remember
   it," says God. "That man rebelled against thee, and cursed thee," says
   the accuser. "I do not remember it," says God, "for I have said I will
   not remember his sins." Conscience says, "Ah! but Lord, it is true, I
   did sin against thee, and that most grievously." "I do not remember
   it," says God--"I said, I will not remember his sins." Let all the
   demons of the pit clamour in God's ear, and let them vehemently shout
   out a list of our sins, we may stand boldly forth at that great day,
   and sing, "Who shall lay anything to the charge of God's elect?" for
   God does not even remember their sin. The Judge does not remember it,
   and who then shall punish? Unrighteous as we were; wicked as we have
   been; yet he has forgotten it all. Who then can bring to remembrance
   what God has forgotten? He says, "I will cast thy sins into the depths
   of the sea," not into the shallows where they might be fished up again,
   but into the depths of the sea, where Satan himself cannot find them.
   There are no such things as sins recorded against God's people. Christ
   has so taken them away, that sin becomes a nonentity to Christians--it
   is all gone, and through Jesu's blood they are clean.

   The second meaning of this is, I will not remember thy sins to suspect
   thee. There is a father, and he has a wayward son who went away that he
   might live a life of looseness and profligacy; but after a while he
   comes home again in a state of penitence. The father says, "I will
   forgive thee." But he says next day to his younger son, "There is
   business to be done at a distant town to-morrow, and here is the money
   for you to do it with." He does not trust the returned prodigal with
   it. "I have trusted him before with money," says the father to himself,
   "and he robbed me, and it makes me afraid to trust him again." But our
   heavenly Father says, "I will not remember thy sins." He not only
   forgives the past, but trusts his people with precious talents. He
   never suspects them. He has never one suspicious thought. He loves them
   just as much as if they had never gone astray. He will employ them to
   preach his gospel; he will put them into the Sunday-school, and make
   them servants of his Son: for he says, "I will not remember thy sins."

   Again: he will not remember in his distribution of the recompense of
   the reward. The earthly parent will kindly pass over the faults of the
   prodigal; but you know when that father comes to die, and is about to
   make his will, the lawyer sitting by his side, he says, "I shall give
   so much to William, who always behaved well, and my other son shall
   have so-and-so, and my daughter, she shall have so much; but there is
   that prodigal, I have spent a large sum upon him when he was young, but
   he wasted what he received, and though I have taken him again into
   favour, and for the present he is going on well; still I think I must
   make a little difference between him and the others. I think it would
   not be fair--though I have forgiven him--to treat him precisely as the
   rest;" and so the lawyer puts him down for a few hundred pounds, while
   the others, perhaps, get their thousands. But God will not remember
   your sins like that; he gives all an inheritance. He will give heaven
   to the chief of sinners as well as to the chief of saints. When he
   divides the portion to his children, it may be he will put Mary
   Magdalene as high as he does Peter, and the thief as high as he does
   John; yea, the malefactor who died on the cross is as much in the sight
   of God as the most moral person that ever lived. Here is a blessed
   forgetfulness. What sayest thou, poor sinner? Is thy heart drawn by a
   mysterious inspiration to the foot of the cross? Then I thank my
   Master; for I trust the one object of my life is to win souls for
   Christ, and if I may be blessed in that, my life shall be happy. Still
   do you say, "My sins are too great to be forgiven." Nay, but O man, as
   high as the heaven is above the earth, so great is his mercy above thy
   sins, and so far does his grace exceed thy thoughts. Oh, but sayest
   thou, "He will not accept me." What then is the meaning of this
   text--"He is able to save unto the uttermost;" or this--"Whosoever
   cometh unto me I will in no wise cast out;" and again--"Whosoever will,
   let him come and take of the water of life freely." Do you still say,
   "This does not include me." Oh be not so faithless, but rather believe.
   Oh! had I the power, God knows I would weep myself away in order to win
   your souls.

   "But feeble our compassion proves,

   And can but weep where most it loves.

   I can do nothing but preach God's gospel; but since the moment Christ
   forgave me, I cannot help speaking of his love. I turned away from his
   gospel, and would have none of his reproofs. I cared not for his voice
   or his Word. That blessed Bible lay unread; these knees refused to bend
   in prayer, and my eyes looked on vanity. Has he not pardoned? Has he
   not forgiven? Yes. Then sooner may this tongue cleave to the roof of my
   mouth, than cease to proclaim free-grace in all its mighty displays of
   electing, redeeming, pardoning, and saving mercy. Oh! how loud ought I
   to sing, seeing I am out of hell, and delivered from condemnation. And
   if I am out of hell, why should not you be? Why should I be saved and
   not another? It was for sinners, remember, that Jesus came. Mary
   Magdalene, Saul of Tarsus--the very chief of sinners, were accepted,
   and why do you foolishly conclude that you are cast out? Oh, poor
   penitent if you perish, you will be the FIRST penitent who ever did so.
   God give you his blessing, my dear friends, for Christ's sake. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                            The Hope of Future Bliss

   A Sermon

   (No. 25)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, May 20, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness; I shall be
   satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness."--Psalm 17:15.

   IT WOULD be difficult to say to which the gospel owes most, to its
   friends or to its enemies. It is true, that by the help of God, its
   friends have done much for it; they have preached it in foreign lands,
   they have dared death, they have laughed to scorn the terrors of the
   grave, they have ventured all things for Christ, and so have glorified
   the doctrine they believed; but the enemies of Christ, unwittingly,
   have done no little, for when they have persecuted Christ's servants,
   they have scattered them abroad, so that they have gone everywhere
   preaching the Word; yea, when they have trampled upon the gospel, like
   a certain herb we read of in medicine, it hath grown all the faster:
   and if we refer to the pages of sacred writ how very many precious
   portions of it do we owe, under God, to the enemies of the cross of
   Christ! Jesus Christ would never have preached many of his discourses
   had not his foes compelled him to answer them; had they not brought
   objections, we should not have heard the sweet sentences in which he
   replied. So with the book of Psalms: had not David been sorely tried by
   enemies, had not the foemen shot their arrows at him, had they not
   attempted to malign and blast his character, had they not deeply
   distressed him, and made him cry out in misery, we should have missed
   many of those precious experimental utterances we here find, much of
   that holy song which he penned after his deliverance, and very much of
   that glorious statement of his trust in the infallible God. We should
   have lost all this, had it not been wrung from him by the iron hand of
   anguish. Had it not been for David's enemies, he would not have penned
   his Psalms; but when hunted like a partridge on the mountains, when
   driven like the timid roe before the hunter's dogs, he waited for
   awhile, bathed his sides in the brooks of Siloa, and panting on the
   hill-top a little, he breathed the air of heaven and stood and rested
   his weary limbs. Then was it that he gave honour to God, then he
   shouted aloud to that mighty Jehovah, who for him had gotten the
   victory. This sentence follows a description of the great troubles
   which the wicked bring upon the righteous, wherein he consoles himself
   with the hope of future bliss.; As for me," says the patriarch, casting
   his eyes aloft; As for me," said the hunted chieftain of the caves of
   Engedi--"As for me," says the once shepherd boy, who was soon to wear a
   royal diadem--"As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness, I
   shall be satisfied, when I awake with thy likeness."

   In looking at this passage to-night, we shall notice first of all, the
   spirit of it; secondly, the matter of it; and then, thirdly, we shall
   close by speaking of the contrast which is implied in it.

   I. First, then, the SPIRIT OF THIS UTTERANCE, for I always love to look
   at the spirit in which a man writes, or the spirit in which he
   preaches; in fact, there is vastly more in that than in the words he
   uses.

   Now, what should you think is the spirit of these words? "As for me, I
   will behold thy face in righteousness: I shall be satisfied, when I
   awake, with thy likeness."

   First, they breathe the spirit of a man entirely free from envy.
   Notice, that the Psalmist has been speaking of the wicked. "They are
   inclosed in their own fat: with their mouth they speak proudly." "They
   are full of children, and leave the rest of their substance to their
   babes." But David envies them not. "Go," says he, "rich man, in all thy
   riches--go, proud man, in all thy pride--go, thou happy man, with thine
   abundance of children; I envy thee not; as for me, my lot is different:
   I can look on you without desiring to have your possessions. I can well
   keep that commandment, Thou shalt not covet,' for in your possessions
   there is nothing worth my love; I set no value upon your earthly
   treasures; I envy you not your heaps of glittering dust; for my
   Redeemer is mine." The man is above envy, because he thinks that the
   joy would be no joy to him--that the portion would not suit his
   disposition. Therefore, he turns his eye heavenward, and says, "As for
   me I shall behold thy face in righteousness." Oh! beloved, it is a
   happy thing to be free from envy. Envy is a curse which blighteth
   creation; and even Eden's garden itself would have become defaced, and
   no longer fair, if the wind of envy could have blown on it, envy
   tarnisheth the gold; envy dimmeth the silver; should envy breathe on
   the hot sun, it would quench it; should she cast her evil eye on the
   moon, it would be turned into blood, and the stars would fly astonished
   at her. Envy is accursed of heaven; yea, it is Satan's first-born--the
   vilest of vices. Give a man riches, but let him have envy, and there is
   the worm at the root of the fair tree; give him happiness, and if he
   envies another's lot, what would have been happiness becomes his
   misery, because it is not so great as that of some one else. But give
   me freedom from envy; let me be content with what God has given me, let
   me say, "Ye may have yours, I will not envy you--I am satisfied with
   mine," yea, give me such a love to my fellow creatures that I can
   rejoice in their joy, and the more they have the more glad I am of it.
   My candle will burn no less brightly because theirs outshines it. I can
   rejoice in their prosperity. Then am I happy, for all around tends to
   make me blissful, when I can rejoice in the joys of others, and make
   their gladness my own. Envy! oh! may God deliver us from it! But how,
   in truth, can we get rid of it so well as by believing that ye have
   something that is not on earth, but in heaven? If we can look upon all
   the things in the world and say, "As for me, I will behold thy face in
   righteousness; I shall be satisfied by-and-bye!" then we cannot envy
   other men, because their lot would not be adapted to our peculiar
   taste. Doth the ox envy the lion! Nay, for it cannot feed upon the
   carcase. Doth the dove grieve because the raven can gloat itself on
   carrion? Nay, for it lives on other food. Will the eagle envy the wren
   his tiny nest? Oh, no! So the Christian will mount aloft as the eagle,
   spreading his broad wings, he will fly up to his eyrie amongst the
   stars, where God hath made him his nest, saying, "As for me, I will
   dwell here; I look upon the low places of this earth with contempt. I
   envy not your greatness, ye mighty emperors; I desire not your fame, ye
   mighty warriors; I ask not for wealth, O Croesus; I beg not for thy
   power, O Caesar; as for me, I have something else, my portion is the
   Lord." The text breathes the spirit of a man free from envy. May God
   give that to us!

   Then, secondly, you can see that there is about it the air of a man who
   is looking into the future. Read the passage thoroughly, and you will
   see that it all has relation to the future, because it says, "As for
   me, I shall." It has nothing to do with the present: it does not say,
   "As for me I do, or I am, so-and-so," but "As for me, I will behold thy
   face in righteousness; I shall be satisfied, when I awake." The
   Psalmist looks beyond the grave into another world; he overlooks the
   narrow death-bed where he has to sleep, and he says, "When I awake."
   How happy is that man who has an eye to the future; even in worldly
   things we esteem that man who looks beyond the present day, he who
   spends all his money as it comes in will soon bring himself to rags. He
   who lives on the present is a fool; but wise men are content to look
   after future things. When Milton penned his book he might know,
   perhaps, that he should have little fame in his lifetime; but he said,
   "I shall be honoured when my head shall sleep in the grave." Thus have
   other worthies been content to tarry until time has broken the earthen
   pitcher, and suffered the lamp to blaze; as for honour, they said, "We
   will leave that to the future, for that fame which comes late is often
   most enduring," and they lived upon the "shall "and fed upon the
   future. "I shall be satisfied" by-and-bye. So says the Christian. I ask
   no royal pomp or fame now; I am prepared to wait, I have an interest in
   reversion; I want not a pitiful estate here--I will tarry till I get my
   domains in heaven, those broad and beautiful domains that God has
   provided for them that love him. Well content will I be to fold my arms
   and sit me down in the cottage, for I shall have a mansion of God, "a
   house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens." Do any of you know
   what it is to live on the future--to live on expectation--to live on
   what you are to have in the next world--to feast yourselves with some
   of the droppings of the tree of life that fall from heaven--to live
   upon the manna of expectation which falls in the wilderness, and to
   drink that stream of nectar which gushes from the throne of God? Have
   you ever gone to the great Niagara of hope, and drank the spray with
   ravishing delight; for the very spray of heaven is glory to one's soul!
   Have you ever lived on the future, and said, "As for me I shall have
   somewhat, by-and-bye?" Why, this is the highest motive that can actuate
   a man. I suppose this was what made Luther so bold, when he stood
   before his great audience of kings and lords, and said, "I stand by the
   truth that I have written, and will so stand by it till I die; so help
   me God!" Me thinks he must have said, "I shall be satisfied by-and-bye.
   I am not satisfied now, but I shall be soon." For this the missionary
   ventures the stormy sea; for this he treads the barbarous shore; for
   this he goes into inhospitable climes, and risks his life, because he
   knows there is a payment to come by-and-bye. I sometimes laughingly
   tell my friends when I receive a favor from them, that I cannot return
   it, but set it up to my Master in heaven, for they shall be satisfied
   when they awake in his likeness. There are many things that we may
   never hope to be rewarded for here, but that shall be remembered before
   the throne hereafter, not of debt, but of grace. Like a poor minister I
   heard of, who, walking to a rustic chapel to preach, was met by a
   clergyman who had a far richer berth. He asked the poor man what he
   expected to have for his preaching. "Well," he said, "I expect to have
   a crown." "Ah!" said the clergyman, "I have not been in the habit of
   preaching for less than a guinea, anyhow." "Oh!" said the other, "I am
   obliged to be content with a crown, and what is more, I do not have my
   crown now, but I have to wait for that in the future." The clergyman
   little thought that he meant the "crown of life that fadeth not away!"
   Christian! live on the future; seek nothing here, but expect that thou
   shalt shine when thou shalt come in the likeness of Jesus, with him to
   be admired, and to kneel before his face adoringly. The Psalmist had an
   eye to the future.

   And again, upon this point, you can see that David, at the time he
   wrote this, was full of faith. The text is fragrant with confidence.
   "As for me," says David, no perhaps about it. "I will behold thy face
   in righteousness; I shall be satisfied when I awake up in thy
   likeness." If some men should say so now, they would be called
   fanatics, and it would be considered presumption for any man to say, "I
   will behold thy face, I shall be satisfied;" and I think there are many
   now in this world who think it is quite impossible for a man to say to
   a certainty, "I know, I am sure, I am certain." But, beloved, there are
   not one or two, but there are thousands and thousands of God's people
   alive in this world who can say with an assured confidence, no more
   doubting of it than of their very existence, "I will behold thy face in
   righteousness. I shall be satisfied, when I awake in thy likeness." It
   is possible, though perhaps not very easy, to attain to that high and
   eminent position wherein we can say no longer do I hope, but I know; no
   longer do I trust, but I am persuaded; I have a happy confidence; I am
   sure of it; I an certain; for God has so manifested himself to me that
   now it is no longer "if" and "perhaps" but it is positive, eternal,
   "shall." "I shall be satisfied when I awake in thy likeness." How many
   are there here of that sort? Oh! if ye are talking like that, ye must
   expect to have trouble, for God never gives strong faith without fiery
   trial; he will never give a man the power to say that "shall" without
   trying him; he will not build a strong ship without subjecting it to
   very mighty storms; he will not make you a mighty warrior, if he does
   not intend to try your skill in battle. God's swords must be used; the
   old Toledo blades of heaven must be smitten against the armor of the
   evil one, and yet they shall not break, for they are of true Jerusalem
   metal, which shall never snap. Oh! what a happy thing to have that
   faith to say "I shall." Some of you think it quite impossible, I know;
   but it "is the gift of God," and whosoever asks it shall obtain it: and
   the very chief of sinners now present in this place may yet be able to
   say long before he comes to die, "I shall behold thy face in
   righteousness." Methinks I see the aged Christian. He has been very
   poor. He is in a garret where the stars look between the tiles. There
   is his bed. His clothes ragged and torn. There are a few sticks on the
   hearth: they are the last he has. He is sitting up in his chair; his
   paralytic hand quivers and shakes, and he is evidently near his end.
   His last meal was eaten yester-noon; and as you stand and look at him,
   poor, weak, and feeble, who would desire his lot? But ask him, "Old
   man, wouldst thou change thy garret for Caesar's palace? Aged
   Christian, wouldst thou give up these rags for wealth, and cease to
   love thy God?" See how indignation burns in his eyes at once! He
   replies, "As for me, I shall,' within a few more days, behold his face
   in righteousness; I shall be satisfied soon; here I never shall be.
   Trouble has been my lot, and trial has been my portion, but I have a
   house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens.'" Bid high; bid him
   fair; offer him your hands full of gold; lay all down for him to give
   up his Christ. "Give up Christ?" he will say, "no, never!"

   "While my faith can keep her hold,

   I envy not the miser's gold."

   Oh! what a glorious thing to be full of faith, and to have the
   confidence of assurance, so as to say, "I will behold thy face; I shall
   be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness."

   Thus much concerning the spirit of David. It is one very much to be
   copied and eminently to be desired.

   II. But now, secondly, THE MATTER OF THIS PASSAGE. And here we will
   dive into the very depths of it, God helping us; for without the Spirit
   of God I feel I am utterly unable to speak to you. I have not those
   gifts and talents which qualify men to speak; I need an afflatus from
   no high, otherwise I stand like other men and have nought to say. May
   that be given me; for without it I am dumb. As for the matter of this
   verse, methinks it contains a double blessing. The first is a
   beholding--"I will behold thy face in righteousness," and the next is a
   satisfaction--"I shall be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness."

   Let us begin with the first, then. David expected that he should behold
   God's face. What a vision will that be, my brethren! Have you ever seen
   God's hand? I have seen it, when sometimes he places it across the sky,
   and darkens it with clouds. I have seen God's hand sometimes, when the
   ears of night drag along the shades of darkness. I have seen his hand
   when, launching the thunder-bolt, his lightning splits the clouds and
   rends the heavens. Perhaps ye have seen it in a gentler fashion, when
   it pours out the water and sends it rippling along in rills, and then
   rolls into rivers. Ye have seen it in the stormy ocean--in the sky
   decked with stars, in the earth gemmed with flowers; and there is not a
   man living who can know all the wonders of God's hand. His creation is
   so wondrous that it would take more than a life-time to understand it.
   Go into the depths of it, let its minute parts engage your attention;
   next take the telescope, and try to see remote worlds, and can I see
   all God's handiwork--behold all his hand? No, not so much as one
   millionth part of the fabric. That mighty hand wherein the callow
   comets are brooded by the sun, in which the planets roll in majestic
   orbits; that mighty hand which holds all space, and grasps all
   beings--that mighty hand, who can behold it? but if such be his hand,
   what must his face be? Ye have heard God's voice sometimes, and ye have
   trembled; I, myself, have listened awe-struck, and yet with a
   marvellous joy, when I have heard God's voice, like the noise of many
   waters, in the great thunderings. Have you never stood and listened,
   while the earth shook and trembled, and the very spheres stopped their
   music, while God spoke with his wondrous deep bass voice? Yes, ye have
   heard that voice, and there is a joy marvellously instinct with love
   which enters into my soul, whenever I hear the thunder. It is my Father
   speaking, and my heart leaps to hear him. But you never heard God's
   loudest voice. It was but the whisper when the thunder rolled. But if
   such be the voice, what must it be to behold his face? David said, "I
   will behold thy face." It is said of the temple of Diana, that it was
   so splendidly decorated with gold, and so bright and shining, that a
   porter at the door always said to every one that entered, "Take heed to
   your eyes, take heed to your eyes; you will be struck with blindness
   unless you take heed to your eyes." But oh! that view of glory! That
   great appearance. The vision of God! to see him face to face, to enter
   into heaven, and to see the righteous shining bright as stars in the
   firmament; but best of all, to catch a glimpse of the eternal throne!
   Ah! there he sits! Twere almost blasphemy for me to attempt to describe
   him. How infinitely far my poor words fall below the mighty subject!
   But to behold God's face. I will not speak of the lustre of those eyes,
   or the majesty of those lips, that shall speak words of love and
   affection; but to behold his face' Ye who have dived into the Godhead's
   deepest sea, and have been lost in its immensity, ye can tell a little
   of it! Ye naughty "ones, who have lived in heaven these thousand years
   perhaps ye know, but ye cannot tell, What it is to see his face. We
   must each of us go there we must be clad with immortality. We must go
   above the blue sky, and bathe in the river of life: we must outsoar the
   lightning, and rise above the stars to know what it is to see God's
   face. Words cannot set it forth. So there I leave it. The hope the
   Psalmist had was, that he might see God's face.

   But there was a peculiar sweetness mixed with this joy, because he knew
   that he should behold God's face in righteousness. "I shall behold thy
   face in righteousness." Have I not seen my Father's face here below?
   Yes, I have, "through a glass darkly," But has not the Christian
   sometimes beheld him, when in his heavenly moments earth is gone, and
   the mind is stripped of matter? There are some seasons when the gross
   materialism dies away, and when the ethereal fire within blazes up so
   high that it almost touches the fire of heaven. There are seasons, when
   in some retired spot, calm and free from all earthly thought, we have
   put our shoes from off our feet because the place whereon we stood was
   holy ground; and we have talked with God! even as Enoch talked with him
   so has the Christian held intimate communion with his Father. He has
   heard his love whispers, he has told out his heart, poured out his
   sorrows and his groans before him. But after all he has felt that he
   has not beheld his face in righteousness. There was so much sin to
   darken the eyes, so much folly, so much frailty, that we could not get
   a clear prospect of our Jesus. But here the Psalmist says, "I will
   behold thy face in righteousness." When that illustrious day shall
   arise, and I shall see my Saviour face to face, I shall see him "in
   righteousness." The Christian in heaven will not have so much as a
   speck upon his garment; he will be pure and white; yea, on the earth he
   is

   "Pure through Jesus' blood, and white as angels are."

