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REV. C.H. SPURGEON
At the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens
"But when he was yet a great way off; his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him."—Luke 15:20.
All persons engaged in education will tell you that they
find it far more difficult to make the mind unlearn its errors than to make it receive
truth. If we could suppose a man totally ignorant of anything, we should have a fairer
chance of instructing him quickly and effectually than we should have had if his mind had
been previously stored with falsehood. I have no doubt you, each of you, find it harder to
unlearn than to learn. To get rid of old prejudices and preconceived notions is a very
hard struggle indeed. It has been well said, that those few words, "I am
mistaken," are the hardest in all the English language to pronounce, and certainly it
takes very much force to compel us to pronounce them: and after having done so, it is even
then difficult to wipe away the slime which an old serpentine error has left upon the
heart. Better for us not to have known at all than to have known the wrong thing. Now, I
am sure that this truth is never more true than when it applies to God. If I had been let
alone to form my notion of God, entirely from Holy Scripture, I feel, that with the
assistance of his Holy Spirit it would have been far more easy for me to understand what
he is, and how he governs the world, than to learn even the truths of his own Word, after
the mind had become perverted by the opinions of others. Why, brethren, who is it that
gives a fair representation of God? The Arminian slanders God by accusing him (not in his
own intention, but really so) of unfaithfulness; for he teaches that God may promise what
he never performs; that he may give eternal life, and promise that those who have it shall
never perish, and yet they may perish after all. He speaks of God as if he were a mutable
being, for he talks of his loving men one day, and hating them the next; of his writing
their names in the Book of Life one hour, and then erasing their names in the next. And
the influence of such an error as that, is very baneful. Many children of God, who have
imbibed these errors in early youth, have had to drag along their poor wearied and broken
frames for many a day, whereas they might have walked joyfully to heaven if they had known
the truth from the beginning. On the other hand, those who hear the Calvinistic preacher,
are very apt to misinterpret God. Although we trust we would never speak of God in any
other sense than that in which we find him represented in sacred Scripture, yet are we
well aware that many of our hearers, even through our assertions, when most guarded, are
apt to get rather a caricature of God, than a true picture of him. They imagine that God
is a severe being, angry and fierce, very easily to be moved to wrath, but not so easily
to be induced to love; they are apt to think of him as one who sits in supreme and lofty
state, either totally indifferent to the wishes of his creatures, or else determined to
have his own way with them, as an arbitrary Sovereign, never listening to their desires,
or compassionating their woes. O that we could unlearn all these fallacies, and believe
God to be what he is! O that we could come to Scripture, and there look into that glass
which reflects his sacred image, and then receive him as he is, the all-Wise, the
all-Just, and yet the all-Gracious, and all-Loving Jehovah! I shall endeavor this morning,
by the help of God's Holy Spirit, to represent the lovely character of Christ; and if I
shall be happy enough to have some in my audience who are in the position of the prodigal
son in the parable—coming to Christ, and yet a great way off from him—I shall
trust that they will be led by the same Divine Spirit, to believe in the loving kindness
of Jehovah, and so may find peace with God now, ere they leave this house of prayer.
"When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and ran,
and fell on his neck, and kissed him." First, I shall notice the position
intended in the words, "a great way off ;" secondly, I shall notice the peculiar
troubles which agitate the minds of those, who are in this condition; and then,
thirdly, I shall endeavor to teach the great loving-kindness of our own adorable God,
inasmuch as when we are "a great way off," he runs to us, and embraces us in the
arms of his love.
I. First, then, what is the POSITION signified by being "a great way off?" I
must just notice what is not that position. It is not the position of the man who
is careless and entirely regardless of God; for you notice that the prodigal is
represented now as having come to himself, and as returning to his father's house. Though
it be true that all sinners are a great way off from God, whether they know it or not, yet
in this particular instance, the position of the poor prodigal is intended to signify the
character of one, who has been aroused by conviction, who has been led to abhor his former
life, and who sincerely desires to return to God. I shall not, then, this morning,
specially address the blasphemer, and the profane. To him, there may be some incidental
warning heard, but I shall not specially address such a character. It is another person
for whom this text is intended: the man who has been a blasphemer, if you please, who may
have been a drunkard, and a swearer, and what not, but who has now renounced these things,
and is steadfastly seeking after Christ, that he may obtain eternal life. That is the man
who is here said to be, though coming to the Lord, "a great way off."