   But in heaven that whiteness shall be more apparent. Now, it is
   sometimes smoked by earth, and covered with the dust of this poor
   carnal world; but in heaven he will have brushed himself, and washed
   his wings and made them clean; and then will he see God's face in
   righteousness. My God; I believe I shall stand before thy face as pure
   as thou art thyself, for I shall have the righteousness of Jesus Christ
   there shall be upon me the righteousness of a God. "I shall behold thy
   face in righteousness." O Christian, canst thou enjoy this? Though I
   cannot speak about it, dost thy heart meditate upon it? To behold his
   face for ever; to bask in that vision! True, thou canst not understand
   it; but thou mayest guess the meaning. To behold his face in
   righteousness!

   The second blessing, upon which I will be brief, is satisfaction. He
   will be satisfied, the Psalmist says, when he wakes up in God's
   likeness. Satisfaction! this is another joy for the Christian when he
   shall enter heaven. Here we are never thoroughly satisfied. True, the
   Christian is satisfied from himself; he has that within which is a
   wet-spring of comfort, and he can enjoy solid satisfaction. But heaven
   is the home of true and real satisfaction. When the believer enters
   heaven I believe his imagination will be thoroughly satisfied. All he
   has ever thought of he will there see; every holy idea will be
   solidified; every mighty conception will become a reality, every
   glorious imagination will become a tangible thing that he can see. His
   imagination will not be able to think of anything better than heaven;
   and should he sit down through eternity, he would not be able to
   conceive of anything that should outshine the lustre of that glorious
   city. His imagination will be satisfied. Then his intellect will be
   satisfied.

   "Then shall I see, and hear, and know,

   All I desired, or wished, below."

   Who is satisfied with his knowledge here? Are there not secrets we want
   to know, depths in the arcana of nature that we have not entered? But
   in that glorious state we shall know as much as we want to know. The
   memory will be satisfied. We shall look back upon the vista of past
   years, and we shall be content with whatever we endured, or did, or
   suffered on earth.

   "There, on a green and flowery mound,

   My wearied soul shall sit,

   And with transporting joys recount

   The labors of my feet."

   Hope will be satisfied, if there be such a thing in heaven. We shall
   hope for a future eternity, and believe in it. But we shall be
   satisfied as to our hopes continually: and the whole man will be so
   content that there will not remain a single thing in all God's
   dealings, that he would wish to have altered; yea, perhaps I say a
   thing at which some of you will demur--but the righteous in heaven will
   be quite satisfied with the damnation of the lost. I used to think that
   if I could see the lost in hell, surely I must weep for them. Could I
   hear their horrid wailings, and see the dreadful contortions of their
   anguish, surely I must pity them. But there is no such sentiment as
   that known in heaven. The believer shall be there so satisfied with all
   God's will, that he will quite forget the lost in the idea that God has
   done it for the best, that even their loss has been their own fault,
   and that he is infinitely just in it. If my parents could see me in
   hell they would not have a tear to shed for me, though they were in
   heaven, for they would say, "It is justice, thou great God; and thy
   justice must be magnified, as well as thy mercy;" and moreover, they
   would feel that God was so much above his creatures that they would be
   satisfied to see those creatures crushed if it might increase God's
   glory. Oh! in heaven I believe we shall think rightly of men. Here men
   seem great things to us; but in heaven they will seem no more than a
   few creeping insects that are swept away in ploughing a field for
   harvest; they will appear no more than a tiny handful of dust, or like
   some nest of wasps that ought to be exterminated for the injury they
   have done. They will appear such little things when we sit on high with
   God, and look down on the nations of the earth as grasshoppers, and
   "count the isles as very little things." We shall be satisfied with
   everything; there will not be a single thing to complain of. "I shall
   be satisfied."

   But when? "I shall be satisfied when I awake with thy likeness." But
   not till then. No, not till then. Now here a difficulty occurs. You
   know there are some in heaven who have not yet waked up in God's
   likeness. In fact, none of those in heaven have done so. They never did
   sleep as respects their souls; the waking refers to their bodies, and
   they are not awake yet--but are still slumbering. O earth! thou art the
   bedchamber of the mighty dead! What a vast sleeping-house this world
   is! It is one vast cemetery. The righteous still sleep; and they are to
   be satisfied on the resurrection morn, when they awake. "But," say you,
   "are they not satisfied now? They are in heaven: is it possible that
   they can be distressed?" No, they are not; there is only one
   dissatisfaction that can enter heaven--the dissatisfaction of the blest
   that their bodies are not there. Allow me to use a simile which will
   somewhat explain what I mean. When a Roman conqueror had been at war,
   and won great victories, he would very likely come back with his
   soldiers enter into his house, and enjoy himself till the next day,
   when he would go out of the city and then come in again in triumph.
   Now, the saints, as it were, if I might use such a phrase, steal into
   heaven without their bodies; but on the last day, when their bodies
   wake up, they will enter in their triumphal chariots. And methinks I
   see that grand procession, when Jesus Christ, first of all, with man;
   crowns on his head, with his bright, glorious body, shall lead the way.
   I see my Saviour entering first. Behind him come the saints, all of
   them clapping their hands all of them touching their golden harps, and
   entering in triumph. And when they come to heaven's gates, and the
   doors are opened wide to let the king of glory in, now will the angels
   crowd at the windows, and on the house-tops, like the inhabitants in
   the Roman triumphs, to watch them as they pass through the streets, and
   scatter heaven's roses and cities upon them, crying, crying,
   "Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!"
   "I shall be satisfied" in that glorious day, when all his angels shall
   come to see the triumph, and when his people shall be victorious with
   him.

   One thought here ought not to be forgotten; and that is, the Psalmist
   says we are to wake up in the likeness of God. This may refer to the
   soul; for the spirit of the righteous will be in the likeness of God as
   to its happiness holiness, purity, infallability, eternity, and freedom
   from pain; but specially, I think, it relates to the body because it
   speaks of the awaking. The body is to be in the likeness of Christ.
   What a thought! It is--and alas! I have had too many such to-night--a
   thought too heavy for words. I am to awake up in Christ's likeness. I
   do not know what Christ is like, and can scarcely imagine. I love
   sometimes to sit and look at him in his crucifixion. I care not what
   men say--I know that sometimes I have derived benefit from a picture of
   my dying crucified Saviour; and I look at him with his crown of thorns,
   his pierced side, his bleeding hands and feet, and all those drops of
   gore hanging from him; but I cannot picture him in heaven, he is so
   bright, so glorious; the God so shines through the man; his eyes are
   like lamps of fire; his tongue like a two-edged sword; his head covered
   with hair as white as snow, for he is the Ancient of days, he binds the
   clouds round about him for a girdle; and when he speaks, it is like the
   sound of many waters! I read the accounts given in the book of
   Revelation, but I cannot tell what he is; they are Scripture phrases,
   and I cannot understand their meaning; but whatever they mean, I know
   that I shall wake up in Christ's likeness. Oh; what a change it will
   be, when some of us get to heaven! There is a man who fell in battle
   with the word of salvation on his lips, his legs had been shot away,
   and his body had been scarred by sabre thrusts; he wakes in heaven, and
   finds that he has not a broken body, maimed and cut about, and hacked
   and injured, but that he is in Christ's likeness. There is an old
   matron, who has tottered on her staff for years along her weary way;
   time has ploughed furrows on her brow; haggard and lame, her body is
   laid in the grave. But oh! aged woman, thou shalt arise in youth and
   beauty. Another has been deformed in his life-time, but when he wakes,
   he wakes in the likeness of Christ. Whatever may have been the form of
   our countenance, whatever the contour, the beautiful shall be no more
   beautiful in heaven than those who were deformed. Those who shone on
   earth, peerless, among the fairest, who ravished men with looks from
   their eyes, they shall be no brighter in heaven than those who are now
   passed by and neglected: for they shall all be like Christ.

   III. But now to close up, HERE IS A VERY SAD CONTRAST IMPLIED. We shall
   all slumber A few more years and where will this company be? Xerxes
   wept, because in a little while his whole army would be gone; how might
   I stand here and weep, because within a few more years others shall
   stand in this place, and shall say, "The fathers, where are they?" Good
   God! and is it true? Is it not a reality? Is it all to be swept away?
   Is it one great dissolving view? Ah! it is. This sight shall vanish
   soon, and you and I shall vanish with it. We are but a show. This life
   is but "a stage whereon men act;" and then we pass behind the curtain,
   and we there unmask ourselves, and talk with God. The moment we begin
   to live we begin to die. The tree has long been growing that shall be
   sawn to make you a coffin. The sod is ready for you all. But this scene
   is to appear again soon. One short dream, one hurried nap, and all this
   sight shall come o'er again. We shall all awake, and as we stand here
   now, we shall stand together, perhaps, even more thickly pressed. But
   we shall stand on the level then--the rich and poor, the preacher and
   hearer. There will be but one distinction--righteous and wicked. At
   first we shall stand together. Methinks I see the scene. The sea is
   boiling; the heavens are rent in twain, the clouds are fashioned into a
   chariot, and Jesus riding on it, with wings of fire, comes riding
   through the sky. His throne is set. He seats himself upon it. With a
   nod he hushes all the world. He lifts his fingers, opens the great
   books of destiny, and the book of our probation, wherein are written
   the acts of time. With his fingers he beckons to the hosts above.
   "Divide," said he, "divide the universe." Swifter than thought all the
   earth shall part in sunder. Where shall I be found when the dividing
   comes? Methinks I see them all divided, and the righteous are on the
   right. Turning to them, with a voice sweeter than music, he says,
   "Come! Ye have been coming--keep on your progress! Come! it has been
   the work of your life to come, so continue. Come and take the last
   step. Come, ye blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for
   you from before the foundation of the world.'" And now the wicked are
   left alone; and turning to them, he says, "Depart! Ye have been
   departing all your life long; it was your business to depart from me;
   ye said, Depart from me, I love not thy ways.' You have been departing,
   keep on, take the last step!'" They dare not move. They stand still.
   The Saviour becomes the avenger. The hands that once held out mercy,
   now grasp the sword of justice; the lips that spoke lovingkindness, now
   utter thunder; and with a deadly aim; he lifts up the sword, and sweeps
   amongst them. They fly like deer before the lion, and enter the jaws of
   the bottomless pit.

   But never, I hope, shall I cease preaching, without telling you what to
   do to be saved. This morning I preached to the ungodly, to the worst of
   sinners, and many wept--I hope many hearts melted--while I spoke of the
   great mercy of God. I have not spoken of that to-night. We must take a
   different line sometimes; led, I trust, by God's Spirit. But oh! ye
   that are thirsty, and heavy laden, and lost and ruined, mercy speaks
   yet once again to you! Here is the way of salvation. "He that believeth
   and is baptized shall be saved." "And what is it to believe?" says one;
   "is it to say I know Christ died for me?" No, that is not to believe,
   it is part of it, but it is not all. Every Arminian believes that; and
   every man in the world believes it who holds that doctrine, since he
   conceives that Christ died for every man. Consequently that is not
   faith. But faith is this: to cast yourself on Christ. As the negro
   said, most curiously, when asked what he did to be saved; "Massa," said
   he, "I fling myself down on Jesus, and dere I lay; I fling myself flat
   on de promise, and dere I lay." And to every penitent sinner Jesus
   says, "I am able to save to the uttermost;" throw thyself flat on the
   promise, and say, "Then, Lord, thou art able to save me." God says,
   "Come now, let us reason together, though your sins be as scarlet they
   shall be white as snow, and though they be red like crimson they shall
   be as wool." Cast thyself on him, and thou shalt be saved. "Ah!" says
   one, "I am afraid I am not one of God's people; I cannot read my name
   in the book of life." A very good thing you can't, for if the Bible had
   every body's name in it, it would be a pretty large book; and if your
   name is John Smith and you saw that name in the Bible, if you do not
   believe God's promise now, you would be sure to believe that it was
   some other John Smith. Suppose the Emperor of Russia should issue a
   decree to all the Polish refugees to return to their own country; you
   see a Polish refugee looking at the great placards hanging on the wall
   he looks with pleasure, and says, "Well, I shall go back to my
   country." But some one says to him, "It does not say Walewski." "Yes,
   "he would reply, "but it says Polish refugees: Polish is my Christian
   name, and refugee my surname, and that is me." And so, though it does
   not say your name in the Scriptures, it says lost sinner. Sinner is
   your Christian name, and lost is your surname; therefore, why not come?
   It says, "lost sinner;"--is not that enough? "This is a faithful
   saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ came into the
   world to save sinners of whom I am chief." "Yes, but," another one
   says, "I am afraid I am not elect." Oh! dear souls, do not trouble
   yourselves about that. If you believe in Christ you are elect. Whoever
   puts himself on the mercy of Jesus is elect; for he would never do it
   if he had not been elect. Whoever comes to Christ, and looks for mercy
   through his blood, is elect, and he shall see that he is elect
   afterwards; but do not expect to read election till you have read
   repentance. Election is a college to which you little ones will not go
   till you have been to the school of repentance. Do not begin to read
   your book backwards, and say Amen before you have said your
   paternoster. Begin with "Our Father," and then you will go on to "thine
   is the kingdom the power and the glory;" but begin with "the kingdom,"
   and you will have hard work to go back to "Our Father." We must begin
   with faith. We must begin with--

   "Nothing in my hands I bring."

   As God made the world out of nothing, he always makes his Christians
   out of nothing; and he who has nothing at all to-night, shall find
   grace and mercy, if he will come for it.

   Let me close up by telling you what I have heard of some poor woman,
   who was converted and brought to life, just by passing down a street,
   and hearing a child, sitting at a door, singing--

   "I am nothing at all

   But Jesus Christ is all in all."

   That is a blessed song; go home and sing it; and he who can rightly
   apprehend those little words, who can feel himself vanity without
   Jesus, but that he has all things in Christ, is not only far from the
   kingdom of heaven, but he is there in faith, and shall be there in
   fruition, when be shall wake up in God's likeness.
     __________________________________________________________________

                         The Two Effects of the Gospel

   A Sermon

   (No. 26)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, May 27, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "For we are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, in them that are saved,
   and in them that perish: To the one we are the savour of death unto
   death; and to the other the savour of life unto life. And who is
   sufficient for these things?"--2 Corinthians 2:15-16.

   THESE ARE THE words of Paul, speaking on the behalf of himself and his
   brethren the Apostles, and they are true concerning all those who by
   the Spirit are chosen, qualified, and thrust into the vineyard to
   preach God's gospel. I have often admired the 14th verse of this
   chapter, especially when I have remembered from whose lips the words
   fell, "Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in
   Christ, and maketh manifest the savour of his knowledge by us in every
   place." Picture Paul, the aged, the man who had been beaten five times
   with forty stripes save one,' who had been dragged forth for dead, the
   man of great sufferings, who had passed through whole seas of
   persecution only think of him saying, at the close of his ministerial
   career, "Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in
   Christ!" to triumph when shiprecked, to triumph when scourged, to
   triumph in the stocks, to triumph under the stones, to triumph amidst
   the hiss of the world, to triumph when he was driven from the city and
   shook off the dust from his feet, to triumph at all times in Christ
   Jesus! Now, if some ministers of modern times should talk thus, we
   would think little of it, for they enjoy the world's applause They can
   always go to their place in ease and peace; they have an admiring
   people, and no open foes; against them not a dog doth move his tongue;
   everything is safe and pleasant, For them to say, "Now thanks be unto
   God, which always causeth us to triumph" is a very little thing; but
   for one like Paul, so trampled on, so tried, so distressed, to say
   it-then, we say, outspoke a hero; here is a man who had true faith in
   God and in the divinity of his mission.

   And, my brethren, how sweet is that consolation which Paul applied to
   his own heart amid all his troubles. "Notwithstanding all," he says,
   "God makes known the savour of his knowledge by us in every place." Ah!
   with this thought a minister may lay his head upon his pillow: "God
   makes manifest the savour of his knowledge." With this he may shut his
   eyes when his career is over, and with this he may open them in heaven:
   "God hath made known by me the savour of his knowledge in every place,"
   Then follow the words of my text, of which I shall speak, dividing it
   into three particulars. Our first remark shall be, that although the
   gospel is "a sweet savour" in every place, yet it produces different
   effects in different persons; to one it is the savour of death unto
   death; and to the other the savour of life unto life." Our second
   observation shall be, that ministers of the gospel are not responsible
   for their success, for it is said. "We are unto God a sweet savour of
   Christ, in them that are saved, and in them that perish." And thirdly,
   yet the gospel ministers place is by no means a light one: his duty is
   very weighty; for the Apostle himself said, "Who is sufficient for
   these things?"

   I. Our first remark is, that THE GOSPEL PRODUCES DIFFERENT EFFECTS. It
   must seem a strange thing, but it is strangely true, that there is
   scarcely ever a good thing in the world of which some little evil is
   not the consequence. Let the sun shine in brilliance--it shall moisten
   the wax, it shall harden clay; let it pour down floods of light on the
   tropics--it will cause vegetation to be extremely luxuriant, the
   richest and choicest fruits shall ripen, and the fairest of all flowers
   shall bloom, but who does not know, that there the worst of reptiles
   and the most venomous snakes are also brought forth? So it is with the
   gospel. Although it is the very sun of righteousness to the world,
   although it is God's best gift, although nothing can be in the least
   comparable to the vast amount of benefit which it bestows upon the
   human race, yet even of that we must confess, that sometimes it is the
   "savour of death unto death." But then we are not to blame the gospel
   for this; it is not the fault of God's truth; it is the fault of those
   who do not receive it. It is the "savour of life unto life" to every
   one that listens to its sound with a heart that is open to its
   reception. It is only "death unto death" to the man who hates the
   truth, despises it, scoffs at it, and tries to oppose its progress, It
   is of that character we must speak first.

   1. The gospel is to some men "a savour of death unto death." Now, this
   depends very much upon what the gospel is; because there are some
   things called gospel, that are "a savour of death unto death" to
   everybody that hears them. John Berridge says he preached morality till
   there was not a moral man left in the village; and there is no way of
   injuring morality like legal preaching. The preaching of good works,
   and the exhorting men to holiness, as the means of salvation, is very
   much admired in theory; but when brought into practice, it is found not
   only ineffectual, but more than that--it becomes even "a savour of
   death unto death." So it has been found; and I think even the great
   Chalmers himself confessed, that for years and years before he knew the
   Lord, he preached nothing but morality and precepts, but he never found
   a drunkard reclaimed by shewing him merely the evils of drunkenness;
   nor did he find a swearer stop his swearing because he told him the
   heinousness of the sin; it was not until he begin to preach the love of
   Jesus, in his great heart of mercy-it was not until he preached the
   gospel as it was in Christ, in some of its clearness, fulness, and
   power, and the doctrine, that "by grace ye are saved, through faith,
   and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of God" that he ever met
   with success. But when he did preach salvation by faith, by shoals the
   drunkards came from their cups, and swearers refrained their lips from
   evil speaking; thieves became honest men, and unrighteous and ungodly
   persons bowed to the scepter of Jesus. But ye must confess, as I said
   before, that though the gospel does in the main produce the best effect
   upon almost all who hear it either by restraining them from sin, or
   constraining them to Christ, yet it is a great fact, and a solemn one,
   upon which I hardly know bow to speak this morning, that to some men
   the preaching of Christ's gospel is "death unto death," and produces
   evil instead of good.

   (1.) And the first sense is this. Many men are hardened in their sins
   by hearing the gospel. Oh! tis terribly and solemnly true, that of all
   sinners some sanctuary sinners are the worst. Those who can dive
   deepest into sin, and have the most quiet consciences and hardest
   hearts, are some who are to be found in God's own house. I know that a
   faithful ministry will often prick them, and the stern denunciations of
   a Boanerges, will frequently make them shake. I am aware that the Word
   of God will sometimes make their blood curdle within them; but I know
   (for I have seen the men) that there are many who turn the grace of God
   into licentiousness, make even God's truth a stalking-horse for the
   devil, and abuse God's grace to pall ate their sin. Such men have I
   found amongst those who hear the doctrines of grace in their fulness.
   They will say, "I am elect, therefore I may swear; I am one of those
   who were chosen of God before the foundation of the world, and
   therefore I may live as I list." I have seen the man who stood upon the
   table of a public house, and grasping the glass in his hand, said,
   "Mates! I can say more than any of you; I am one of those who are
   redeemed with Jesus' precious blood:" and then he drank his tumbler of
   ale and danced again before them, and sang vile and blasphemous songs.
   Now, that is a man to whom the gospel is "a savour of death unto
   death." He bears the truth, but he perverts it; he takes what is
   intended by God for his good, and what does he do, he commits suicide
   therewith. That knife which was given him to open the secrets of the
   gospel he drives into his own heart. That which is the purest of all
   truth and the highest of all morality, he turns into the panderer of
   his vice, and makes it a scaffold to aid in building up his wickedness
   and sin. Are there any of you here like that man--who love to hear the
   gospel, as ye call it, and yet live impurely? who can sit down and say
   you are the children of God, and still behave like liege servants of
   the devil? Be it known unto you, that ye are liars and hypocrites, for
   the truth is not in you at all. "If any man is born of God, he cannot
   sin." God's elect will not be suffered to fall into continual sin; they
   will never "turn the grace of God into licentiousness;" but it will be
   their endeavour, as much as in them lies, to keep near to Jesus. Rest
   assured of this: "By their fruits ye shall know them." A good tree
   cannot bring forth corrupt fruit; neither can an evil tree bring forth
   good fruit." Such men, however, are continually turning the gospel into
   evil, They sin with a high hand, from the very fact that they have
   heard what they consider excuses their vice. There is nothing under
   heaven, I conceive, more liable to lead men astray than a perverted
   gospel. A truth perverted is generally worse than a doctrine which all
   know to be false. As fire, one of the most useful of the elements, can
   also cause the fiercest of conflagrations, so the gospel, the best
   thing we have, can be turned to the vilest account. This is one sense
   in which it is "a savour of death unto death."

   (2.) But another. It is a fact that the gospel of Jesus Christ will
   increase some mens damnation at the last great day. Again, I startle at
   myself when I have said it; for it seems too horrible a thought for us
   to venture to utter--that the gospel of Christ will make hell hotter to
   some men than it otherwise would have been. Men would all have sunk to
   hell had it not been for the gospel. The grace of God reclaims "a
   multitude that no man can number;" it secures a countless army who
   "shall be saved in the Lord with an everlasting salvation;" but, at the
   same time, it does to those who reject it, make their damnation even
   more dreadful. And let me tell you why.

   First, because men sin against greater light; and the light we have is
   an excellent measure of our guilt. What a Hottentot might do without a
   crime, would be the greatest sin to me, because I am taught better; and
   what some even in London might do with irnpunity--set down, as it might
   be, as a sin by God, but not so exceeding sinful-would be to me the
   very height of transgression, because I have from my youth up been
   tutored to piety. The gospel comes upon men like the light from heaven.
   What a wanderer must he be who strays in the light! If he who is blind
   falls into the ditch we can pity him, but if a man, with the light on
   his eyeballs dashes himself from the precipice and loses his own soul,
   is not pity out of the question?

   "How they deserve the deepest hell,

   That slight the joys above!

   What chains of vengeance must they feel,

   Who laugh at sov'reign love!"

   It will increase your condemnation, I tell you all, unless you find
   Jesus Christ to he your Saviour; for to have had the light and not to
   walk by it, shall be the condemnation, the very essence of it, This
   shall be the virus of the guilt--that the, "light came into the world,
   and the darkness comprehended it not;" for "men love darkness rather
   than light, because their deeds are evil."

   Again: it must increase your condemnation if you oppose the gospel. If
   God devises a scheme of mercy, and man rises up against it, how great
   must be his sin? Who shall tell the great guilt incurred by such men as
   Pilate, Herod, and the Jews? Oh! who shall picture out, or even faintly
   sketch, the doom of those who cried, "Crucify him! Crucify him!" And
   who shall tell what place in hell shall be hot enough for the man who
   slanders God's minister, who speaks against his people, who hates his
   truth, who would, if he could, utterly cut off the godly from the land?
   Ah! God help the infidel! God help the blasphemer! God save his soul:
   for of all men least would I choose to be that man. Think you, sirs,
   that God will not take account of what men have said? One man has
   cursed Christ; he has called him a charlatan. Another has declared,
   (know that he spoke a lie) that the gospel was false. A third has
   proclaimed his licentious maxims, and then has pointed to God's Word
   and still, "There are worse things there!" A fourth has abused God's
   ministers and held up their imperfections to radicals. Think you God
   shall forget all this: it the last day? When his enemies come before
   him, shall he take then by the hand and say, "The other day thou didst
   call my servant a dog, and spit on him, and for this I will give thee
   heaven!" Rather, if the sin has not been cancelled by the blood of
   Christ, he will not say, "Depart, cursed one, into the hell which thou
   didst scoff at; leave that heaven which thou didst despise; and learn
   that though thou saidst there was no God, this right arm shall teach
   thee eternally the lesson that there is one; for he who discovers it
   not by my works of benevolence shall learn it by my deeds of vengeance:
   therefore depart, again, I say!" It shall increase men's hell that they
   have opposed God's truth. Now, is not this a very solemn view of the
   gospel, that it is indeed to many "a savour of death unto death?"

   (3.) Yet, once more. I believe the gospel make some men in this world
   more miserable than they would be. The drunkard could drink, and could
   revel in his intoxication with greater joy, if he did not hear it said,
   "All drunkards shall have their portion in the lake that burneth with
   fire and brimstone." How jovially the Sabbath-breaker would riot
   through his Sabbaths, if the Bible did not say, "Remember the Sabbath
   day to keep it holy!" And how happily could the libertine and
   licentious man drive on his mad career, if he were not told, "The wages
   of sin is death, and after death the judgment!" But the truth puts the
   bitter in his cup; the warnings of God freeze the current of his soul.
   The gospel is like the skeleton at the Egyptian feast. Though by day he
   laughed at it, by night he will quiver as the aspen leaf, and when the
   shades of evening gather around him, he will shake at a whisper. At the
   thought of a future state his joy is spoiled, and immortality instead
   of being a boon to him, is in its very contemplation the misery of his
   existence. The sweet wooings of mercy are to him no more harmonious
   than peals of thunder, because he knows he despises them. Yea, I have
   known some who have, been in such misery under the gospel, because they
   would not give up their sins, that they have been ready to take their
   own lives. Oh! terrible thought! The, gospel is "a savour of death unto
   death!" Unto how many here is it so? Who are now hearing God's Word to
   be damned by it? Who shall retire hence to be hardened by the sound of
   the truth? Why, every man who does not believe it; for unto those that
   receive it, it is "a savour of life unto life," but to unbelievers it
   is a curse, and a savour of death unto death."

   2. But, blessed be God, the gospel has a second power. Besides being
   "death unto death," it is "a savour of life unto life." Ah! my
   brethren, some of us could speak, if we were allowed this meaning, of
   the gospel as being "a savour of life" to us. We can look back to that
   hour when we were "dead in trespasses and sin." In vain all Sinai's
   thunders; in vain the rousing of the watchmen; we slept on in the
   death-sleep of our transgressions; nor could, an angel have aroused us.
   But we look back with joy to that hour when first we stepped within the
   walls of a sanctuary, and savingly heard the voice of mercy. With some
   of you it is but a few weeks. I know where ye are and who ye are. But a
   few weeks or months ago ye too were far from God, but now ye are
   brought to love him. Canst thou look back my brother Christian, to that
   very moment when the gospel was to thee--when thou didst cast away thy
   sins, renounce thy lusts, and turning to God's Word, received it with
   full purpose of heart? Ah! that hour--of all hours the sweetest!
   Nothing can be compared, therewith. I knew a person who for forty or
   fifty years had been completely deaf. Sitting one morning at her
   cottage door as some vehicle was passing, she thought she heard
   melodious music. It was not music; it was but the sound of the vehicle.
   Her ear had suddenly opened, and that rough sound seemed to her like
   the music of heaven, because it was the first she had heard for so many
   years. Even so, the first time our ears were opened to hear the words
   of love--the assurance of our pardon--we never heard the word so well
   as we did then; it never seemed so sweet; and perhaps, even now, we
   look back and say,

   "What peaceful hours I then enjoyed!

   How sweet their memory still!"

   When first it was "a savour of life" unto our souls.

   Then, beloved, if it ever has been "a savour of life," it will always
   be "of life;" because it says it is not of savour of life unto death,
   but a savour of life unto life. "Now I must aim another blow at my
   antagonists the Arminians; I cannot help it. They will have it that
   sometimes the gospel is a savour of life unto death. They tell us that
   a man may receive spiritual life, and vet may die eternally. That is to
   say, a man may be forgiven, and yet be punished afterwards; he may be
   justified from all sin, and yet after that, his transgressions can be
   laid on his shoulders again. A man may be born of God, and yet die; a
   man may be loved of God, and yet God may hate him to-morrow. Oh! I
   cannot bear to speak of such doctrines of lies; let those believe them
   that like. As for me, I so deeply believe in the immutable love of
   Jesus that I suppose that if one believer were, to be in hell, Christ
   himself' would not long stay in heaven, but would cry, "To the rescue!"
   Oh! if Jesus Christ were in glory with one the gems wanting in his
   crown, and Satan had that gem, he would say, "Aha! prince of light and
   glory, I have one of thy jewels!" and he would hold it up, and then he
   would say, "Aha! thou didst die for this man, but thou hadst not
   strength enough to save him; thou didst love him once--where is thy
   love? It is not worth having, for thou didst hate him afterwards!" And
   how would he chuckle over that heir of heaven, and hold him up, and
   say, "This man was redeemed; Jesus Christ purchased him with his
   blood:" and plunging him in the waves of hell, he would say, "There
   purchased one see how I can rob the Son of God!" And then again he
   would say, This man was forgiven, behold the justice of God! He is to
   be punished after he is forgiven. Christ suffered for this mans sins,
   and yet," says Satan with a malignant joy, "I have him afterwards; for
   God exacted the punishment twice!" Shall that e'er be said? Ah! no. It
   is "a savour of life unto life," and not of life unto death. Go, with
   your vile gospel; preach it where you please; but my Master said, "I
   give unto my sheep ETERNAL life." You give to your sheep temporary
   life, and they lose it; but, says Jesus, "I give unto my sheep ETERNAL
   life, and they shall never perish, neither shall man pluck them out of
   my hands." I generally wax warm when I got to this subject, because I
   think few doctrines more vital than that of the perseverance of the
   saints; for if ever one child of God did perish, or if I knew it were
   possible that one could, I should conclude, at once that I must , and
   suppose each of you would do the same; and then where is the joy and
   happiness of the gospel? Again I tell you the Arminian gospel is the
   shell without the kernel; it is the husk without the fruit; and those
   who love it may take it to themselves. We will not quarrel with them.
   Let them go and preach it. Let them go and tell poor sinners, that if
   they believe in Jesus they will be damned after all, that Jesus Christ
   will forgive them and yet the Father send them to hell. Go and preach
   your gospel, and who will listen to it? And if they do listen, is it
   worth their hearing? I say no; for if I am to stand after conversion on
   the same footing as I did before conversion then it is of no use for me
   to have been converted at all. But whom he loves he loves to the end.

   "Once in Christ, in Christ for ever;

   Nothing from his love can sever."

   It is "a savour of life unto life." And not only, "life unto life" in
   this world, but of "life unto life" eternal. Every one who has this
   life shall receive the next life; for "the Lord will give grace and
   glory, and no good thing will he withhold from them that walk
   uprightly."

   I am obliged to leave this point; but if my Master will but take it up,
   and make his word a savour of "life unto life" this morning, I shall
   rejoice in what I have said.

   II. But our second remark was, that THE MINISTER IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR
   HIS SUCCESS. He is responsible for what he preaches; he is accountable
   for his life and actions; but he is not responsible for other people.
   If I do but preach God's word, if there never were a soul saved, the
   King would say, "Well done, good and faithful Servant!" If I do but
   tell my message, if none should listen to it, he would say, "Thou hast
   fought the good fight: receive thy crown." You hear the words of the
   text: "We are unto God a sweet savour of Christ, as well in them that
   perish, as in them that are saved." This will appear, if I just tell
   you what a gospel minister is called in the Bible. Sometimes he is
   called an ambassador. Now, for what is an ambassador responsible? He
   goes to a country as a plenipotentiary; he carries terms of peace to
   the conference; he uses all his talents for his master; he tries to
   show that the war is inimical to the prosperity of the different
   countries; he endeavours to bring about peace; but the other kings
   haughtily refuse it. When he comes home does his master say, "Why did
   not you make peace?" "Why, my Lord," he would say, "I told them the
   terms; but they said nothing." "Well, then," he will say, "thou hast
   done thy duty; I am not to condemn thee if the war continues." Again
   the minister of the gospel is called a fisherman. Now a fisherman is
   not responsible for the quantity of fish he catches, but for the way he
   fishes. That is a mercy for some ministers, I am sure, for they have
   neither caught fish, for neither caught fish nor even attracted any
   round their nets. They have been spending all their life fishing with
   most elegant silk lines, and gold and silver hooks; they always use
   nicely polished phrases; but the fish will not bite for all that,
   whereas we of a rougher order have put the hook into the jaws of
   hundreds. However, if we cast the gospel net in the right place, even
   if we catch none, the Master will find no fault with us He will say,
   "Fisherman! didst thou labour? Didst thou throw the net into the sea in
   the time of storms?" "Yes, my Lord, I did." "What hast thou caught?"
   "Only one or two." "Well, I could have sent thee a shoal, if it so
   pleased me; it is not thy fault; I give in my sovereignty where I
   please; or withhold when I choose; but as for thee, thou hast well
   laboured, therefore there is thy reward." Sometimes the minister is
   called a sower. Now, no farmer expects a sower to be responsible for
   the harvest; all he is responsible for is, does be sow the seed? and
   does he sow the right seed? If he scatters it on good soil, then he is
   happy; but if it falls by the way-side, and the fowls of the air devour
   it, who shall blame the sower? Could he help it? Nay, he did his duty;
   he scattered the seed broad-cast, and there he left it. Who is to
   blame? Certainly not the sower. So, beloved, if a minister comes to
   heaven with but one sheaf on his shoulder, his Master will say, "O
   reaper! once a sower! where didst thou gather thy sheaf?" "My Lord, I
   sowed upon the rock, and it would not grow; only one seed on a chance
   Sabbath morning was blown a little awry by the wind, and it fell on a
   prepared heart; and this is my one sheaf." "Hallelujah!" the angelic
   choirs resound, "one sheaf from a rock is more honour to God than a
   thousand sheaves from a good soil; therefore, let him take his seat as
   near the throne as yon man, who, stooping beneath his many sheaves,
   comes from some fertile land, bringing his sheaves with hm." I believe
   that if there are degrees in glory, they will not be in proportion to
   success, but in proportion to the earnestness of our endeavours. If we
   mean right, and if with all our heart we strive to do the right thing
   as ministers if we never see any effect, still shall we receive the
   crown. But how much more happy is the man who shall have it in heaven
   said to him, "He shines for ever, because he was wise, and won many
   souls unto righteousness." It is always my greatest joy to believe,
   that if I should enter heaven, I shall in future days see heaven's
   gates open, and in shall fly a cherub, who, looking me in the face,
   will smilingly pass along to God's throne, and there bow down before
   him and when has paid his homage and his adoration, he may fly to me,
   and though unknown, shall clasp my hand. and if there were tears in
   heaven, surely I should weep, and he would say, "Brother, from thy lips
   I heard the word; thy voice first admonished me of my sin; here I am,
   and thou the instrument of my salvation." And as the gates open one
   after another, still will they come in; souls ransomed, souls ransomed;
   and for each one of these a star--for each one of these another gem in
   the diadem of glory--for each one of them another honor, and another
   note in the song of praise. Blessed be that man that shall die in the
   Lord, and his works shall follow him; for thus saith the Spirit.

   What will become of some good Christians now in Exeter Hall, if crowns
   in heaven are measured in value by the souls that are saved? Some of
   you will have a crown in heaven without a single star in it. I read a
   little while ago, a piece upon the starless crown in heaven--a man in
   heaven with a crown without a star! Not one saved by him! He will sit
   in heaven as happy as he can be, for sovereign mercy saved him; but oh!
   to be in heaven without a single star! Mother! what sayest thou to be
   in heaven without one of thy children to deck thy brow with a star?
   Minister! what wouldst thou say to be a polished preacher and yet have
   no star? Writer! will it well become thee to have written even as
   gloriously as Milton, if thou shouldst be found in heaven without a
   star? I am afraid we pay too little regard to this. Men will sit down
   and write huge folios and tomes, that they may have them put in
   libraries for ever, and have their names handed down by fame! but how
   few are looking to win stars for ever in heaven! Toil on, child of God,
   toil on; for if thou wishest to serve God, thy bread cast upon the
   waters shall be found after many days. If thou sendest in the feet of
   the ox or the ass, thou shalt reap a glorious harvest in that day when
   he comes to gather in his elect. The minister is not responsible for
   his success.

   III. But yet, in the last place, TO PREACH THE GOSPEL IS HIGH AND
   SOLEMN WORK. The ministry has been very often degraded into a trade. In
   these days men are taken and made into ministers who would have made
   good captains at sea, who could have waited well at the counter, but
   who were never intended for the pulpit. They are selected by man, they
   are crammed with literature; they are educated up to a certain point;
   they are turned out ready dressed; and persons call them ministers. I
   wish them all God-speed, every one of them; for as good Joseph Irons
   used to say, "God be with many of them, if it be only to make them hold
   their tongues." Man-made ministers are of no use in this world, and the
   sooner we get rid of them the better. Their way is this: they prepare
   their manuscripts very carefully, then read it on the Sunday most
   sweetly in sotto voce, and so the people go away pleased. But that is
   not God's way of preaching. If so, I am sufficient to preach forever. I
   can buy manuscript sermons for a shilling; that is to say, provided
   they have been preached fifty times before, but if I use them for the
   first time the price is a guinea, or more. But that is not the way.
   Preaching God's word is not what some seem to think, mere child's
   play--a mere business or trade to be taken up by any one. A man ought
   to feel first that he has a solemn call to it; next, he ought to know
   that he really possesses the Spirit of God, and that when he speaks
   there is an influence upon him that enables him to speak as God would
   have him, otherwise out of the pulpit he should go directly; he has no
   right to be there, even if the living is his own property. He has not
   been called to preach God's truth, and unto him God says, "What hast
   thou to do, to declare my statutes?"

   But you say, "What is there difficult about preaching God's gospel?"
   Well it must be somewhat hard; for Paul said, "Who is sufficient for
   these things?" And first I will tell you, it is difficult because it is
   so hard as not to be warped by your own prejudices in preaching the
   word. You want to say a stern thing; and your heart says, "Master! in
   so doing thou wilt condemn thyself;" then the temptation is not to say
   it. Another trial is, you are afraid of displeasing the rich in your
   congregations. Your think, "If I say such-and-such a thing, so-and-so
   will be offended; such an one does not approve of that doctrine; I had
   better leave it out." Or perhaps you will happen to win the applause of
   the multitude, and you must not say anything that will displease them,
   for if they cry, "Hosanna" to day, they will cry, "Crucify, crucify,"
   to-morrow. All these things work on a minister heart. He is a man like
   yourselves; and he feels it. Then comes again the sharp knife of
   criticism, and the arrows of those who hate him and hate his Lord; and
   he cannot help feeling it sometimes. He may put on his armour, and cry,
   "I care not for your malice;" but there were seasons when the archers
   sorely grieved even Joseph. Then he stands in another danger, lest he
   should come out and defend himself; for he is a great fool whoever
   tries to do it. He who lets his detractors alone, and like the eagle
   cares not for the chattering of the sparrows, or like the lion will not
   turn aside to rend the snarling jackal--he is the man, and he shall be
   honoured. But the danger is, we want to set ourselves right. And oh!
   who is sufficient to steer clear from these rocks of danger? "Who is
   sufficient," my brethren, "for these things?" To stand up, and to
   proclaim, Sabbath after Sabbath, and week-day after week-day, "the
   unsearchable riches of Christ."

   Having said thus much, I may draw the inference--to close up--which is:
   if the gospel is "a savour of life unto life," and if the minister's
   work be solemn work, how well it becomes all lovers of the truth to
   plead for all those who preach it, that they may be "sufficient for
   these things." To lose my Prayer-book, as I have often told you, is the
   worst thing that can happen to me. To have no one to pray for me would
   place me in a dreadful condition. "Perhaps," says a good poet, "the day
   when the world shall perish, will be the day unwhitened by a prayer;"
   and, perhaps, the day when a minister turned aside from truth, was the
   day when his people left off to pray for him, and when there was not a
   single voice supplicating grace on his behalf. I am sure, it must be so
   with me. Give me the numerous hosts of men whom it has been my pride
   and glory to see in my place before I came to this hall: give me those
   praying people, who on the Monday evening met in such a multitude to
   pray to God for a blessing, and we will overcome hell itself, in spite
   of all that may oppose us. All our perils are nothing, so long as we
   have prayer. But increase my congregation; give me the polite and the
   noble,--give me influence and understanding; and I should fail to do
   anything without a praying church. My people! shall I ever lose your
   prayers? Will ye ever cease your supplications? Our toils are nearly
   ended in this great place, and happy shall we be to return to our
   much-loved sanctuary. Will ye then ever cease to pray? I fear ye have
   not uttered so many prayers this morning as ye should have done; I fear
   there has not been so much earnest devotion as might have been poured
   forth. For my own part, I have not felt the wondrous power I sometimes
   experience. I will not lay it at your doors; but never let it be said,
   "Those people, once so fervent, have become cold!" Let not Laodiceanism
   get into Southwark; let us leave it here in the West-end, if it is to
   be anywhere; let us not carry it with us. Let us "strive together for
   the faith once delivered unto the saints:" and knowing in what a sad
   position the standard. bearer stands, I beseech you rally round him;
   for it will be ill with the army,

   "If the standard bearer fall, as fall full well he may.

   For never saw I promise yet, of such a deadly fray."

   Stand up my friends; grasp the banner yourselves, and maintain it erect
   until the day shall come, when standing on the last conquered castle of
   hell's domains, we shall raise the shout, "Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
   Hallelujah! The Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!" Till that time, fight
   on.
     __________________________________________________________________

                                The Eternal Name

   A Sermon

   (No. 27)

   Delivered on Sabbath Evening, May 27, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At Exeter Hall, Strand.

   "His name shall endure for ever."--Psalm 72:17.