Once again, there is another person who is not intended by this description, namely, the
very great man, the Pharisee who thinks himself extremely righteous, and has never learned
to confess his sin. You, sir, in your apprehension, are not a great way off. You are so
really in the sight of God; you are as far from him as light from darkness, as the east is
from the west; but you are not spoken of here. You are like the prodigal son, only that
instead of spending your life righteously, you have run away from your Father, and hidden
in the earth the gold which he gave you, and are able to feed upon the husks which swine
do eat, whilst by a miserable economy of good works you are hoping to save enough of your
fortune to support yourself here and in eternity. Your hope of self-salvation is a
fallacy, and you are not addressed in the words of the text. It is the man who knows
himself lost, but desires to be saved, who is here declared to be met by God, and received
with affectionate embraces.
And now we come to the question, Who is the man, and why is he said to be a great way off?
For he seems to be very near the kingdom, now that he knows his need and is seeking the
Saviour. I reply, in the first place, he is a great way off in his own apprehensions. You
are here this morning, and you have an idea that never was man so far from God as you are.
You look back upon your past life, and you recollect how you have slighted God, despised
his Sabbath, neglected his Book, trampled upon the blood of sprinkling, and rejected all
the invitations of his mercy. You turn over the pages of your history, and you remember
the sins which you have committed—the sins of your youth and your former
transgressions, the crimes of your manhood, and the riper sins of your older years; like
black waves dashing upon a dark shore, they roll in wave upon wave, upon your poor
troubled memory. There comes a little wave of your childish folly, and over that there
leaps one of your youthful transgressions, and over the head of this there comes a very
Atlantic billow of your manhood's transgressions. At the sight of them you stand
astonished and amazed. "O Lord my God, how deep is the gulf which divides me from
thyself, and where is the power that can bridge it? I am separated from thee by leagues of
sin, whole mountains of my guilt are piled upward between me and thyself. O God, shouldest
thou destroy me now, thou wouldest be just; and if thou dost ever bring me to thyself, it
must be nothing less than a power as Omnipotent as that which made the world, which can
ever do it. O! how far am I from God!" Some of you would be startled this morning, if
your neighbors were to give you revelations of their own feelings. If yonder man standing
there in the crowd could come into this pulpit, and tell you what he now feels, you might
perhaps be horrified at his description of his own heart. How many of you have no notion
of the way in which a soul is cut and hacked about, when it is under the convictions of
the law! If you should hear the man tell out what he feels, you would say, "Ah! he is
a poor deluded enthusiast; men are not so bad as that;" or else you would be apt to
think he had committed some nameless crime which be dare not mention. that was preying on
his conscience. Nay, sir, he has been as moral and upright as you have been; but should he
describe himself as he now discovers himself to be, he would shock you utterly. And yet
you are the same, though you feel it not, and would indignantly deny it. When the light of
God's grace comes into your heart, it is something like the opening of the windows of an
old cellar that has been shut up for many days. Down in that cellar, which has not been
opened for many months, are all kinds of loathsome creatures, and a few sickly plants
blanched by the darkness. The walls are dark and damp with the trail of reptiles; it is a
horrid filthy place, in which no one would willingly enter. You may walk there in the dark
very securely, and except now and then for the touch of some slimy creature, you would not
believe the place was so bad and filthy. Open those shutters, clean a pane of glass, let a
little light in, and now see how a thousand noxious things have made this place their
habitation. Sure, twas not the light that made this place so horrible, but it was the
light that showed how horrible it was before. So let God's grace just open a window and
let the light into a man's soul, and he will stand astonished to see at what a distance he
is from God. Yes, sir, to-day you think yourself second to none but the Eternal; you fancy
that you can approach his throne with steady step; it is but a little that you have to do
to be saved; you imagine that you can accomplish it at any hour, and save yourself upon
your dying bed as well as now. Ah! sir, if you could but be touched by Ithuriel's wand,
and made to be in appearance what you are in reality, then you would see that you are far
enough from God even now, and so far from him that unless the arms of his grace were
stretched out to bring you to himself, you must perish in your sin. Now I turn my eye
again with hope, and trust I leave not a few in this large assembly who can say,
"Sir, I feel I am far from God, and sometimes I fear I am so far from him that he
will never have mercy upon me; I dare not lift so much as my eyes towards heaven; I smite
on my breast, and say, 'Lord, have mercy upon me, a sinner'" Oh! poor heart; here is
a comforting passage for thee: "When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him,
and had compassion on him."