   NO ONE HERE requires to be told that this is the name of Jesus Christ,
   which "shall endure for ever." Men have said of many of their works,
   "they shall endure for ever;" but how much have they been disappointed!
   In the age succeeding the flood, they made the brick, they gathered the
   slime, and when they had piled old Babel's tower, they said, "This
   shall last for ever." But God confounded their language; they finished
   it not. By his lightnings he destroyed it, and left it a monument of
   their folly. Old Pharoah and the Egyptian monarchs heaped up their
   pyramids, and they said, "They shall stand for ever," and so indeed
   they do stand; but the time is approaching when age shall devour even
   these. So with all the proudest works of man, whether they have been
   his temples or his monarchies, he has written "everlasting" on them;
   but God has ordained their end, and they have passed away. The most
   stable things have been evanescent as shadows, and the bubbles, of an
   hour, speedily destroyed at God's bidding. Where is Nineveh, and where
   is Babylon? Where the cities of Persia? Where are the high places of
   Edom? Where are Moab, and the princes of Ammon? Where are the temples
   or the heroes of Greece? Where the millions that passed from the gates
   of Thebes? Where are the hosts of Xerxes, or where the vast armies of
   the Roman emperors? Have they not passed away? And though in their
   pride they said, "This monarchy is an everlasting one; this queen of
   the seven hills shall be called the eternal city," its pride is dimmed;
   and she who sat alone, and said, "I shall be no widow, but a queen for
   ever," she hath fallen, hath fallen, and in a little while she shall
   sink like a millstone in the flood, her name being a curse and a
   byword, and her site the habitation of dragons and owls. Man calls his
   works eternal--God calls them fleeting; man conceives that they are
   built of rock--God says, "Nay, sand, or worse than that--they are air."
   Man says he erects them for eternity--God blows but for a moment, and
   where are they? Like baseless fabrics of a vision, they are passed and
   gone for ever.

   It is pleasant, then, to find that there is one thing which is to last
   for ever. Concerning that one thing we hope to speak to-night, if God
   will enable me to preach, and you to hear. "His name shall endure for
   ever." First, the religion sanctified by his name shall endure for
   ever; secondly, the honor of his name shall endure for ever; and
   thirdly, the saving, comforting power of his name shall endure for
   ever.

   I. First, the religion of the name of Jesus is to endure for ever. When
   impostors forged their delusions, they land hopes that peradventure
   they might in some distant age carry the world before them; and if they
   saw a few followers gather around their standard, who offered incense
   at their shrine, then they smiled, and said, "My religion shall
   outshine the stars, and last through eternity." But how mistaken have
   they been! How many false systems have started up and passed away! Why,
   some of us have seen, even in our short lifetime, sects that rose like
   Jonah's gourd, in a single night, and passed away as swiftly, We, too,
   have behold prophets rise, who have had their hour--yea, they have had
   their day, as dogs all have; but, like the dogs', their day has passed
   away, and the impostor, where is he? And the arch-deceiver, where is
   he? Gone and ceased. Specially might I say this of the various systems
   of Infidelity. Within a hundred and fifty years, how has the boasted
   power of reason changed! It has piled up one thing, and then another
   day it has laughed at its own handiwork, demolished its own castle, and
   constructed another, and the next day a third. It has a thousand
   dresses. Once it came forth like a fool with its bells, heralded by
   Voltaire; then it came out a braggart bully, like Tom Paine; then it
   changed its course, and assumed another shape, till, forsooth, we have
   it in the base, bestial secularism of the present day, which looks for
   naught but the earth, keeps its nose upon the ground, and, like the
   beast, thinks this world is enough; or looks for another through
   seeking this. Why, before one hair on this head shall be gray, the last
   secularist shall have passed away; before many of us are fifty years of
   age, a new Infidelity shall come, and to those who say, "Where will
   saints be?" we can turn round and say, "Where are you?" And they will
   answer, "We have altered our names." They will have altered their name,
   assumed a fresh shape, put on a new form of evil, but still their
   nature will be the same; opposing Christ, and endeavoring to blaspheme
   his truths. On all their systems of religion, or non-religion--for that
   is a system too--it may be written, "Evanescent; fading as the flower,
   fleeting as the meteor, frail and unreal as a vapor." But of Christ's
   religion, it shall be said, "His name shall endure for ever." Let me
   now say a few things--not to prove it, for that I do not wish to
   do--but to give you some hints whereby, possibly, I may one day prove
   it to other people, that Jesus Christ's religion must inevitably endure
   for ever.

   And first, we ask those who think it shall pass away, when was there a
   time when it did not exist? We ask them whether they can point their
   finger to a period when the religion of Jesus was an unheard-of thing?
   "Yes," they will reply, "before the days of Christ and his apostles."
   But we answer, "Nay, Bethlehem was not the birthplace of the gospel;
   though Jesus was born there, there was a gospel long before the birth
   of Jesus, and a preached one, too; although not preached in all its
   simplicity and plainness, as we hear it now. There was a gospel in the
   wilderness of Sinai, although it might be confused with the smoke of
   the incense, and only to be seen through slaughtered victims; yet,
   there was a gospel there." Yea, more, we take them back to the fair
   trees of Eden, where the fruits perpetually ripened, and summer always
   rested, and amid these groves we tell them there was a gospel, and we
   let them hear the voice of God, as he spoke to recreant man, and said,
   "The seed of the woman shall bruise the serpent's head." And having
   taken them thus far back, we ask, "Where were false religions born?
   Where was their cradle?" They point us to Mecca, or they turn their
   fingers to Rome; they speak of Confucius, or the dogmas of Buddha. But
   we say, you only go back to a distant obscurity; we take you to, the
   primeval age; we direct you to the days of purity; we take you back to
   the time when Adam first trod the earth; and then we ask you whether it
   is not likely that, as the first-born, it will not also be the last to
   die? and as it was born so early, and still exists, whilst a thousand
   ephemera have become extinct, whether it does not look most possible,
   that when all others shall have perished, like the bubble upon the
   wave, this only shall swim, like a good ship upon the ocean, and still
   shall bear its myriad souls, not to the land of shades, but across the
   river of death to the plains of heaven?

   We ask next, supposing Christ's gospel to become extinct, what religion
   is to supplant it? We inquire of the wise man, who says Christianity is
   soon to die, "Pray, sir, what religion are we to have in its stead? Are
   we to leave the delusions of the heathen, who bow before their gods,
   and worship images of wood and stone? Will ye have the orgies of
   Bacchus, or the obscenities of Venus? Would ye see your daughters once
   more bowing down before Thammuz, or performing obscene rites as of
   old?" Nay, ye would not endure such things; ye would say, "It must not
   be tolerated by civilized men." Then what would ye have? Would ye have
   Romanism and its superstitions? Ye will say, "No, God help us; never."
   They may do what they please with Britain; but she is too wise to take
   old Popery back again, while Smithfield lasts, and there is one of the
   signs of martyrs there; aye, while there breaths a man who marks
   himself a freeman, and swears by the constitution of O1d England, we
   cannot take Popery back again. She may be rampant with her
   superstitions and her priestcraft; but with one consent my hearers
   reply, "We will not have Popery." Then what will ye choose? Shall it be
   Mahometanism? Will ye choose that, with all its fables, its wickedness
   and libiditiousness? I will not tell you of it. Nor will I mention the
   accursed imposture of the West that has lately arisen. We will not
   allow Polygamy, while there are men to be found who love the social
   circle, and cannot see it invaded. We would not wish, when God hath
   given to man one wife, that he should drag in twenty, as the companions
   of that one. We cannot prefer Mormonism; we will not, and we shall not.
   Then what shall we have in the place of Christianity? "Infidelity," you
   cry, do you, sirs? And would you have that? Then what would be the
   consequence? What do many of them promote? Communist views, and the
   real disruption of all society as at present established. Would you
   desire Reigns of Terror here, as they had in France? Do you wish to see
   all society shattered, and men wandering like monster icebergs on the
   sea, dashing against each other, and being at last utterly destroyed?
   God save us from Infidelity! What can you have, then? Naught. There is
   nothing, to supplant Christianity. What religion shall overcome it?
   There is not one to be compared with it. If we tread the globe round,
   and search from Britain to Japan, there shall be no religion found, so
   just to God, so safe to man.

   We ask the enemy once more, suppose a religion were to be found which
   would be preferable to the one we love, by what means would you crush
   ours? How would you got rid of the religion of Jesus? and how would you
   extinguish his name? Surely, sirs, ye would never think of the old
   practice of persecution, would you? Would you once more try the
   efficacy of stakes and fires, to burn out the name of Jesus? Would ye
   give us the boots and instruments of torture? Try it, sirs, and ye
   shall not quench Christianity. Each martyr, dipping his finger in his
   blood, would write its honors on the heavens as he died; and the very
   flame that mounted up to heaven would emblazon the skies with the name
   of Jesus. Persecution has been tried. Turn to the Alps; let the valleys
   of Piedmont speak; let Switzerland testify; let France, with its St.
   Bartholomew; let England, with, all its massacres, speak. And if ye
   have not crushed it yet, shall ye hope to do it? Shall ye? Nay, a
   thousand are to be found, and ten thousand if it were necessary, who
   are willing to march to the stake to-morrow: and when they are burned,
   if ye could take up their hearts, ye would see engraven upon each of
   them the name of Jesus. "His name shall endure for ever;" for how can
   ye destroy our love to it? "Ah, but," ye say, "we would try gentler
   means than that." Well, what would ye attempt? Would ye invent a better
   religion? We bid you do it, and let us hear it; we have not yet so much
   as believed you capable of such a discovery. What then? Would ye wake
   up one that should deceive us and lead us astray? We bid you do it; for
   it is not possible to deceive the elect. Ye may deceive the multitude,
   but God's elect shall not be led astray. They have tried us. Have they
   not given us Popery? Have they not assailed us with Puseyism? Are they
   not tempting us with Arminianism by the wholesale? And do we therefore
   renounce God's truth? No: we have taken this for our motto, and by it
   we will stand. "The Bible, the whole Bible, and nothing but the Bible,"
   is still the religion of Protestants: and the self-same truth which
   moved the lips of Chrysostom, the old doctrine that ravished the heart
   of Augustine, the old faith which Athanasius declared, the good old
   doctrine that Calvin preached, is our gospel now, and God helping us,
   we will stand by it till we die. How will ye quench it? If ye wish to
   do it, where can ye find the means? It is not in your power. Aha! aha!
   aha! we laugh you to scorn.

   But you will quench it, will you? You will try it, do you say? And you
   hope you will accomplish your purpose? Yes. I know you will, when you
   have annihilated the sun; when you have quenched the moon with drops of
   your tears; when you have dried up the sea with your drinking. Then
   shall ye do it. And yet ye say ye will.

   And next, I ask you, suppose you did, what would become of the world
   then? Ah! were I eloquent to-night, I might perhaps tell you. If I
   could borrow the language of a Robert Hall, I might hang the world in
   mourning; I might make the sea the great chief-mourner, with its dirge
   of howling winds, and its wild death-march of disordered waves; I might
   clothe all nature, not in words of green, but in garments of sombre
   blackness; I would bid hurricanes howl the solemn wailing--that
   death-shriek of a world--for what would become of us, if we should lose
   the gospel? As for me, I tell you fairly, I would cry, "Let me begone!"
   I would have no wish to be here without my Lord; and if the gospel be
   not true, I should bless God to annihilate me this instant; for I would
   not care to live if ye would destroy the name of Jesus Christ. But that
   would not be all, that one man should be miserable, for there are
   thousands and thousands who can speak as I do. Again, what would become
   of civilization if ye could take Christianity away? Where would be the
   hope of a perpetual peace? Where governments? Where your Sabbath
   Schools? Where all your societies? Where everything that ameliorates
   the condition of man, reforms his manners, and moralizes his character?
   Where? Let echo answer, "Where?" They would be gone, and not a scrap of
   them would be left. And where, O men, would be your hope of heaven? And
   where the knowledge of eternity? Where a help across the river death?
   Where a heaven? And where bliss everlasting? All were gone if his name
   did not endure for ever. But we are sure of it, we know it, we affirm
   it, we declare it; we believe, and ever will, that "his name shall
   endure for ever,"--aye, for ever! let who will try to stop it.

   This is my first point; I shall have to speak with rather bated breath
   upon the second, although I feel so warm within as well as without,
   that I would to God I could speak with all my strength, as I might do.

   II. But, secondly, as his religion, so the honor of his name is to last
   for ever. Voltaire said he lived in the twilight of Christianity. He
   meant a lie; he spoke the truth. He did live in its twilight; but it
   was the twilight before the morning--not the twilight of the evening,
   as he meant to say; for the morning comes, when the light of the sun
   shall break upon us in its truest glory. The scorners have said that we
   should soon forget to honor Christ, and that one day no man should
   acknowledge him. Now, we assert again, in the words of my text, "His
   name shall endure for ever," as to the honor of it. Yes, I will tell
   you how long it will endure. As long as on this earth there is a sinner
   who has been reclaimed by omnipotent grace, Christ's name shall endure;
   as long as there is a Mary ready to wash his feet with tears and wipe
   them with the hair of her head; as long as there breathes a chief of
   sinners who has washed himself in the fountain opened for sin and for
   uncleanness; as long as there exists a Christian who has put his faith
   in Jesus, and found him his delight, his refuge, his stay, his shield,
   his song, and his joy, there will be no fear that Jesus' name will
   cease to be beard. We can never give up that name. We let the Unitarian
   take the gospel without a godhead in it; we let him deny Jesus Christ;
   but as long as Christians, true Christians, live, as long as we taste
   that the Lord is gracious, have manifestations of his love, sights of
   his face, whispers of his mercy, assurances of his affection, promises
   of his grace, hopes of his blessing, we cannot cease to honor his name.
   But if all these were gone--if we were to cease to sing his praise,
   would Jesus Christ's name be forgotten then? No; the, stones would
   sing, the hills would be an orchestra, the mountains would skip like
   rams, and the little hills like lambs; for is he not their Creator? And
   if these lips, and the lips of all mortals were dumb at once, there are
   creatures enough in this wide world besides. Why, the sun would lead
   the chorus; the moon would play upon her silver harp, and sweetly sing
   to her music; stars would dance in their measured courses; the
   shoreless depths of ether would become the home of songs; and the void
   immensity would burst out into one great shout, "Thou art the glorious
   Son of God; great is thy majesty, and infinite thy power." Can Christ's
   name be forgotten? No; it is painted on the skies; it is written on the
   floods; the winds whisper it; the tempests howl it; the seas chant it;
   the stars shine it; the beasts low it; the thunders proclaim it; earth
   shouts it; heaven echoes it. But if that were gone--if this great
   universe should all subside in God, just as a moment's foam subsides
   into the wave that bears it and is lost for ever--would his name be
   forgotten then? No. Turn your eyes up yonder; see heaven's terra firma.
   "Who are these that are arrayed in white, and whence came they?" "These
   are they that came out of great tribulation; they have washed their
   robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb; therefore they are
   before the throne of God, and praise him day and night in his temple."
   And if these were gone; if the last harp of the glorified had been
   touched with the last fingers; if the last praise of the saints had
   ceased; if the last hallelujah had echoed through the then deserted
   vaults of heaven, for they would be gloomy then; if the last immortal
   had been buried in his grave, if graves there might be for
   immortals--would his praise cease then? No, by heaven! no; for yonder
   stand the angels; they too sing his glory; to him the cherubim and
   seraphim do cry without ceasing, when they mention his name, in that
   thrice holy chorus, "Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of armies." But if
   these were perished--if angels had been swept away, if the wing of
   seraph never flapped the ether, if the voice of the cherub never sung
   his flaming sonnet, if the living creatures ceased their everlasting
   chorus, if the measured symphonies of glory were extinct in silence,
   would his name then be lost? Ah! no; for as God upon the throne he
   sits, the everlasting One, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. And if the
   universe were all annihilated, still would his name be heard, for the
   Father would hear it, and the Spirit would hear it, and deeply graven
   on immortal marble in the rocks of ages, it would stand--Jesus the Son
   of God, co-equal with his Father. "His name shall endure for ever."

   III. And so shall the power of his name. Do you inquire what this is?
   Let me tell you. Seest thou yonder thief hanging upon the cross? Behold
   the fiends at the foot thereof, with open mouths; charming themselves
   with the sweet thought, that another soul shall give them meat in hell.
   Behold the death-bird, fluttering his wings o'er the poor wretch's
   head; vengeance passes by and stamps him for her own; deep on his
   breast is written "a condemned sinner;" on his brow is the clammy
   sweat, expressed from him by agony and death. Look in his heart; it is
   filthy with the crust of years of sin; the smoke of lust is hanging
   within in black festoons of darkness; his whole heart is hell
   condensed. Now, look at him. He is dying. One foot seems to be in hell;
   the other hangs tottering in life--only kept by a nail. There is a
   power in Jesus' eye. That thief looks: he whispers, "Lord, remember
   me." Turn your eye again there. Do you see that thief ? Where is the
   clammy sweat? It is there. Where is that horrid anguish? It is not
   there. Positively, there is a smile upon his lips. The fiends of hell,
   where are they ? There are none: but a bright seraph is present, with
   his wings outspread, and his hands ready to snatch that soul, now a
   precious jewel, and bear it aloft to the palace of the great King. Look
   within his heart; it is white with purity. Look at his breast; it is
   not written "condemned," but "justified." Look in the book of life: his
   name is graven there. Look on Jesus' heart: there on one of the
   precious stones he bears that poor thief's name. Yea, once more, look!
   seest thou that bright one amid the glorified, clearer than the sun,
   and fair as the moon? That is the thief! That is the power of Jesus;
   and that power shall endure for ever. He who saved the thief can save
   the last man who shall ever live; for still

   "There is a fountain filled with blood,

   Drawn from Immanuel's veins;

   And sinners plunged beneath that flood

   Lose all their guilty stains.

   The dying thief rejoiced to see

   That fountain in his day;

   O may I there, tho' vile as he,

   Wash all my sins away!

   Dear dying Lamb! that precious blood

   Shall never lose its power,

   Till all the ransomed church of God

   Be saved, to sin no more."

   His powerful "name shall endure for ever."

   Nor is that all the power of his name. Let me take you to another
   scene, and ye shall witness somewhat else. There on that deathbed, lies
   a saint; no gloom is on his brow, no terror on his face; weakly, but
   placidly, he smiles; he groans, perhaps, but yet he sings. He sighs now
   and then, but oftener he shouts. Stand by him. My brother, what makes
   thee look in death's face with such joy? "Jesus," he whispers. What
   makes thee so placid and calm? "The name of Jesus." See, he forgets
   everything! Ask him a question; he cannot answer it--he does not
   understand you. Still he smiles. His wife comes, inquiring, "Do you
   know my name?" He answers, "no." His dearest friend requests him to
   remember his intimacy. "I know you not," he says. Whisper in his ear,
   "Do you know the name of Jesus?" and his eyes flash glory, and his face
   beams heaven, and his lips speak sonnets, and his heart bursts with
   eternity; for he hears the name of Jesus, and that name shall endure
   for ever. "He who landed one in heaven will land me there. Come on,
   death. I will mention Christ's name there. O grave! this shall be my
   glory, the name of Jesus! Hell-dog! this shall be thy death--for the
   sting of death is extracted--Christ our Lord." "His name shall endure
   for ever."

   I had a hundred particulars to give you; but my voice fails, so I had
   better stop. You will not require more of me tonight; you perceive the
   difficulty I feel in speaking each word. May God send it home to your
   souls! I am not particularly anxious about my own name, whether that
   shall endure for ever or not, provided it is recorded in my Master's
   book. George Whitefield, when asked whether he would found a
   denomination, said, "No; Brother John Wesley may do as he pleases, but
   let my name perish; let Christ's name last for ever." Amen to that! Let
   my name perish; but let Christ's name last for ever. I shall be quite
   contented for you to go away and forget me. I shall not see the faces
   of half of you again, I dare say; you may never be persuaded to step
   within the walls of a conventicle; you will think it perhaps not
   respectable enough to come to a Baptist meeting. Well, I do not say we
   are a very respectable people; we don't profess to be; but this one
   thing we do profess, we love our Bibles; and if it is not respectable
   to do so, we do not care to be had in esteem. But we do not know that
   we are so disreputable after all; for I believe, if I may state my own
   opinion, that if Protestant Christendom were counted out of that
   door--not merely every real Christian, but every professor--I believe
   the Paedo-Baptists would have no very great majority to boast of. We
   are not, after all, such a very small, disreputable sect. Regard us in
   England, we may be; but take America, and Jamaica, and the West Indies,
   and include those who are Baptists in principle, though not openly so,
   and we surrender to none, not even to the established church of this
   country, in numbers. That, however, we care very little about; for I
   say of the Baptist name, let it perish, but let Christ's name last for
   ever. I look forward with pleasure to the day when there will not be a
   Baptist living. I hope they will soon be gone. You will say, Why?
   Because when everybody else sees baptism by immersion, we shall be
   immersed into all sects, and our sect will be gone. Once give us the
   predominance, and we are not a sect any longer. A man may be a
   Churchman, or a Wesleyan, or an Independent, and yet be a Baptist. So
   that I say, I hope the Baptist name will soon perish; but let Christ's
   name last for ever. Yea, and yet again; much as I love dear Old
   England, I do not believe she will ever perish. No, Britain! thou shalt
   never perish, for the flag of Old England is nailed to the mast by the
   prayers of Christians, by the efforts of Sunday Schools and her pious
   men. But, I say, let even England's name perish; let her be merged in
   one great brotherhood; let us have no England, and no France, and no
   Russia, and no Turkey, but let us have Christendom; and I say heartily
   from my soul, let nations and national distinctions perish, but let
   Christ's name last for ever. Perhaps there is only one thing on earth
   that I love better than the last I have mentioned, and that is the pure
   doctrine of unadulterated Calvinism. But if that be wrong--if there be
   anything in that which is false--I, for one, say, let that perish too,
   and let Christ's name last for ever. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! "Crown
   him Lord of all!" You will not hear me say anything else. These are my
   last words in Exeter Hall for this time. Jesus! Jesus! Jesus! Crown him
   Lord of all.
     __________________________________________________________________

                              The Church of Christ

   A Sermon

   (No. 28)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, June 3, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "And I will make them and the places round about my hill a blessing;
   and I will cause the shower to come down in his season; there shall be
   showers of blessing."--Ezekiel 34:26.

   THE chapter (Ezek. 34) that I read at the commencement of the service
   is a prophetical one; and, I take it, it has relation, not to the
   condition of the Jews during the captivity and their subsequent
   happiness when they should return to their land, but to a state into
   which they should they should fall after they had been restored to
   their country under Nehemiah and Ezra, and in which state they still
   continue to the present day. The prophet tells us that the shepherds
   then, instead of feeding the flock, fed themselves; they trod the
   grass, instead of allowing the sheep to eat it, and they fouled the
   waters with their feet. That is an exact description of the state of
   Judea after the captivity; for then there arose the Scribes and
   Pharisees, who took the key of knowledge, and would not enter
   themselves, nor allow others to enter; who laid heavy burdens on men's
   shoulders, and would not touch them with one of their fingers; who made
   religion to consist entirely in sacrifices and ceremonies, and imposed
   such a burden on the people, that they cried out, "What a weariness it
   is!" That same evil has continued with the poor Jews to the present
   day; and should you read the nonsense of the Talmud and the Gemara, and
   see the burdens they laid upon them you would say, "Verily they have
   idle shepherds;" they give the sheep no food; they trouble them with
   fanciful superstitions and silly views, and instead of telling them
   that the Messiah is already come, they delude them with the idea that
   there is a Messiah yet to come, who shall restore Judea, and raise it
   to its glory. The Lord pronounces a curse upon these Pharisees and
   Rabbis, these who "thrust with side and with shoulder," those evil
   shepherds who will not suffer the sheep to lie down, neither will feed
   them with good pasture. But, after having described this state, he
   prophesies better times for the poor Jew. The day is coming when the
   careless shepherds shall be as naught; when the power of the Rabbis
   shall cease, when the traditions of the Mishna and the Talmud shall be
   cast aside. The hour is approaching, when the tribes shall go up to
   their own country; when Judea, so long a howling wilderness, shall once
   more blossom like the rose; when, if the temple itself be not restored,
   yet on Zion's hill shall be raised some Christian building, where the
   chants of solemn praise shall be heard as erst of old the Psalms of
   David were sung in the tabernacle. Not long shall it be ere they shall
   come--shall come from distant lands wher'er they rest or roam; and she
   who has been the offscouring of all things, whose name has been a
   proverb and a byword, shall become the glory of all lands. Dejected
   Zion shall raise her head, shaking herself from dust, and darkness, and
   the dead. Then shall the Lord feed his people, and make them and the
   places round about his hill a blessing. I think we do not attach
   sufficient importance to the restoration of the Jews. We do not think
   enough of it. But certainly, if there is anything promised in the
   Bible, it is this. I imagine that you cannot read the Bible without
   seeing clearly that there is to be an actual restoration of the
   children of Israel. "Thither they shall go up; they shall come with
   weeping unto Zion, and with supplications unto Jerusalem." May that
   happy day soon come! For when the Jews are restored, then the fulness
   of the Gentiles shall be gathered in; and as soon as they return, then
   Jesus will come upon Mount Zion to reign with his ancients gloriously,
   and the halcyon days of the Millennium shall then dawn; we shall then
   know every man to be a brother and a friend; Christ shall rule, with
   universal sway.

   This, then, is the meaning of the text; that God would make Jerusalem
   and the places round about his hill a blessing. I shall not, however,
   use it so this morning, but I shall use it in a more confined
   sense--or, perhaps, in a more enlarged sense--as it applies to the
   church of Jesus Christ, and to this particular church with which you
   and I stand connected. "I will make them and the places round about my
   hill a blessing; and I will cause the shower to come down in his
   season; there shall be showers of blessing."

   There are two things here spoken of. First, Christ's church is to be a
   blessing; secondly, Christ's church is to be blessed. These two things
   you will find in the different sentences of the text.

   I. First, CHRIST'S CHURCH IS TO BE A BLESSING. "I will make them and
   the places round about my hill a blessing." The object of God, in
   choosing a people before all worlds, was not only to save that people,
   but through them to confer essential benefits upon the whole human
   race. When he chose Abraham, he did not elect him simply to be God's
   friend, and the recipient of peculiar privileges; but he chose him to
   make him, as it were, the conservator of truth. He was to be the ark in
   which the truth should be hidden. He was to be the keeper of the
   covenant in behalf of the whole world; and when God chooses any men by
   his sovereign, electing grace, and makes them Christ's, he does it not
   only for their own sake, that they may be saved, but for the world's
   sake. For, know ye not that "ye are the light of the world;"--"A city
   set upon a hill, which cannot be hid?" "Ye are the salt of the earth;"
   and when God makes you salt, it is not only that ye may have salt in
   yourselves, but that like salt ye may preserve the whole mass. If he
   makes you leaven, it is that, like the little leaven, you may leaven
   the whole lump. Salvation is not a selfish thing; God does not give it
   for us to keep to ourselves, but that we may thereby be made the means
   of blessing to others; and the great day shall declare that there is
   not a man living on the surface of the earth but has received a
   blessing in some way or other through God's gift of the gospel. The
   very keeping of the wicked in life, and granting of the reprieve, was
   purchased with the death of Jesus; and through his sufferings and
   death, the temporal blessings which both we and they enjoy are bestowed
   on us. The gospel was sent that it might first bless those that embrace
   it, and then expand, so as to make them a blessing to the whole human
   race.

   In thus speaking of the church as a blessing, we shall notice three
   things. First, here is divinity--"I will make them a blessing;"
   secondly, here is personality of religion--"I will make them a
   blessing;" and thirdly, here is the development of religion"--"and the
   places round about my hill."

   1. First, with regard to this blessing which God will cause his church
   to be, here is divinity. It is God the everlasting Jehovah speaking: he
   says, "I will make them a blessing." None of us can bless others unless
   God has first blessed us. We need divine workmanship. "I will make them
   a blessing by helping them, and by constraining them." God makes his
   people a blessing by helping them. What can we do without God's help? I
   stand and preach to thousands, or it may be hundreds; what have I done,
   unless a greater than man has been in the pulpit with me? I work in the
   Sabbath Schools; what can I do, unless the Master is there, teaching
   the children with me? We want God's aid in every position; and once
   give us that assistance, and there is no telling with how little labor
   we may become a blessing. Ah! a few words sometimes will be more of a
   blessing than a whole sermon. You take some little prattler on your
   knee; and some few words that you say to him he remembers, and makes
   use of in after tears. I knew a gray-headed old man, who was in the
   habit of doing this. He once took a boy to a certain tree, and said,
   "Now, John, you kneel down at that tree, and I will kneel down with
   you." He knelt down and prayed, and asked God to convert him and save
   his soul. "Now," said he, "perhaps you will come to this tree again;
   and if you are not converted, you will remember that I asked under this
   tree that God would save your soul." That young man went away, and
   forgot the old man's prayer; but it chanced as God would have it that
   he walked down that field again, and saw a tree. It seemed as if the
   old man's name was cut in the bark. He recollected what he prayed for,
   and that the prayer was not fulfilled; but he dare not pass the tree
   without kneeling down to pray himself; and there was his spiritual
   birthplace. The simplest observation of the Christian shall be made a
   blessing, if God help him. "His leaf also shall not wither"--the
   simplest word he speaks shall be treasured up; "and whatsoever he doeth
   shall prosper."

   But there is constraint here. "I will make them a blessing." I will
   give them to be a blessing; I will constrain them to be a blessing. I
   can say myself, that I never did anything which was a blessing to my
   fellow-creatures, without feeling compelled to do it. I thought of
   going to a Sabbath School to teach. On a certain day, some one
   called--asked me--begged me--prayed me to take his class. I could not
   refuse to go; and there I was held, hand and foot, by the
   superintendent, and was compelled to go on. I was asked to address the
   children; I thought I could not, but no one else was there to do it, so
   I stood up and stumbled out a few words. And I recollect the first
   occasion on which I attempted to preach to the people--I am sure I had
   no wish to do it--but there was no one else in the place, and the
   congregation must go away without a single word of warning or address.
   How could I suffer it? I felt forced to address them. And so it has
   been with whatever I have laid my hand to. I have always felt a kind of
   impulse which I could not resist; but, moreover, felt placed by
   Providence in such a position, that I had no wish to avoid the duty,
   and if I had desired it, could not have helped myself. And so it is
   with God's people. If they will go through their lives, wherever they
   have been made a blessing, they will find that God seems to have thrust
   them into the vineyard. Such-and-such a man was once rich. What good
   was he in the world? He did but loll in his carriage; he did but little
   good, and was of little service to his fellow-creatures. Says God, "I
   will make him a blessing;" so he strips away his riches, and brings him
   into low circumstances. He is then brought into association with the
   poor, and his superior education and intellect make him a blessing to
   them. God makes him a blessing. Another man was naturally very timid;
   he would not pray at the prayer-meeting, he would hardly like to join
   the church; soon he gets into a position in which he cannot help
   himself. "I will make him a blessing." And as sure as ever you are a
   servant of God, he will make you a blessing. He will have none of his
   gold in the lump; he will hammer it out, and make it a blessing. I
   verily believe there are some in my congregation to whom God has given
   power to preach his name; they do not know it, perhaps, but God will
   make it known by-and-by. I would have every man look and see, whether
   God is making him do a certain thing; and when once he feels the
   impulse, let him by no means ever check it. I am somewhat of a believer
   in the doctrine of the Quakers, as to the impulses of the Spirit, and I
   fear lest I should check one of them. If a thought crosses my mind, "Go
   to such a person's house," I always like to do it, because I do not
   know but what it may be from the Spirit. I understand this verse to
   mean something like that. "I will make them a blessing." I will force
   them to do good. If I cannot make a sweet scent come from them in any
   other way, I will pound them in the mortar of affliction. If they have
   seed, and the seed cannot be scattered in any other way, I will send a
   rough wind to blow the downy seed everywhere. "I will make them a
   blessing." If you have never been made a blessing to any one, depend
   upon it you are not a child of God; for Jehovah says, "I will make them
   a blessing."

   2. But notice, next, the personality of the blessing. "I will make them
   a blessing." "I will make each member of the church a blessing." Many
   people come up to the house of prayer, where the church assembles; and
   you say, "Well, what are you doing at such-and-such a place where you
   attend?" "Well, we are doing so-and-so." "How do you spell we?" "It is
   a plain monosyllable," say you. "Yes, but do you put I in we?'" "No."
   There are a great many people who could easily spell "we" without an I
   in it; for though they say, "We have been doing so-and-so," they do not
   say, "How much have I done? Did I do anything in it? Yes; this chapel
   has been enlarged; what did I subscribe? Twopence!" Of course it is
   done. Those who paid the money have done it. "We preach the gospel." Do
   we, indeed? "Yes, we sit in our pew and listen a little, and do not
   pray for a blessing. We have got such a large Sunday School." Did you
   ever teach in it? "We have got a very good working society." Did you
   ever go to work in it? That is not the way so spell "we." It is, "I
   will make them a blessing." When Jerusalem was built, every man began
   nearest his own house. That is where you must begin to build or do
   something. Do not let us tell a lie about it. If we do not have some
   share in the building, if we neither handle the trowel nor the spear,
   let us not talk about our church; for the text says, "I will make them
   a blessing," every one of them.

   "But, sir, what can I do? I am nothing but a father at home; I am so
   full of business, I can only see my children a little." But in your
   business, do you ever have any servants? "No; I am a servant myself."
   You have fellow-servants? "No; I work alone." Do you work alone, then,
   and live alone, like a monk in a cell? I don't believe that. But you
   have fellow-servants at work; cannot you say a word to their
   conscience? "I don't like to intrude religion into business." Quite
   right, too; so say I; when I am at business, let it be business; when
   you are at religion, let it be religion. But do you never have an
   opportunity? Why, you cannot go into an omnibus, or a railway carriage,
   but what you can say something for Jesus Christ. I have found it so,
   and I don't believe I am different from other people. Cannot do
   anything? Cannot you put a tract in your hat, and drop it where you go?
   Cannot you speak a word to a child? Where does this man come from, that
   cannot do anything? There is a spider on the wall; but he taketh hold
   on kings' palaces, and spinneth his web to rid the world of noxious
   flies. There is a nettle in the corner of the churchyard; but the
   physician tells me it has its virtues. There is a tiny star in the sky;
   but that is noted in the chart, and the mariner looks at it. There is
   an insect under water; but it builds a rock. God made all these things
   for something; but here is a man that God made, and gave him nothing at
   all to do! I do not believe it. God never makes useless things; he has
   no superfluous workmanship. I care not what you are; you have somewhat
   to do. And oh! may God show you what it is, and then make you do it, by
   the wondrous compulsion of his providence and his grace.

   3. But we have to notice, in the third place, the development of gospel
   blessing. " I will make them a blessing;" but it does not end there.
   "And the places round about my hill." Religion is an expansive thing.
   When it begins in the heart, at first it is like a tiny grain of
   mustard seed; but it gradually increases, and becomes a great tree, so
   that the birds of the air lodge in the branches thereof. A man cannot
   be religious to himself. "No man liveth to himself, and no man dieth to
   himself." You have heard a score of times, that if you do but drop a
   pebble in a brook, it causes a small ring at first, then another
   outside of that, and then another, and then another, till the influence
   of the pebble is perceptible over the entire bosom of the water. So it
   is when God makes his people a blessing. "I will make a minister a
   blessing to one or two; I will then make him a blessing to a hundred; I
   will then make him a blessing to thousands; and then I will make those
   thousands a blessing. I will make each one individually a blessing, and
   when I have done that, I will make all the places round about a
   blessing." "I will make them a blessing." I hope we shall never be
   satisfied, as members of Park Street, until we are a blessing, not only
   to ourselves, but to all the places round about our hill. What are the
   places round about our hill? I think they are, first, our agencies;
   secondly, our neighborhood; thirdly, the churches adjacent to us.

   First, there are our agencies. There is our Sabbath School; how near
   that is to our hill. I speak a great deal about this, because I want it
   to be brought into notice. I intend to preach a practical sermon this
   morning, to move some of you to come and teach in the Sabbath School;
   for there we require some suitable men, to "come up to the help of the
   Lord, to the help of the Lord against the mighty." Therefore I mention
   the Sabbath School as a place very near to the hill; it ought to be
   just at the very foot of it; yea, it ought to be so near the hill that
   very many may pass from it to the church. Then there is our Visiting
   and Christian Instruction Society, which we have for the visiting of
   this neighborhood. I trust that has been made a blessing. God has sent
   among us a man who labors zealously and earnestly in visiting the sick.
   I have, as the superintendent of my beloved brother, the missionary, a
   regular account of his labors; his report has most highly gratified me,
   and I am able to bear testimony to the fact, that he is very
   sufficiently laboring around us. I want that society to have all you
   sympathy and strength. I consider him as a Joshua, with whom you are to
   go forth by hundreds to those who live in the neighborhood. Do you know
   what dark places there are? Walk down a street a little to the right.
   See the shops open on a Sunday. Some, thank God, that used to open
   them, now come and worship with us. We shall have more yet; for "the
   earth is the Lord's, and the fulness thereof," and why should not we
   have it? My brethren, as you visit the sick, or distribute tracts from
   door to door, make this your prayer--that his society, being one of the
   places round about our hill, may be made a blessing! Let me not forget
   any agency connected with this church. There are several more which are
   places round about our hill; and the Lord has just put it into my heart
   to fashion other societies, which shall be made a blessing to this
   hill, and in a little while you shall hear thereof. We have several
   brethren in this congregation to whom God has given a mouth of
   utterance; these are about to form themselves into a society for
   proclaiming the Word of God. Where God has so blessed his church, and
   made us to be so noted and named amongst the people, why should we not
   keep on? We have been brought up to a great pitch of fervency and love;
   now is the time for doing something. While the iron is hot, why not
   strike and fashion it? I believe we have the materials, not only for
   making a church here that shall be the glory of the Baptist Churches in
   London, but for making churches everywhere throughout the metropolis;
   and we have more schemes on hand, which, matured by sober judgment, and
   backed by prudence, shall yet make this metropolis more honored that it
   has been by the sound of the pure gospel and the proclamation of the
   pure Word of God. May God make all our agencies--the places round about
   our hill--a blessing.

   But next, there is the neighborhood. I am paralyzed sometimes, when I
   think that we are of so little service to the neighborhood, though this
   is a green oasis in the midst of a great spiritual desert. Just at the
   back of us we could find you hundreds of Roman Catholics and men of the
   very worst character; and it is sad to think that we cannot make this
   place a blessing to them. It is made a great blessing to you, my
   hearers, but you do not come from this district; you come from anywhere
   and nowhere, some of you, I suppose. People say, "There is something
   doing in that chapel; look at the crowd; but we cannot get in!" This
   one thing I ask--never come here to gratify your curiosity. You that
   are members of other congregations, just consider it you duty to stay
   at home. There are many stray sheep about. I would rather have them
   than you. Keep your own place. I do not want to rob other minister. Do
   not come here from charity. We are much obliged to you for your kindly
   intentions; but we would rather have your room than your company, if ye
   are members of other churches. We want sinners to come--sinners of
   every sort; but do not let us have that sort of men whose ears are
   everlastingly itching for some new preacher; who are saying, "I want
   something else, I want something else." Oh! do, I beseech you, for
   God's sake, be of some good; and if you are running about from one
   place to another, you can never expect to be. Do ye know what is said
   of rolling stones? Ah! ye have heard of that. They "gather no moss."
   Now, don't be rolling stones, but keep at home. God, however, so help
   us, as to make us a blessing to the neighborhood! I long to see
   something done for the people around. We must open our arms to them; we
   must go out into the open air to them; we must and will preach God's
   gospel to them. Let, then, the people around listen to the word of the
   gospel; and may it be said, "That place is the cathedral of Southwark!"
   So it is now. Out of it goes a blessing; God is pouring out a blessing
   upon it.

   What else do we mean by the places round about our hill? We mean, the
   churches adjacent. I cannot but rejoice in the prosperity of many
   churches around us; but as our beloved brother, Mr. Sherman, said, last
   Thursday morning, "It is not invidious to say, that there are very few
   churches that are in a prosperous state, and that, taking the churches
   at large, they are in a deplorable condition. It is only here and
   there," said he, "that God is pouring out his Spirit; but most of the
   churches are lying, like barges at Blackfriar's Bridge when the tide is
   down--right in the mud; and all the king's horses and all the king's
   men cannot pull them off, till the tide comes and sets them afloat."
   Who can tell, then, what good may be done by this church? If there is a
   light in this candlestick, let others come and light their candles by
   it. If there is a flame here, let the flame spread, until all the
   neighboring churches shall be lit up with the glory. Then, indeed,
   shall we be made the rejoicing of the earth; for there is never a
   revival in one spot, but it shall affect others. Who shall tell, then,
   where it shall end?

   "Fly abroad, thou mighty gospel;

   Win and conquer, never cease."

   And it never will cease, when God once makes the places round about his
   hill a blessing.

   II. The second point is, that God's people are not only to be a
   blessing, but THEY ARE TO BE BLESSED. For read the second part of the
   verse. "And I will cause the shower to come down in his season; there
   shall be showers of blessing." It is somewhat singular, as a
   prognostication of the showers of blessings we hope to receive here,
   that God sent us showers on the first day of opening. If I were a
   believer in omens, I should pray, that as it rained the first day, so
   may it rain every day since. When it stops, may the chapel be shut up;
   for we only want it open so long as showers of grace continue to
   descend.

   First, here is sovereign mercy. Listen to these words; "I will give
   them the shower in its season." Is it not sovereign, divine mercy; for
   who can say, "I will give them showers," except God? Can the false
   prophet who walks amongst the benighted Hottentots? He says he is a
   rain-maker, and can give them showers; but can he do it? Is there an
   imperial monarch, or the most learned man on earth, who can say, "I
   will give them the showers in their season?" No; there is only one fist
   wherein all the clouds are held; there in only one hand in which all
   the channels of the mighty ocean above the firmament are contained;
   there is only one voice that can speak to the clouds, and bid them
   beget the rain. "Out of whose womb came the ice? and the hoary frost of
   heaven, who hath gendered it?" "Who sendeth down the rain upon the
   earth? who scattereth the showers upon the green herb? Do not I, the
   Lord?" Who else could do it? Is not rain in God's power? and who could
   send it, except him? We know that Catholics pretend that they can get
   grace without getting it form God directly; for they believe that God
   puts all his grace into the pope, and then that runs down into smaller
   pipes, called cardinals and bishops, through which it runs into the
   priests; and, by turning the tap with a shilling, you can get as much
   grace as you like. But it is not so with God's grace. He says, "I will
   give them showers." Grace is the gift of God, and is not to be created
   by man.

   Notice, next, it is needed grace. "I will give them showers." What
   would the ground do without showers? You may break the clods, you may
   sow your seeds; but what can you do without the rain? Ah! you may
   prepare your barn, and sharpen your sickles; but your sickles will be
   rusted before you have any wheat, unless there are showers. They are
   needed. So is the divine blessing.

   "In vain Apollos sow the seed,

   And Paul may plant in vain;

   In vain you come here, in vain you labor, in vain you give you money.

   "Till God the plenteous shower bestows,

   And sends salvation down."

   Then, next, it is plenteous grace. "I will send them showers." It does
   not say, "I will send them drops," but "I will send them showers." "It
   seldom rains but it pours." So it is with grace. If God gives a
   blessing, he usually gives it in such a measure that there is not room
   enough to receive it. Where are we going to hold God's blessing that we
   have obtained already? I told the people on Thursday that God had
   promised us, that if we brought the tithes into the storehouse, he
   would send us such a blessing that we would not have room to hold it.
   We have tried it, and the promise has been fulfilled, as it always will
   be as long as we rely upon it. Plenteous grace! Ah! we shall want
   plenteous grace, my friends; plenteous grace to keep us humble,
   plenteous grace to make us prayerful, plenteous grace to make us holy,
   plenteous grace to make us zealous, plenteous grace to make us
   truthful, plenteous grace to preserve us through this life, and at last
   to land us in heaven. We cannot do without showers of grace. How many
   are there here that have been dry in a shower of grace? Why, there is a
   shower of grace here; but how is it that it does not fall on some of
   the people? It is because they put up the umbrella of their prejudice;
   and though they sit here, even as God's people sit, even when it rains,
   they have such a prejudice of God's Word, they do not want to hear it,
   they do not want to love it, and it runs off again. Nevertheless, the
   showers are there; and we will thank god for them where they do fall.