But again, there is a second sense in which some now present may feel themselves to be far
off from God. Conscience tells every man that if he would be saved he must get rid of his
sin. The Antinomian may possibly pretend to believe that men can be saved while they live
in sin; but conscience will never allow any man to swallow so egregious a lie as that. I
have not one person in this congregation who is not perfectly assured that if he is to be
saved he must leave off his drunkenness and his vices. Sure there is not one here so
stupefied with the laudanum of hellish indifference as to imagine that he can revel in his
lusts, and afterwards wear the white robe of the redeemed in paradise. If ye imagine ye
can be partakers of the blood of Christ, and yet drink the cup of Belial; if ye imagine
that ye can be members of Satan and members of Christ at the same time, ye have less sense
than one would give you credit for. No, you know that right arms must be out off, and
right eyes plucked out—that the most darling sins must be renounced, if ye would
enter into the kingdom of God. And I have a man here who is convinced of the unholiness of
his life, and he has striven to reform, not because he thinks reformation would save him,
for he knows better than that, but because he knows that this is one of the first-fruits
of grace—reformation from sin. Well, poor man, he has for many years been an
inveterate drunkard, and he struggles now to overcome the passion. He has almost effected
it; but he never had such an Herculean labor to attempt before; for now some temptation
comes upon him so strongly that it is as much as he can do to stand against it; and
perhaps sometimes since his first conviction of sin he has even fallen into it. Or perhaps
it is another vice, and you, my brother, have set your face against it; but there are many
bonds and fetters that bind us to our vices, and you find that though it was easy enough
to spin the warp and woof sin together, it is not so easy to unravel that which you have
spun. You can not purge your house of your idols; you do not yet know how to give up all
your lustful pleasures. Not yet can you renounce the company of the ungodly. You have cut
off one by one your most intimate acquaintances, but it is very hard to do it completely,
and you are struggling to accomplish it, and you often fall on your knees and cry,
"O, Lord, how far I am from thee! what high steps these are which I have to climb!
Oh! how can I be saved? Sure, if I can not purge myself from my old sins, I shall never be
able to hold on my way; and even should I get rid of them, I should plunge into them once
more." You are crying out, "Oh, how great my distance from God! Lord, bring me
near!"
Let me present you with one other aspect of our distance from God. You have read your
Bibles, and you believe that faith alone can unite the soul to Christ. You feel that
unless you can believe in him who died upon the cross for your sins, you can never see the
kingdom of God; but you can say this morning, "Sir, I have striven to believe; I have
searched the Scriptures, not hours, but days together, to find a promise on which my weary
foot might rest; I have been upon my knees many and many a time, earnestly supplicating a
Divine blessing; but though I have pleaded, all in vain I have urged my plea, for until
now no whisper have I had of grace, no token for good, no sign of mercy. Sir, I have
striven to believe, and I have said,
"O could I but believe
Then all would easy be;
I would, but can not—Lord, relieve,
My help must come from thee!"