   Again, it is seasonable grace. "I will give them the shower in its
   season." There is nothing like seasonable grace. There are fruits, you
   know, that are best in their season, and they are not good at any other
   time; and there are graces that are good in their season, but we do not
   always require them. A person vexes and irritates me; I want grace just
   at that moment to be patient; I have not got it, and I get angry; ten
   minutes after I am ever so patient; but I have not had grace in its
   season. The promise is, "I will give them the shower in its season."
   Ah! poor waiting soul, what is thy season this morning? Is it the
   season of drought? Then that is the season for showers. Is it a season
   of great heaviness and black clouds? Then that is the season for
   showers. What is your season this morning, business man? Lost money all
   the week, have you? Now is the season to ask for showers. It is
   night-time; now the dew falls. The dew does not fall in the day--it
   falls in the night; the night of affliction, trial, and trouble. There
   stands the promise; only go and plead it. "I will give them the shower
   in its season."

   We have one thought more, and then we have done. Here is a varied
   blessing. "I will give thee showers of blessing." The word is in the
   plural. All kinds of blessings God will send. The rain is all of one
   kind when it comes; but grace is not all of one kind, or it does not
   produce the same effect. When God sends rain upon the church, he "sends
   showers of blessing." There are some ministers who think, that if there
   is a shower on their church, God will send a shower of work. Yes, but
   if he does, he will send a shower of comfort. Others think that God
   will send a shower of gospel truth. Yes, but if he sends that, he will
   send a shower of gospel holiness. For all God's blessings go together.
   They are like the sweet sister graces that danced hand in hand. God
   sends showers of blessings. If he gives comforting grace, he will also
   give converting grace; if he makes the trumpet blow for the bankrupt
   sinner, he will also make it sound a shout of joy for the sinner that
   is pardoned and forgiven. He will send "showers of blessing."

   Now, then, there is a promise in that Bible. We have tried to explain
   and enlarge upon it. What shall we do with it?

   "In that book there hidden lies

   A pearl of price unknown."

   Well, we have examined this rich promise; we as a church are looking at
   it; we are saying, "Is that ours?" I think most of the members will
   say, "It is; for God has poured out upon us showers of blessing in
   their season." Well, then, if the promise is ours, the precept is ours,
   as much as the promise. Ought we not to ask God to continue to make us
   a blessing? Some say I did so-and-so when I was a young man; but
   supposing you are fifty, you are not an old man now. Is there not
   something you can do? It is all very well to talk about what you have
   done; but what are you doing now? I know what it is with some of you;
   you shined brightly once, but your candle has not been snuffed lately,
   and so it does not shine so well. May God take away some of the worldly
   cares, and snuff the candles a little! You know there were snuffers and
   snuffer-trays provided in the temple for all the candles, but no
   extinguishers; and if there should be a poor candle here this morning,
   with a terrific snuff, that has not given a light for a long while, you
   will have no extinguisher from me, but I hope you will always have a
   snuffing. I thought the first time when I came to the lamps this
   morning it would be to snuff them. That has been the intention of my
   sermon--to snuff you a little--to set you to work for Jesus Christ. O
   Zion, shake thyself from the dust! O Christian, raise thyself from thy
   slumbers! Warrior, put on thy armor! Soldier, grasp thy sword! The
   captain sounds the alarm of war. O sluggard! why sleepest thou? O heir
   of heaven, has not Jesus done so much for thee, that thou shouldst live
   to him? O beloved brethren, purchased with redeeming mercies, girt
   about with loving-kindness and with tenderness,

   "Now for a shout of sacred joy."

   and after that, to the battle! The little seed has grown to this; who
   knoweth what it shall be? Only let us together strive, without
   variance. Let us labor for Jesus. Never did men have so fair an
   opportunity, for the last hundred years. "There is a tide that, taken
   at the flood, leads on to fortune." Shall you take it at the flood?
   Over the bar, at the harbor's mouth! O ship of heaven, let thy sails be
   out; let not thy canvas be furled; and the wind will blow us across the
   seas of difficulty that lie before us. O! that the latter day might
   have its dawning even in this despised habitation! O my God! from this
   place cause the first wave to spring, which shall move another, and
   then another, till the last great wave shall sweep over the sands of
   time, and dash against the rocks of eternity, echoing as it falls,
   "Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah! the Lord God Omnipotent reigneth!"
     __________________________________________________________________

                    Christ Manifesting Himself to His People

   A Sermon

   (No. 29)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, June 10, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "Judas saith unto him, not Iscariot, Lord, how is it that thou wilt
   manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?"--John 14:22.

   WHAT A BLESSED Master Jesus Christ was! How familiar did he allow his
   disciples to make themselves with him! Though he was the Lord of life
   and glory, the great and mighty one, as well as the man of Nazareth,
   yet see how he talks with his poor disciples, the fishermen, just as if
   he had been one of the same class and order with themselves! He was
   none of your dignitaries who pride themselves on that dignity--none of
   those ecclesiastics who love to carry much of formality about them, and
   to walk above other men, as if they were not indeed their fellows; but
   he talks to his disciples just as a father would to his children--even
   more kindly than a master might to his pupils. He lets them put the
   simplest questions to him, and instead of rebuking them for their
   familiarity, he condescends to answer everything they please to ask
   him. Philip uttered a sentence which one would think no sensible man,
   who had been so long time with Jesus, ever could have troubled him
   with. He said, "Show us the Father and it sufficeth us." A stupid idea!
   As if Jesus Christ could shew the Father; that is to say, could shew
   God to Philip! And Jesus kindly answered--"Hast thou been so long time
   with me, and yet hast thou not known me, Philip? Believest thou not
   that I am in the Father, and the Father in me? He that hath seen me
   hath seen the Father." And now comes Judas (not Iscariot); and he puts
   also a very simple and easy question--one he needed not to have asked;
   but Jesus Christ, instead of rebuking him, simply passes on to another
   subject, and forbears most wisely to answer the enquiry, because he
   would teach him more by silence than he could do by an explanation.

   We must also notice here how very particular the Holy Ghost is that a
   good man should not be confounded with a bad one. He says, "Judas, not
   Iscariot." There were two of the name of Judas; the one who betrayed
   our Lord, and the other who wrote the epistle of Jude, who should
   properly have been called Judas. Some of us, in reading the name Judas,
   might have said, "Ah! it was that traitor Judas Iscariot that asked the
   question." But the Holy Spirit would not allow this mistake to be made.
   This again should teach us, that it is not an idle wish for us to
   desire that our name should be handed down to posterity. We ought all
   to wish to have an unblemished character; we ought to desire to have
   that promise fulfilled, "The memory of the just is blessed." I would
   not wish my name to be mistaken for that of some criminal who was
   hanged. I would not wish to have my name written even by mistake in the
   calendar of infamy. However much I may now be misrepresented, it will
   one day be known that I have honestly striven for the glory of my
   Master; and God will say, "Judas, not Iscariot." The man was no
   deceiver after all.

   But we will now forsake Judas altogether, and proceed to look at our
   text. It contains two things: first, an important fact; secondly, an
   interesting enquiry. "Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself
   unto us, and not unto the world?" Here is a fact, and an enquiry
   concerning it.

   I. First, then, here is A GREAT FACT: that Jesus Christ does reveal
   himself to his people, but he does not unto the world. The fact is
   implied in the question; and even if Scripture did not declare it to be
   the truth, there are many of us who have a Scripture written in our
   hearts--the Bible of experience--which teaches us that it is true. Ask
   Christian men whether they have not had manifestations of their Lord
   and Saviour Jesus Christ, in a peculiar and wonderful manner, such as
   they never felt when they were in their unregenerate state. Turn to the
   biographies of eminent saints, and you will find there instances
   recorded in which Jesus has been pleased, in a very special manner to
   speak to their souls, to unfold the wonders of his person, and let them
   discern the matchless glories of his office; yea, so have their souls
   been steeped in happiness that they have thought themselves to be in
   heaven, whereas they were not there though they were well nigh on the
   threshold of it--for when Jesus manifests himself to his people, it is
   a young heaven on earth, it is a paradise in embryo, it is the
   beginning of the bliss of the glorified; yea, and it shall be the
   consummation of that bliss, when Jesus Christ shall perfectly unveil
   himself to the admiring eyes of all his people and they shall be like
   him, and shall see him as he his.

   We are about to talk somewhat this morning, then, concerning that
   special manifestation which Jesus Christ vouchsafes to his people, and
   to his people only. We will make four observations here. We will
   observe, first, something concerning the favored persons--"unto us,"
   "not unto the world." Secondly, concerning special seasons--"How is it
   that thou wilt?" He was not doing it just then; but "thou wilt." There
   are special seasons. Thirdly, some remarks concerning the wonderful
   display--"Thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, as thou dost not unto the
   world." Then, fourthly, we shall dwell a little upon the effects which
   this manifestation will produce upon our souls.

   1. First, then, who are the favored people to whom Jesus Christ
   manifests himself? "How is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us,
   and not unto the world?" It appears from the text that the persons to
   whom Jesus Christ shews himself in this wonderful manner do not belong
   to the world. Who, then, are these people? I am sure it would be
   difficult for you or me to discover them; I shall, therefore, this
   morning employ a fiction, and shall bid some spirit from an unknown
   world point out these distinguished individuals. O spirit! I give thee
   an errand. There are a certain number of people in this world who are
   not of it: go thou, search them out, and come thou back and tell me
   what thou hast found. We give the spirit time, he flies round the
   world, and he returns. "I have seen," says he, "a multitude of men;
   they are all pursuing one common path, with one object I have seen them
   trampling on each other in the fury of their hot pursuit; have seen
   them hurrying after something which each one desired for himself; but
   in the midst of the throng I saw a few marching in an opposite
   direction, who with much elbowing and strong opposition were going
   exactly contrary to the stream. I saw written on the foreheads of those
   who were proceeding with the crowd, the word Self;' but I marked those
   who were proceeding in the other direction, and behold, they had
   inscribed upon their brows, Christ;' and as I listened to them
   frequently in their soliloquies I heard them say, For us to live is
   Christ, for us to die is gain.' I marked these men, I saw them
   constantly pursuing their way in the teeth of all defiance, going
   against every opposition; I wondered where they were going; and I saw
   that before them was a wicket-gate, and on it the words; Mercy for the
   chief of sinners.' I saw them enter there; I marked them as they ran
   along the walls of salvation, and tracking them along to their
   destination, I saw them at last fold their arms in death, shut their
   eyes with tranquility; while I heard angels sing their requiem, and a
   voice shouted, Blessed are the dead that die in the Lord.' Surely these
   must be the persons who are not of the world." Thou hast spoken
   rightly, O spirit; these are the individuals. What didst thou see of
   them, O spirit? Did they assemble and congregate together; or did they
   mix with the rest of humanity? "Why," saith he, "I noticed that once in
   the week they crowded to a certain place they called the House of God;
   I heard their song of praise; I saw them bend their knee in reverence,
   not only in that house, but in private; I witnessed their groanings,
   their strugglings, and their agonies, I knew that they were men of
   prayer, and men that loved God. I saw them gather in secret assemblies,
   to tell what the Lord had done for their souls; I marked that they
   would not be found with the wicked. I saw some houses that they would
   not enter. At the corner of the street there stood a house, well
   lighted up with many a lamp; and there were on its front some mystic
   cabalistic signs, the marks of woe and ill-doings. I saw the wicked
   there, reeling to and fro; I observed them in their drunkenness. But I
   marked how the Christian man put up his hand before his eyes, and
   passed by that place. I saw too another haunt of hell, where there were
   enacted scenes that eye should not have beheld--where shouts of revelry
   and mirth, but not songs of holiness, were heard. I looked round that
   theater, and I discerned not a single one of these blessed persons;
   they would not run in the ways of the wicked, nor sit in the seat of
   the scorner, nor stand in the council of the unrighteous. I marked that
   like birds of a feather they would flock together'--that they found
   their mates, and there they went--that they built their nest in the
   same tree, and would make their habitation beneath the self-same roof."
   "Yea," saith the spirit, "I heard one of them exclaim, He that telleth
   lies shall not abide in my sight.' I saw him drive the liar from his
   house, and bid the profligate depart from him. I marked them; they were
   a select and separate people and I said, surely these are the men of
   whom it is written, They shall dwell alone, they shall not be numbered
   among the people.'" Well, spirit, rightly hast thou described them. I
   wonder how many there are here; the men to whom God will reveal
   himself, and not to the world. They are men who are not worldly in
   principle, in action, in conversation, in desires, in object, or in
   end. These are the persons. Do not tell me anything about universal
   grace, or universal manifestations, while I have the power I will
   proclaim free grace to peculiar characters, as long as I find it
   written, "Thou wilt manifest thyself to us, but not to the world."

   Our next remark is concerning special seasons. These highly favored men
   do not always see Jesus Christ alike. They do not always dive in the
   sunshine of his countenance. There are special times when God is
   pleased to reveal himself to his people. And these seasons are
   generally of two kinds: times of duty, and times of trial. I never
   found a lazy or indifferent Christian have a manifestation of Jesus
   Christ; I never heard one who gave himself wholly to business talk much
   of spiritual manifestations. No, poor soul; he had got religion enough
   to save him, but not enough to make him realize the spiritual and
   special blessings of a Christian. Those who do but little for Christ,
   Christ does but little for them in the way of special favors. Those who
   sit down, fold their arms, eat, drink, and are satisfied, are not the
   men who enter into the secret chamber of the Most High, and enjoy the
   presence of the Almighty. The men who are the most zealous for their
   Master discern the most of his lovingkindness, and enjoy the richest
   blessings from the Lord. Ask a Christian when he is the happiest, he
   will say, when he works the most. I know I am. I have not tried rest
   yet, and no doubt I shall find it anything but rest when I have it.
   When I pass a day without preaching my Master's name I feel that I have
   not done what I ought to have done, and I do not rest satisfied till I
   am within the four boards of a pulpit again. When we work the hardest
   we feel grace the most plentiful, when we dig the deepest we get the
   sweetest water. He who toils the most has his bread the most sweetened;
   and depend upon it, drops of sweat are blessed things to make dry bread
   go down. We shall always have mere happiness the more we labor for
   Christ. As for Issachar, who is a strong ass, crouching down between
   two burdens--the man who is doing little--the promise is, "A whip for
   the horse, a bridle for the ass, and a rod for the fool's back." The
   man who is idle must have chastisement; but he who serves his God may
   rejoice, for God will treat him with dainties; he will give him his
   portion mixed with honey; he will say, "I have taken thy bread and
   dipped it in my own dish; take it, and eat it, for thou art one who
   works in my own vineyard." It will be in seasons of duty; or, as I have
   said, in seasons of trial for you must not suppose when a Christian is
   laid aside from duty that he is doing nothing. Do not imagine that the
   time of your sickness has been lost to you. You were not only profiting
   yourselves, but actually serving God by your suffering, if you bore it
   patiently. Don't you know the text--"We fill up that which is behind of
   the sufferings of Christ, for his body's sake, which is the church."
   Christ's mystical body you are aware is made up of the head and all the
   members. The head had a certain amount to suffer--that is all finished;
   but the body has a measured portion to endure also; and the more you
   suffer so much the less suffering there is for somebody else. There is
   a certain quantum of trial which the whole church has to sustain before
   it gets to heaven; for as Jesus Christ was afflicted, even so the whole
   of his people must have fellowship with his sufferings. There is a cup
   that is full of mixture, and the righteous must drink it; we must all
   have a sip thereof; but if one of us can take a deep draught, and do it
   patiently, there is so much the less for our fellows. Let us not
   complain, then; for it is in the time of trouble we see most of Jesus.
   Before Israel fought Amalck, God gave them water from the rock, and
   sent them manna from heaven; and before Jacob met Esau, the angel of
   God wrestled with him at the brook Jabbok, and hosts of angels met him
   at Mahanaim. Previous to trial you may generally expect a season of
   joy; and when that season of joy is over, you may say, "We must expect
   some danger now, for we have received too much delight." But when the
   trial comes, then expect to have delight with it; for our troubles are
   generally proportioned to our joys, and our joys are usually
   proportioned to our troubles. The more bitter the vessel of grief, the
   sweeter the cup of consolation; the heavier weight of trial here, the
   brighter the crown of glory hereafter. In fact, the same word in Hebrew
   signifies "weight "and "glory." A weight of trouble is a glory to a
   Christian, for it is an honour to him; and glory is a weight, for it
   often bows him down, and makes him die low at his Master's feet. I
   appeal to my brothers and sisters, and ask them when it is they have
   seen most of Jesus--when they have been walking in the garden of
   delights, or when the bitter medicine has been in their mouth. Have you
   not had better visions of Jesus, when you have been racked with pain,
   than when you have been elevated by prosperity? When the barn has been
   full, the oil vat has been bursting, and the wine has been running
   over, it is often then that the sanctuary of God has been forsaken and
   the cabinet of God's loving-kindness is nearly disregarded. But when
   the fig-tree does not blossom, and when there are no herds in the
   stalls, then it is that God often comes nearest to his children, and
   most reveals himself to them.

   2. The next thought is, the wondrous display itself. Jesus Christ
   manifest himself. There are many manifestations of God to his children,
   but this is the most precious of all. Some manifestations we never wish
   to have again. We do not want to have that discovery which we had of
   our sinfulness, when first we were awakened: we will leave it to God,
   but we will never pray for it. But here is a manifestation we should
   like to have every day. "I will manifest myself to him." He does this
   in different ways. I have had for a long while a manifestation of his
   sufferings in Gethsemane; I have been for months musing on his agonies;
   I think I have even eaten the bitter herbs that grow there, and drank
   of that black brook Kedron. I have sometimes gone up stairs alone, to
   put myself in the very posture Jesus Christ was in and I thought I
   could sympathize with him in his sufferings. Methought; saw the sweat
   of blood falling down to the ground; I had so sweet a view of my
   Saviour in his agonies, I hope that one day I may be able to accompany
   him still further, and see him on Calvary, and hear his death-shriek
   "Eli, Eli, lama sabachthani?" Some of you, I know, have seen Jesus with
   the eye of faith quite as plainly as if you had seen him with your
   natural eyes. You could see your Saviour hanging on the cross. You
   thought you saw the very crown of thorns on his head, and the drops of
   blood streaming down his face; you heard his cry; you saw his bleeding
   side; you beheld the nails, and before long you could have gone and
   pulled them out, and wrapped him up in linen and spices, and carried
   his body, and washed it with tears and anointed it with precious
   ointment. At other times you have had a manifestation of Christ in his
   gifts. You have seen that mighty sacrifice he offered, the pile smoking
   up to heaven, and all your sins burnt up with it; you have seen clearly
   the justifying righteousness he has put upon you; and as you have
   looked at yourselves you have said--

   "Strangely, my soul, art thou arrayed.

   By the great sacred Three;

   In sweetest harmony of praise.

   Let all my powers agree."

   There are times when you have felt much joy at the exaltation of Jesus
   Christ, as displayed in his gifts. Then, again, you will see him in his
   triumph, with one foot upon Satan, and the other upon death. You will
   be able to behold him, marching up the sky, with all the glittering
   hosts behind him; and in due time you will have a manifestation of him
   to your soul, as sitting on his Father's throne until his enemies are
   made his footstool. And faith will sometimes so outsoar the wings of
   time, that we can bring futurity to the present, and see that great and
   pompous appearance, when on the great white throne the king shall sit
   and grasp his scepter, and when his saints before him shall shout his
   praise. If I were to go much farther, I should be accused of
   fanaticism, and so it may be; but yet I will believe and must believe
   that there are seasons when the Christian lives next door to heaven. If
   I have not gone within an inch of the pearly gates I am not here; if I
   have not sometimes snuffed the incense from the censers of the
   glorified and heard the music of their harps, I think I am not a living
   man. There have been seasons of ecstatic joy, when I have climbed the
   highest mountains, and I have caught some sweet whisper from the
   throne. Have you had such manifestations? I will not condemn you if you
   have not: but I believe most Christians have them, and if they are much
   in duty and much in suffering they will have them. It is not given to
   all to have that portion, but to some it is, and such men know what
   religion means. I was reading a short time ago of a Mr. Tennant. He was
   about to preach one evening, and thought he would take a walk. As he
   was walking in a wood he felt so overpoweringly the presence of Christ,
   and such a manifestation of him, that he knelt down, and they could not
   discover him at the hour when he was to have preached. He continued
   there for hours, insensible as to whether he was in the body or out of
   the body; and when they waked him he looked like a man who had been
   with Jesus, and whose face shone. He never should forget, he said, to
   his dying day, that season of communion, when positively, though he
   could not see Christ, Christ was there, holding fellowship with him,
   heart against heart, in the sweetest manner. A wondrous display it must
   have been. You must know something of it, if not much; otherwise you
   have not gone far on your spiritual course. God teach you more, and
   lead you deeper! "Then shall ye know, when ye follow on to know the
   Lord."

   4. Then what will be the natural effects of this spiritual
   manifestation? The first effect will be humility. If a man says, "I
   have had such and such spiritual communications, I am a great man;" he
   has never had any communications at all; for "God has respect unto the
   humble, but the proud he knoweth afar off." He does not want to come
   near them to know them, and will never give them any visits of love. It
   will give a man happiness; for he must be happy who lives near to God.
   Again: it will give a man holiness. A man who has not holiness has
   never had this manifestation. Some men profess a great deal; but do not
   believe any man unless you see that his deeds answer to what he says.
   "Be not deceived, God is not mocked." He will not bestow his favors
   upon the wicked; for while he wild not cast away a perfect man, neither
   will he respect an evil doer. Thus there will three effects of nearness
   to Jesus, all beginning with the letter h--humility, happiness, and
   holiness. May God give them to us!

   II. Now for the second point: AN INTERESTING INQUIRY. Judas said, How
   is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?"
   How was this inquiry suggested, and how was it answered.

   First, it was suggested by ignorance. Poor Judas thought--"How can
   Jesus manifest himself to us, and not to the world? Why, if he comes
   down again, the world will see him as well as we do. How can he do it?
   Suppose he appears in a chariot of fire, or descends in a cloudy
   pillar: if we see him, the world must see him too." So, poor thing, he
   very ignorantly said, "How can it be, Lord?" Perhaps, too, the question
   was put by reason of his great kindness. "Ah! Lord", said he, "how can
   it be that thou wilt manifest thyself to us, and not unto the world?"
   He was slightly an Arminian; he wanted it all to be given to everybody;
   and he said, "How is it that thou wilt manifest thyself to us, and not
   unto the world? "O Lord!" said he, "I wish it were for everybody. I
   wish it were: my benevolence bids me wish it." Ah! my beloved, we never
   need be more benevolent than God is. Some say, "If all sinners were
   saved it would glorify God more." Certainly God knows better than we do
   how many sinners will glorify him, and we had better leave the number
   to him, and not get meddling with what we have no business with. It
   says in Scripture, "Fools will be meddling;" and fools they are who go
   meddling with what is no concern of theirs. But however this was, Judas
   said, "Lord, how is it that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us, and not
   unto the world?" Perhaps, again, it was love to his Master that made
   him put the question. "O Lord, I thought thou wouldst come and be king
   over all the world; and now it appears that thou art only to be king
   over some." He wished Christ's dominion might be universal; he wanted
   to see every heart the Saviour's throne, he desired every one to bow to
   him, and a very just and laudable wish it was; and so he asked Christ,
   "How can it be, Lord, that thou wilt not conquer all?" Jesus never
   answered the question. It was right to ask it; but we shall never get
   the solution of it till we get up yonder; perhaps not there. Yet again:
   perhaps the question was proposed by admiration. "Oh!" he said, "how is
   it that thou wilt manifest to us, and not unto the world?" Why, he
   might have said of himself, "What am I? What is my brother Peter here?
   Nothing but a fisherman. What is John? Nothing but a fisherman. And as
   for Matthew, he was a publican, and cheated hundreds. And Zaccheus, how
   many widows' houses did he devour! And yet thou sayest thou wilt
   manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world.' There stands Mary
   the sinner: what did she do, that thou shouldst manifest thyself to
   her? And there is Mary Magdalene: she had seven devils. Lord, how is it
   that thou wilt manifest thyself unto us and not unto the world.' Is not
   this a question we have often had to ask of our own souls?

   "Pause, my soul, adore and wonder;

   Ask, O why such love to me?"

   And the only answer we could give was,

   "Grace hath put me in the number

   Of the Saviour's family."

   Come to me and ask me, "Sir, why am I a Christian? Why does God love
   me?" I must reply "Because he does love you." "But why does he love
   me?" The only answer I can give you again is, "because he would love
   you." For it is written, "He will have mercy on whom he will have
   mercy. Surely we might admiringly stand here and say, "Lord, why, Lord,
   why dost thou manifest thyself unto us, and not unto the world?" "Yes,"
   but some would say, "because ye are better than the world; that is the
   reason." A fine lot better by nature, certainly! Better than the world
   by nature? Why, some of us were rather worse. There are some of you
   here who indulged once in every form of vice; who would blush to stand
   up here, and tell the sins you have committed. But God has manifested
   himself to you as he does not unto the world. Surely we shall have a
   perpetual cause of wonder in the doings of sovereign grace.

   But what is the answer? Why does Christ manifest himself to some as he
   does not unto the world? The question was not answered; for it was
   unanswerable. Our Lord went on to say--"If a man love me, he will keep
   my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and
   make our abode with him." He did not tell him why he would manifest
   himself unto them, and not unto the world. I have often been asked this
   question myself; "You say God manifests himself to some, and not to
   others--can you tell me why?" Well, Jesus Christ did not, and I cannot
   be expected to do it, any more than he did. But I will ask you whether
   you have any objection to it. Is it no enough that he should do so? He
   has declared that has he "power over the clay, to make of the same lump
   one vessel unto honour and another unto dishonour;" and if any one
   finds fault he saith, "Who art thou, O man? Shall the thing formed say
   to him that formed it, why hast thou made me thus?" What man shall ask
   of his father, "Why hast thou begotten me?" "Am I not God, and can I
   not do what I will with my own?" "But," says the objector, "is it not
   unjust for God to manifest himself to one and not to the other?" God
   replies: "Dost thou charge me with injustice? In what respect? Do I owe
   thee anything? Bring the bill and I will pay it. Do I owe you grace?
   Then grace would not be grace; it would be a debt. If I owe you grace,
   you shall have it." "But why should my brother have it? He is equally
   as bad as I." "Surely," replies the king, "I may give as I please."
   Thou hast two beggars at thy door: hast thou not a right to turn one
   away, and give the other something? And can I not do as I will with my
   own? "I will have mercy upon whom I will have mercy, and to whom I will
   I give it." "Well," says the objector, "suppose I ask and plead for it,
   shall I not have it? "Yes, thou shalt," says God, for so the promise
   runs--"Every one that asketh receiveth, and he that seeketh findeth,
   and to him that knocketh it shall be opened." "But I cannot have it
   unless it is written that I shall have it." "Yes, but if thou askest,
   it is written that thou shalt ask; and the means are as much ordained
   as the end; thou couldst not ask unless I inclined thee; and now do not
   talk to me of injustice. I ask you to find the passage in my word where
   I ever promised to give grace to every one. Vile wretch! hast thou not
   rebelled against me? Thy doom is to be sent to hell for ever. Dost thou
   not deserve it?" "Yes." "Then who art thou that darest to accuse me of
   injustice? If I have fifty men on a scaffold to be hanged, have I not a
   right to pardon which I will, and give the punishment to all the rest?
   Wilt thou not yield to it?" "No," says the objector, "I will never
   yield to it." "Then, my friend expect not salvation till thou dost." Is
   there a man here who kicks against divine sovereignty? It is a testing
   doctrine; and if he does not receive it, it shows that his pride is not
   out of him. If we do but preach divine sovereignty, some will say,
   "That man is an Antinomian and a hyper. "We disdain your slander, and
   remind you that the accusation might more properly be made against
   yourself. It is you that are the Antinomian, in rebelling against
   divine sovereignty. But a man who receives the doctrine of sovereignty
   will go to the throne, saying,

   "Perhaps he will admit my plea,

   Perhaps will hear my prayer:

   But if I perish I will pray,

   And perish only there."

   And now, what say you to this, my friends? I know what some would say.
   They would cry, "Nonsense" we believe religion is a thing very good to
   keep people in order; but as to these manifestations and these
   ecstacies, we do not believe in them." Very well, beloved, I have just
   proved the truth of what the text says. He does not manifest himself
   unto the world; and you have proved yourself that you are one of the
   world, because you have not any manifestations. But there are some
   Christians here who say, "We do not know much about these
   manifestations." No, I know you do not. The church has been getting for
   the last few years into a lean, starved state; God has sent very few
   preachers who would preach up these special things, and the church has
   been getting lower and lower; and what would become of us I cannot
   tell, if there were not saved a little salt, which God has scattered
   over the putrifying mass. Some of us have been living on low ground,
   when we might have been standing on high places; We have been tarrying
   in the valley of Baca, when we might as well have been living on the
   top of Carmal. I would not choose to dwell in a valley, if I might
   build my house on the delectable mountains. O Christian! up this
   morning! Let thy feet be shod with light once more; trip lightly across
   the plain of trouble; get to the side of Calvary; ascend to the very
   summit; and from Calvary I tell thee, thou canst see across the plain
   as far as heaven itself if thou canst but get to Pisgah's top, thou
   shalt sing,

   "Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood

   Stand dressed in living green."

   And your spirit shall become like the chariots of Amminadib. Seek, my
   brethren such spiritual manifestations, if you have never experienced
   them; and if ye have been privileged to enjoy them, seek more of them;
   for what is there can so certainly make life happy, and so fit you for
   the sky, as these revelations of Jesus Christ? Oh! ye who despise what
   we enjoy, from the depths of my soul I pity you. Take heed, lest the
   first revelation you have of Christ be, when he shall be revealed in
   flaming fire, taking vengeance on his enemies; for if he is not
   revealed in mercy, he will be in justice. God give you grace to see him
   on Calvary before you see him on Sinai, to behold him as the Saviour of
   sinners before you see him as the judge of quick and dead. God bless
   you, and lead you to back these manifestations constantly! Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                          The Power of the Holy Ghost

   A Sermon

   (No. 30)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, June 17, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "The power of the Holy Ghost."--Romans 15:13.

   POWER is the special and peculiar prerogative of God, and God alone.
   "Twice have I heard this; that power belongeth unto God." God is God;
   and power belongeth to him. If he delegates a portion of it to his
   creatures, yet still it is his power. The sun, although he is "like a
   bridegroom coming out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a strong man to
   run his race," yet has no power to perform his motions except as God
   directs him. The stars, although they travel in their orbits, and none
   could stay them, yet have neither might nor force, except that which
   God daily infuses into them. The tall archangel, near his throne, who
   outshines a comet in its blaze, though he is one of those who excel in
   strength, and hearken to the voice of the commands of God, yet has no
   might except that which his Maker gives to him. As for Leviathan, who
   so maketh the sea to boil like a pot, that one would think the deep
   were hoary; as for Behemoth, who drinketh up Jordan at a draught, and
   boasteth that he can snuff up rivers; as for those majestic creatures
   that are found on earth, they owe their strength to him who fashioned
   their bones of steel, and made their sinews of brass. And when we think
   of man, if he has might or power, it is so small and insignificant,
   that we can scarcely call it such; yea, when it is at its
   greatest--when he sways his sceptre, when he commands hosts, when he
   rules nations--still the power belongeth unto God; and it is true,
   "Twice have I heard this, that power belongeth unto God." This
   exclusive prerogative of God, is to be found in each of the three
   persons of the glorious Trinity. The Father hath power; for by his word
   were the heavens made, and all the hosts of them; by his strength all
   things stand, and through him they fulfil their destiny. The Son hath
   power; for, like his Father, he is the Creator of all things; "Without
   him was not anything made that was made," and "by him all things
   consist." And the Holy Spirit hath power. It is concerning the power of
   the Holy Ghost that I shall speak this morning; and may you have a
   practical exemplification of that attribute in your own hearts, when
   you shall feel that the influence of the Holy Ghost is being poured out
   upon me, so that I am speaking the words of the living God to your
   souls, and bestowed upon you when you are feeling the effects of it in
   your own spirits.

   We shall look at the power of the Holy Ghost in three ways this
   morning. First, the outward and visible displays of it; second, the
   inward and spiritual manifestations of it; and third, the future and
   expected works thereof. The power of the Spirit will thus, I trust, be
   made clearly present to your souls.

   I. First, then, we are to view the power of the Spirit in the OUTWARD
   AND VISIBLE DISPLAYS OF IT. The power of the Sprit has not been
   dormant; it has exerted itself. Much has been done by the Spirit of God
   already; more than could have been accomplished by any being except the
   Infinite, Eternal, Almighty Jehovah, of whom the Holy Spirit is one
   person. There are four works which are the outward and manifest signs
   of the power of the Spirit; creation works; resurrection works; works
   of attestation, or of witness; and works of grace. Of each of these
   works I shall speak very briefly.

   1. First, the Spirit has manifested the omnipotence of his power in
   creation works; for though not very frequently in Scripture, yet
   sometimes creation is ascribed to the Holy Ghost, as well as to the
   Father and the Son. The creation of the heavens above us, is said to be
   the work of God's Spirit. This you will see at once by referring to the
   sacred Scriptures, Job 26, 13th verse, "By his Spirit he hath garnished
   the heavens; his hand hath formed the crooked serpent." All the stars
   of heaven are said to have been placed aloft by the Spirit, and one
   particular constellation called the "crooked serpent," is specially
   pointed out as his handiwork. He looseth the bands of Orion; he bindeth
   the sweet influences of the Pleiades, and binds Arcturus with his suns.
   He made all those stars that shine in heaven. The heavens were
   garnished by his hands, and he formed the crooked serpent by his might.
   So, also, in those continued acts of creation which are still performed
   in the world; as the bringing forth of man and animals, their birth and
   generation. These are ascribed also to the Holy Ghost. If you look at
   the 104th Psalm, at the 29th verse you will read, "Thou hidest thy
   face, they are troubled; thou takest away their breath, they die, and
   return to their dust. Thou sendest forth thy Spirit, they are created;
   and thou renewest the face of the earth." So that the creation of every
   man is the work of the Spirit; and the creation of all life, and all
   flesh-existence in this world, is as much to be ascribed to the power
   of the Spirit, as the first garnishing of the heavens, or the
   fashioning of the crooked serpent. But if you look in the first chapter
   of Genesis, you will there see more particularly set forth that
   peculiar operation of power upon the universe which was put forth by
   the Holy Spirit; you will then discover what was his special work. In
   the 2d verse of the first chapter of Genesis, we read, "And the earth
   was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep.
   And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters." We know not
   how remote the period of the creation of this globe may be--certainly
   many millions of years before the time of Adam. Our planet has passed
   through various stages of existence, and different kinds of creatures
   have lived on its surface, all of which have been fashioned by God. But
   before that era came, wherein man should be its principal tenant and
   monarch, the Creator gave up the world to confusion. He allowed the
   inward fires to burst up from beneath, and melt all the solid matter,
   so that all kinds of substances were commingled in one vast mass of
   disorder. The only name you could give to the world, then, was that it
   was a chaotic mass of matter; what it should be, you could not guess or
   define. It was entirely "without form and void; and darkness was upon
   the face of the deep." The Spirit came, and stretching his broad wings,
   bade the darkness disperse, and as he moved over it, all the different
   portions of matter came into their places, and it was no longer
   "without form, and void;" but became round, like its sister planets,
   and moved, singing the high praises of God--not discordantly, as it had
   done before, but as one great note in the vast scale of creation.
   Milton very beautifully describes this work of the Spirit, in thus
   bringing order out of confusion, when the King of Glory, in his
   powerful Word and Spirit, came to create new worlds:--

   "On heavenly ground they stood; and from the shore

   They viewed the vast, immeasurable abyss,

   Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild,

   Up from the bottom turned by furious winds

   And surging waves, as mountains, to assault

   Heaven's height, and with the centre mix the pole.

   "Silence, ye troubled waves, and thou deep, peace,

   Said then the Omnific Word; your discord end.

   Then on the watery calm,

   His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread

   And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth

   Throughout the fluid mass."

   This you see, then, is the power of the Spirit. Could we have seen that
   earth all in confusion, we should have said, "Who can make a world out
   of this?" The answer would have been, "The power of the Spirit can do
   it. By the simple spreading of his dove-like wings, he can make all the
   things come together. Upon that there shall be order where there was
   naught but confusion." Nor is this all the power of the Spirit. We have
   seen some of his works in creation. But there was one particular
   instance of creation in which the Holy Spirit was more especially
   concerned; viz., the formation of the body of our Lord Jesus Christ.
   Though our Lord Jesus Christ was born of a woman, and made in the
   likeness of sinful flesh, yet, the power that begat him was entirely in
   God the Holy Spirit--as the Scriptures express it, "The Holy One of
   Israel shall overshadow thee." He was begotten, as the Apostles' Creed
   says, begotten of the Holy Ghost. "That holy thing which is born of
   thee shall be called the Son of the Highest." The corporeal frame of
   the Lord Jesus Christ was a master-piece of the Holy Spirit. I suppose
   his body to have excelled all others in beauty; to have been like that
   of the first man, the very pattern of what the body is to be in heaven,
   when it shall shine forth in all its glory. That fabric, in all its
   beauty and perfection, was modeled by the Spirit. "In his book were all
   the members written, when as yet there were none of them." He fashioned
   and formed him; and here again we have another instance of the creative
   energy of the Spirit.

   2. A second manifestation of the Holy Spirit's power is to be found in
   the resurrection of the Lord Jesus Christ. If ye have ever studied this
   subject, ye have perhaps been rather perplexed to find that sometimes
   the resurrection of Christ is ascribed to himself. By his own power and
   godhead he could not be held by the bond of death, but as he willingly
   gave up his life he had power to take it up again. In another portion
   of Scripture, you find it ascribed to God the Father: "He raised him up
   from the dead:" "Him hath God the Father exalted." And many other
   passages of similar import. But, again, it is said in Scripture that
   Jesus Christ was raised by the Holy Spirit. Now, all these things were
   true. He was raised by the Father Because the Father said, "Loose the
   prisoner--let him go. Justice is satisfied. My law requires no more
   satisfaction--vengeance has had its due--let him go." Here he gave an
   official message which delivered Jesus from the grave. He was raised by
   his own majesty and power, because he had a right to come out; and he
   felt he had, and therefore "burst the bonds of death: he could be no
   longer holden of them." But he was raised by the Spirit as to that
   energy which his mortal frame received, by the which it rose again from
   the grave after having lain there for three days and nights. If you
   want proofs of this you must open your Bibles again, 1 Peter 3:18. "For
   Christ also hath once suffered for sins, the just for the unjust, that
   he might bring us to God, being put to death in the flesh but quickened
   by the Spirit." And a further proof you may find in Romans 8:11--(I
   love sometimes to be textual, for I believe the great fault of
   Christians is that they do not search the Scriptures enough, and I will
   make them search them when they are here if they do not do so anywhere
   else.)--"But if the Spirit of him that raised up Jesus from the dead
   dwell in you, he that raised up Christ from the dead shall also quicken
   your mortal bodies by his Spirit that dwelleth in you."

   The resurrection of Christ, then, was effected by the agency of the
   Spirit! And here we have a noble illustration of his omnipotence. Could
   you have stepped, as angels did, into the grave of Jesus, and seen his
   sleeping body, you would have found it cold as any other corpse. Lift
   up the hand; it falls by the side. Look at the eye; it is glazed. And
   there is a death-thrust which must have annihilated life. See his
   hands: the blood distills not from them. They are cold and motionless.
   Can that body live? Can it start up? Yes; and be an illustration of the
   might of the Spirit. For when the power of the Spirit came on him, as
   it was when it fell upon the dry bones of the valley, "he arose in the
   majesty of his divinity, and, bright and shining, astonished the
   watchmen so that they fled away; yea, he arose no more to die, but to
   live forever, King of kings and Prince of the kings of the earth."

   3. The third of the works of the Holy Spirit, which have so wonderfully
   demonstrated his power, are attestation works. I mean by this--works of
   witnessing. When Jesus Christ went into the stream of baptism in the
   river Jordan, the Holy Spirit descended upon him like a dove, and
   proclaimed him God's beloved son. That was what I style an attestation
   work. And when afterwards Jesus Christ raised the dead, when he healed
   the leper, when he spoke to diseases and they fled apace, when demons
   rushed in thousands from those who were possessed of them, it was done
   by the power of the Spirit. The Spirit dwelt in Jesus without measure,
   and by that power all those miracles were worked. These were
   attestation works. And when Jesus Christ was gone, you will remember
   that master attestation of the Spirit, when he came like a rushing
   mighty wind upon the assembled apostles, and cloven tongues sat upon
   them; and you will remember how he attested their ministry, by giving
   them to speak with tongues as he gave them utterance; and how, also,
   miraculous deeds were wrought by them, how they taught, how Peter
   raised Dorcas, how he breathed life into Enticus, how great deeds were
   wrought by the apostles as well as their Master--so that "mighty signs
   and wonders were done by the Holy Ghost, and many believed thereby."
   Who will doubt the power of the Holy Spirit after that? Ah! Those
   Socinians who deny the existence of the Holy Ghost and his absolute
   personality, what will they do when we get them on creation,
   resurrection, and attestation? They must rush in the very teeth of
   Scripture. But mark! It is a stone upon which if any man fall he shall
   be bruised; but if it fall upon him, as it will do if he resists it, it
   shall grind him to powder. The Holy Spirit has power omnipotent, even
   the power of God.

   4. Once more, if we want another outward and visible sign of the power
   of the Spirit, we may look at the works of grace. Behold a city where a
   soothsayer hath the power--who has given out himself to be some great
   one, a Philip enters it and preaches the Word of God; straightway a
   Simon Magus loses his power and himself seeks for the power of the
   Spirit to be given to him, fancying it might be purchased with money.
   See, in modern times, a country where the inhabitants live in miserable
   wigwams, feeding on reptiles and the meanest creatures; observe them
   bowing down before their idols and worshiping their false gods, and so
   plunged in superstition, so degraded and debased, that it became a
   question whether they had souls or not; behold a Moffat go with the
   Word of God in his hand, hear him preach as the Spirit gives him
   utterance, and accompanies that Word with power. They cast aside their
   idols--they hate and abhor their former lusts; they build houses,
   wherein they dwell; they become clothed, and in their right mind. They
   break the bow, and cut the spear in sunder; the uncivilized become
   civilized; the savage becomes polite; he who knew nothing begins to
   read the Scriptures: thus out of the mouths of Hottentots, God attests
   the power of his mighty Spirit. Take a household in this city--and we
   could guide you to many such--the father is a drunkard; he has been the
   most desperate of characters; see him in his madness, and you might
   just as well meet an unchained tiger as meet such a man. He seems as if
   he could rend a man to pieces who should offend him. Mark his wife.
   She, too, has a spirit in her, and when he treats her ill she can
   resist him; many broils have been seen in that house. And often has the
   neighborhood been disturbed by the noise created there. As for the poor
   little children--see them in their rags and nakedness, poor untaught
   things. Untaught, did I say? They are taught and well taught in the
   devil's school, and are growing up to be the heirs of damnation. But
   some one whom God has blessed by his Spirit is guided to the house. He
   may be but an humble city missionary, perhaps, but he speaks to such a
   one: "Oh!" says he, "come and listen to the voice of God." Whether it
   is by his own agency, or a minister's preaching, the Word, which is
   quick and powerful, cuts to the sinner's heart. The tears run down his
   cheeks--such as had never been seen before. He shakes and quivers. The
   strong man bows down--the mighty man trembles--and those knees that
   never shook begin to knock together. That heart which never quailed
   before now begins to shake before the power of the Spirit. He sits down
   on an humble bench by the penitent; he lets his knees bend, whilst his
   lips utter a child's prayer; but, whilst a child's prayer, a prayer of
   a child of God. He becomes a changed character. Mark the reformation in
   his house! That wife of his becomes the decent matron. Those children
   are the credit of the house, and in due time they grow up like olive
   branches round his table, adorning his house like polished stones. Pass
   by the house--no noise or broils, but songs of Zion. See him--no
   drunken revelry; he has drained his last cup, and, now forswearing it,
   he comes to God and is his servant. Now, you will not hear at midnight
   the bacchanalian shout; but should there be a noise, it will be the
   sound of the solemn hymn of praise to God. And, now, is there not such
   a thing as the power of the Spirit? Yes! And those must have witnessed
   it, and seen it. I know a village, once perhaps the most profane in
   England--a village inundated by drunkenness and debauchery of the worst
   kind, where it was impossible almost for an honest traveler to stop in
   the public house without being annoyed by blasphemy; a place noted for
   incendiaries and robbers. One man, the ringleader of all, listened to
   the voice of God. That man's heart was broken. The whole gang came to
   hear the gospel preached, and they sat and seemed to reverence the
   preacher as if he were a God, and not a man. These men became changed
   and reformed; and every one who knows the place affirms that such a
   change had never been wrought but by the power of the Holy Ghost. Let
   the gospel be preached and the Spirit poured out, and you will see that
   it has such power to change the conscience, to ameliorate the conduct,
   to raise the debased, to chastise and to curb the wickedness of the
   race, that you must glory in it. I say, there is naught like the power
   of the Spirit. Only let that come, and, indeed, everything can be
   accomplished.

   II. Now for the second point, THE INWARD AND SPIRITUAL POWER OF THE
   HOLY SPIRIT. What I have already spoken of may be seen; what I am about
   to speak of must be felt, and no man will apprehend what I say with
   truth unless he has felt it. The other, even the infidel must confess;
   the other, the greatest blasphemer cannot deny, if he speaks the truth;
   but this is what the one will laugh at as enthusiasm, and what the
   other will say is but the invention of our fevered fancies. However, we
   have a more sure word of testimony than all that they may say. We have
   a witness within. We know it is the truth, and we are not afraid to
   speak of the inward spiritual power of the Holy Ghost. Let us notice
   two or three things wherein the inward and spiritual power of the Holy
   Ghost is very greatly to be seen and extolled.

   1. First, in that the Holy Ghost has a power over men's hearts. Now,
   men's hearts are very hard to affect. If you want to get at them for
   any worldly object, you can do it. A cheating world can win man's
   heart; a little gold can win man's heart; a trump of fame and a little
   clamor of applause can win man's heart. But there is not a minister
   breathing that can win man's heart himself. He can win his ears and
   make them listen; he can win his eyes, and fix those eyes upon him; he
   can win the attention, but the heart is very slippery. Yes! The heart
   is a fish that troubles all gospel fishermen to hold. You may sometimes
   pull it almost all out of the water; but, slimy as an eel, it slippeth
   between your fingers, and you have not captured it after all. Many a
   man has fancied that he has caught the heart, but has been
   disappointed. It would take a strong hunter to overtake the hart on the
   mountains. It is too fleet for human foot to approach. The Spirit alone
   has power over man's heart. Do you every try your power on a heart? If
   any man thinks that a minister can convert the soul, I wish he would
   try. Let him go and be a Sabbath School teacher. He shall take his
   class, he shall have the best books that can be obtained, he shall have
   the best rules, he shall draw his lines of circumvallation about his
   spiritual Sebastopol, he shall take the best boy in his class, and if
   he is not tired in a week I shall be very much mistaken. Let him spend
   four or five Sabbaths in trying; but he will say, "the young fellow is
   incorrigible." Let him try another. And he will have to try another,
   and another and another before he will manage to convert one. He will
   soon find "it is not by might nor power, but by my Spirit, saith the
   Lord." Can a minister convert? Can he touch the heart? David said,
   "Your hearts are as fat as grease." Aye, that is quite true; and we
   cannot get through so much grease at all. Our sword cannot get at the
   heart, it is encased in so much fatness; it is harder than a nether
   millstone. Many a good old Jerusalem blade has been blunted against the
   hard heart. Many a piece of the true steel that God has put into the
   hand of his servants has had the edge turned by being set up against
   the sinner's heart. We cannot reach the soul, but the Holy Spirit can.
   "My beloved can put in his hand by the hole in the door, and my bowels
   will move for sin." He can give a sense of blood-bought pardon that
   shall dissolve a heart of stone. He can

   "Speak with that voice which wakes the dead

   And bids the sinner rise;

   And makes the guilty conscience dread

   The death that never dies."

   He can make Sinai's thunders audible; yea, and he can make the sweet
   whisperings of Calvary enter into the soul. He has power over the heart
   of man. And here is a glorious proof of the omnipotence of the Spirit
   that he has rule over the heart.

   2. But if there is one thing more stubborn than the heart, it is the
   will. "My lord Will-be-will," as Bunyan calls him in his "Holy War," is
   a fellow who will not easily be bent. The will, especially in some men,
   is a very stubborn thing; and in all men, if the will is once stirred
   up to opposition, there is nothing can be done with them. Free-will
   somebody believes in. Free-will many dream of. Free-will! Wherever is
   that to be found? Once there was Free-will in Paradise, and a terrible
   mess Free-will made there; for it spoiled all Paradise and turned Adam
   out of the garden. Free-will was once in heaven; but it turned the
   glorious archangel out, and a third part of the stars of heaven fell
   into the abyss. I want nothing to do with Free-will, but I will try to
   see whether I have got a Free-will within. And I find I have. Very free
   will to evil but very poor will to that which is good. Free-will enough
   when I sin, but when I would do good, evil is present with me, and how
   to do that which I would I find not. Yet some boast of Free-will. I
   wonder whether those who believe in it have any more power over
   persons' wills than I have? I know I have not any. I find the old
   proverb very true, "One man can bring a horse to the water but a
   hundred cannot make him drink." I find that I can bring you all to the
   water, and a great many more than can get into this chapel; but I
   cannot make you drink; and I don't think a hundred ministers could make
   you drink. I have read old Rowland Hill, and Whitefield, and several
   others, to see what they did; but I cannot discover a plan of turning
   your will. I cannot coax you, and you will not yield by any manner of
   means. I do not think any man has power over his fellow-creature's
   will, but the Spirit of God has. "I will make them willing in the day
   of my power." He maketh the unwilling sinner so willing that he is
   impetuous after the gospel; he who was obstinate now hurries to the
   cross. He who laughed at Jesus now hangs on his mercy; and he who would
   not believe is now made by the Holy Spirit to do it, not only
   willingly, but eagerly; he is happy, is glad to do it, rejoices in the
   sound of Jesus' name, and delights to run in the way of God's
   commandments. The Holy Spirit has power over the will.

   3. And yet there is one thing more which I think is rather worse than
   the will. You will guess what I mean. The will is somewhat worse than
   the heart to bend, but there is one thing that excels the will in its
   naughtiness, and that is the imagination. I hope that my will is
   managed by Divine Grace. But I am afraid my imagination is not at
   times. Those who have a fair share of imagination know what a difficult
   thing it is to control. You cannot restrain it. It will break the
   reins. You will never be able to manage it. The imagination will
   sometimes fly up to God with such a power that eagles' wings cannot
   match it. It sometimes has such might that it can almost see the King
   in his beauty, and the land which is very far off. With regard to
   myself, my imagination will sometimes take me over the gates of iron,
   across the infinite unknown, to the very gates of pearl, and discover
   the blessed glorified. But, if it is potent one way, it is another: for
   my imagination has taken me down to the vilest kennels and sewers of
   earth. It has given me thoughts so dreadful, that, while I could not
   avoid them, yet I was thoroughly horrified at them. These thoughts will
   come; and when I feel in the holiest frame, the most devoted to God,
   and the most earnest in prayer, it often happens that that is the very
   time when the plague breaks out the worst. But I rejoice and think of
   one thing, that I can cry out when this imagination comes upon me. I
   know it is said in the Book of Leviticus, when an act of evil was
   committed, if the maiden cried out against it, then her life was to be
   spared. So it is with the Christian. If he cries out, there is hope.
   Can you chain your imagination? No; but the power of the Holy Ghost
   can. Ah, it shall do it! And it does do it at last, it does it even on
   earth.

   III. But the last thing was, THE FUTURE AND DESIRED EFFECTS; for, after
   all, though the Holy Spirit has done so much, he cannot say, "It is
   finished." Jesus Christ could exclaim concerning his own labor--"It is
   finished." But the Holy Spirit cannot say that. He has more to do yet:
   and until the consummation of all things, when the Son himself becomes
   subject to the Father, it shall not be said by the Holy Spirit, "It is
   finished." What, then, has the Holy Spirit to do?

   1. First, he has to perfect us in holiness. There are two kinds of
   perfection which a Christian needs: one is the perfection of
   justification in the person of Jesus; and the other is, the perfection
   of sanctification worked in him by the Holy Spirit. At present
   corruption still rests even in the breasts of the regenerate. At
   present the heart is partially impure. At present there are still lusts
   and evil imaginations. But, oh! My soul rejoices to know that the day
   is coming when God shall finish the work which he has begun; and he
   shall present my soul, not only perfect in Christ, but perfect in the
   Spirit, without spot or blemish, or any such thing. And is it true that
   this poor depraved heart is to become as holy as that of God? And is it
   true that this poor spirit, which often cries, "O, wretched man that I
   am, who shall deliver me from the body of this sin an death!" shall get
   rid of sin and death? I shall have no evil things to vex my ears, and
   no unholy thoughts to disturb my peace. Oh happy hour! May it be
   hastened! Just before I die sanctification will be finished; but not
   till that moment shall I ever claim perfection in myself. But at that
   moment when I depart, my spirit shall have its last baptism in the Holy
   Spirit's fire. It shall be put in the crucible for its last trying in
   the furnace; and then, free from all dross, and fine, like a wedge of
   pure gold, it shall be presented at the feet of God without the least
   degree of dross or mixture. O glorious hour! O blessed moment! Methinks
   I long to die if there were no heaven, if I might but have that last
   purification come up from Jordan's stream most white from the washing.
   Oh! To be washed white, clean, pure, perfect! Not an angel more pure
   than I shall be--yea, not God himself more holy! And I shall be able to
   say, in a double sense, "Great God, I am clean--through Jesus' blood I
   am clean, through the Spirit's work I am clean too!" Must you not extol
   the power of the Holy Ghost in thus making us fit to stand before our
   Father in heaven?

   2. Another great work of the Holy Spirit, which is not accomplished, is
   the bringing on of the latter-day glory. In a few more years--I know
   not when, I know not how--the Holy Spirit will be poured out in a far
   different style from the present. There are diversities of operations;
   and during the last few years it has been the case that the diversified
   operations have consisted in very little pouring out of the Spirit.
   Ministers have gone on in dull routine, continually
   preaching--preaching--preaching, and little good has been done. I do
   hope that perhaps a fresh era has dawned upon us, and that there is a
   better pouring out of the Spirit even now. For the hour is coming, and
   it may be even now is, when the Holy Ghost shall be poured out again in
   such a wonderful manner, that many shall run to and fro, and knowledge
   shall be increased--the knowledge of the Lord shall cover the earth as
   the waters cover the surface of the great deep; when his kingdom shall
   come, and his will shall be done on earth even as it is in heaven. We
   are not going to be dragging on forever like Pharoah, with the wheels
   off his chariot. My heart exults, and my eyes flash with the thought
   that very likely I shall live to see the outpouring of the Spirit; when
   "the sons and the daughters of God again shall prophesy, and the young
   men shall see visions and the old men shall dream dreams." Perhaps
   there shall be no miraculous gifts--for they will not be required; but
   yet there shall be such a miraculous amount of holiness, such an
   extraordinary fervor of prayer, such a real communion with God, and so
   much vital religion, and such a spread of the doctrines of the cross,
   that every one will see that verily the Spirit is poured out like
   water, and the rains are descending from above. For that let us pray;
   let us continually labor for it, and seek it of God.

   3. One more work of the Spirit, which will especially manifest his
   power--the general resurrection. We have reason to believe from
   Scripture, that the resurrection of the dead, whilst it will be
   effected by the voice of God and of his Word(the Son), shall also be
   brought about by the Spirit. The same power which raised Jesus Christ
   from the dead, shall also quicken your mortal bodies. The power of the
   resurrection is, perhaps, one of the finest proofs of the works of the
   Spirit. Ah! My friends, if this earth could but have its mantle torn
   away for a little while, if the green sod could be cut from it, and we
   could look about six feet deep into its bowels, what a world it would
   seem! What should we see? Bones, carcasses, rottenness, worms,
   corruption. And you would say, Can these dry bones live? Can they start
   up? Yes! "In a moment! In the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump,
   the dead shall be raised." He speaks; they are alive! See them
   scattered! Bone comes to his bone! See them naked; flesh comes upon
   them! See them still lifeless; "Come from the four winds, O breath, and
   breathe upon these slain!" When the wind of the Holy Spirit comes, they
   live; and they stand upon their feet an exceeding great army.

   I have thus attempted to speak of the power of the Spirit, and I trust
   I have shown it to you. We must now have a moment or two for practical
   inference. The Spirit is very powerful, Christian! What do you infer
   from that fact? Why, that you never need distrust the power of God to
   carry you to heaven. O how that sweet verse was laid to my soul
   yesterday!

   "His tried Almighty arm

   is raised for your defense;

   Where is the power can reach you there?

   Or what can pluck you thence?"

   The power of the Holy Spirit is your bulwark, and all his omnipotence
   defends you. Can your enemies overcome omnipotence? Then they can
   conquer you. Can they wrestle with Deity, and hurl him to the ground?
   Then they might conquer you. For the power of the Spirit is our power;
   the power of the Spirit is our might.

   Once again, Christians, if this is the power of the Spirit, why should
   you doubt anything? There is your son. There is that wife of yours, for
   whom you have supplicated so frequently; do not doubt the Spirit's
   power. "Though he tarry, wait for him." There is thy husband, O holy
   woman! And thou hast wrestled for his soul. And though he is ever so
   hardened and desperate a wretch, and treats thee ill, there is power in
   the Spirit. And, O ye who have come from barren churches, with scarcely
   a leaf upon the tree, do not doubt the power of the Spirit to raise you
   up. For it shall be a "pasture for flocks, a den of wild asses," open
   but deserted, until the Spirit is poured out from on high. And then the
   parched ground shall be made a pool, and the thirsty land springs of
   water; and in the habitations of dragons, where each lay shall be grass
   with reeds and rushes. And, O ye members of Park Street! Ye who
   remember what your God has done for you especially, never distrust the
   power of the Spirit. Ye have seen the wilderness blossom like Carmel,
   ye have seen the desert blossom like the rose, trust him for the
   future. Then go out and labor with this conviction, that the power of
   the Holy Ghost is able to do anything. Go to your missionary
   enterprise; go to your preaching in your rooms, with the conviction
   that the power of the Spirit is our great help.

   And now, lastly, to you sinners:--What is there to be said to you about
   this power of the Spirit? Why, to me, there is some hope for some of
   you. I cannot save you; I cannot get at you. I make you cry
   sometimes--you wipe your eyes, and it is all over. But I know my Master
   can. That is my consolation. Chief of sinners, there is hope for thee!
   This power can save you as well as anybody else. It is able to break
   your heart, though it is an iron one; to make your eyes run with tears,
   though they have been like rocks before. His power is able this
   morning, if he will, to change your heart, to turn the current of all
   your ideas; to make you at once a child of God, to justify you in
   Christ. There is power enough in the Holy Spirit. Ye are not
   straightened in him, but in your own bowels. He is able to bring
   sinners to Jesus; he is able to make you willing in the day of his
   power. Are you willing this morning? Has he gone so far as to make you
   desire his name; to make you wish for Jesus? Then, O sinner! Whilst he
   draws you, say, "Draw me, I am wretched without thee." Follow him,
   follow him; and, while he leads, tread you in his footsteps, and
   rejoice that he has begun a good work in you, for there is an evidence
   that he will continue it even unto the end. And, O desponding one! Put
   thy trust in the power of the Spirit. Rest on the blood of Jesus, and
   thy soul is safe, not only now, but throughout eternity. God bless you,
   my hearers. Amen.
     __________________________________________________________________

                  The Desire of the Soul in Spiritual Darkness

   A Sermon

   (No. 31)

   Delivered on Sabbath Morning, June 24, 1855, by the

   REV. C.H. SPURGEON

   At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

   "With my soul have I desired thee in the night."--Isaiah 26:9.

   NIGHT APPEARS to be a time peculiarly favorable to devotion. Its solemn
   stillness helps to free the mind from that perpetual din which the
   cares of the world will bring around it; and the stars looking down
   from heaven upon us shine as if they would attract us up to God. I know
   not how you may be affected by the solemnities of midnight, but when I
   have sat alone musing on the great God and the mighty universe, I have
   felt that indeed I could worship him; for night seemed to be spread
   abroad as a very temple for adoration, while the moon walked as high
   priest, amid the stars, the worshippers, and I myself joined in that
   silent song which they sang unto God: "Great art thou, O God! great in
   thy works. When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the
   moon and the stars which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art
   mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him?" I find
   that this sense of the power of midnight not only acts upon religious
   men, but there is a certain poet, whose character, perhaps, I could
   scarcely too much reprobate: a man very far from understanding true
   religion; one whom I may, I suppose, justly style an infidel a
   libertine of the worst order, and yet he says concerning night in one
   of his poems:--

   "Tis midnight on the mountains' brown,

   The cold round moon shines deeply down;

   Blue roll the waters, blue the sky

   Spreads like an ocean hung on high,

   Bespangled with those isles of light,

   So wildly, spiritually bright;

   Who ever gazed upon them shining,

   And turning to earth without repining,

   Nor wish'd for wings to flee away,

   And mix with their eternal ray."

   Even with the most irreligious person, a man farthest from spiritual
   thought, it seems that there is some power in the grandeur and
   stillness of night to draw him up to God. I trust many of us can say,
   like David, "I have thought upon thee continually, I have mused upon
   thy name in the night watches, and with desire have I desired thee in
   the night." But I leave that thought altogether. I shall not speak of
   night natural at all, although there may be a great deal of room for
   poetic thought and expression. I shall address myself to two orders of
   persons, and shall endeavor to show what I conceive to be the meaning
   of the text. May God make it useful to you both. First, I shall speak
   to confirmed Christians; and from this text I shall bring one or two
   remarks to bear upon their case, if they are in darkness. Second, I
   shall speak to newly awakened souls, and try if I can find some of them
   who can say, "With my soul have I desired thee in the night."

   I. I am about to address this text to the more confirmed believer; and
   the first fact I shall educe from it--the truth of which I am sure he
   will very readily admit--is, that THE CHRISTIAN MAN HAS NOT ALWAYS A
   BRIGHT SHINING SUN: that he has seasons of darkness and of night. True,
   it is written in God's word, "Her ways are ways of pleasantness, and
   all her paths are peace;" and it is a great truth that religion--the
   true religion of the living God--is calculated to give a man happiness
   below as well as bliss above. But, notwithstanding, experience tells us
   that if the course of the just be "as the shining light, that shineth
   more and more unto the perfect day," yet sometimes that light is
   eclipsed. At certain periods clouds and darkness cover the sun, and he
   beholds no clear shining of the daylight, but walks in darkness and
   sees no light. Now there are many who have rejoiced in the presence of
   God for a season; they have basked in the sunshine God has been pleased
   to give them in the earlier stages of their Christian career; they have
   walked along the "green pastures," by the side of the "still waters,"
   and suddenly--in a month or two--they find that glorious sky is
   clouded: instead of "green pastures," they have to tread the sandy
   desert; in the place of "still waters," they find streams brackish to
   their taste and bitter to their spirits, and they say, "Surely, if I
   were a child of God this would not happen." Oh! say not so, thou who
   art walking in darkness. The best of God's saints have their nights;
   the dearest of his children have to walk through a weary wilderness.
   There is not a Christian who has enjoyed perpetual happiness, there is
   no believer who can always sing a song of joy. It is not every lark
   that can always carol. It is not every star that can always be seen.
   And not every Christian is always happy. Perhaps the King of Saints
   gave you a season of great joy at first because you were a raw recruit
   and he would not put you into the roughest part of the battle when you
   had first enlisted. You were a tender plant, and he nursed you in the
   hot-house till you could stand severe weather. You were a young child,
   and therefore he wrapped you in furs and clothed you in the softest
   mantle. But now you have become strong and the case is different.
   Capuan holidays do not suit Roman soldiers; and they would not agree
   with Christians. We need clouds and darkness to exercise our faith, to
   cut off self dependence, and make us put more faith in Christ, and less
   in evidence, less in experience, less in frames and feelings. The best
   of God's children--I repeat it again for the comfort of those who are
   suffering depression of spirits--have their nights. Sometimes it is a
   night over the whole church at once; and I fear we have very much of
   that night now. There are times when Zion is under a cloud, when the
   whole fine gold becomes dim, and the glory of Zion is departed. There
   are seasons when we do not hear the clear preaching of the word; when
   the doctrines are withheld; when the glory of the Lord God of Jacob is
   dim; when his name is not exalted; when the traditions of men are
   taught, instead of the inspirations of the Holy Ghost. And such a
   season is that when the whole church is dark. Of course each Christian
   participates in it. He goes about and weeps, and cries, "O God, how
   long shall poor Zion be depressed? How long shall her shepherds be dumb
   dogs that cannot bark?' Shall her watchmen be always blind? Shall the
   silver trumpet sound no more? Shall not the voice of the gospel be
   heard in her streets?" O! there are seasons of darkness to the entire
   church! God grant we may