I have used all the power I have, and have
desperately striven to cast myself at the Saviour's feet and see my sins washed sway in
his blood. I have not been indifferent to the story of the cross; I have read it a hundred
times, and even wept over it; but when I strive to put my hand upon the scape-goat's head,
and labor to believe that my sins are transferred to him, some demon seems to stop the
breath that would breathe itself forth in adoration, and something checks the hand that
would lay itself upon the head that died for me. Well, poor soul, thou art indeed far from
God. I will repeat the words of the text to thee. May the Holy Spirit repeat them in thine
ear! "When he was yet a great way off, his father saw him, and had compassion, and
ran, and fell on his neck, and kissed him." So shall it be with thee if thou hast
come thus far, though great may be the distance, thy feet shall not have to travel it, but
God, the Eternal One, shall from his throne look down and visit thy poor heart, though now
thou tarriest by the way, afraid to approach him.
II. Our second point is the PECULIAR TROUBLES which agitate the breasts of those who are
in this position. Let us introduce to you the poor ragged prodigal. After a life of ease,
he is, by his own vice, plunged into penury and labor. After feeding swine for a time, and
being almost starved, he sets about returning to his father's house. It is a long and
weary journey. He walks many a mile, until his feet are sore, and at last, from the summit
of a mountain, he views his father's house far away in the plain. There are yet many miles
between him and his father whom he has neglected. Can you conceive his emotions when, for
the first time after so long an absence, he sees the old house at home? He remembers it
well in the distance, for though it is long since he trod its floors, he has never ceased
to recollect it; and the remembrance of his father's kindness, and of his own prosperity
when he was with him, has never yet been erased from his consciousness. You would imagine
that for one moment he feels a flash of joy, like some flash of lightning in the midst of
the tempest, but anon a black darkness comes over his spirit. In the first place, it is
probable he will think, "Oh! suppose I could reach my home, will my father receive
me? Will he not shut the door in my face and tell me begone and spend the rest of my life
where I have been spending the first of it?" Then another suggestion might arise:
"Surely, the demon that led me first astray may lead me back again, before I salute
my parent." "Or mayhap," thought he, "I may even die upon the road,
and so, before I have received my father's blessing, my soul may stand before its
God." I doubt not each of these three thoughts has crossed your mind if you are now
in the position of one who is seeking Christ, but mourns to feel himself far away from
him.
First, you have been afraid lest you should die before Christ has appeared to you. You
have been for months seeking the Saviour without finding him, and now the black thought
comes, "And what if I should die with all these prayers unanswered? Oh! if he would
but hear me ere I departed this world I would be content, though he should keep me waiting
in anguish for many years. But what, if before tomorrow morning I should be a corpse? At
my bed I kneel to-night and cry for mercy. Oh! if he should not send the pardon before
to-morrow morning, and in the night my spirit should stand before his bar!—What
then?" It is singular that other men think they shall live for ever, but men
convinced of sin, who seek a Saviour, are afraid they shall not live another moment. You
have known the time, dear Christian brethren, when you dared not shut your eyes for feel
you should not open them again on earth; when you dreaded the shadows of the night lest
they should darken for ever the light of the sun, and you should dwell in outer darkness
throughout eternity. You have mourned as each day has entered, and you have wept as it has
departed, because you fancied that your next step might precipitate you into your eternal
doom. I have known what it is to tread the earth and fear lest every tuft of grass should
but cover a door to hell; trembling, lest every particle, and every atom, and every stone,
should be solar league with God against me, as to destroy me. John Bunyan says, that at
one time in his experience, he felt that he had rather have been born a dog or a toad than
a man; he felt so unutterably wretched on account of sin; and his great point of
wretchedness was the fact, that though he had been three years seeking Christ, he might
after all die without finding him. And in truth, this is no needless alarm. It may be
perhaps too alarming to some who already feel their need of Christ, but the mass of us
need perpetually to be startled with the thought of death. How few of you ever indulge
that thought! Because ye live and are in health, and eat, and drink, and sleep, ye think
ye shall not die. Do ye ever soberly look at your last end? Do ye ever, when ye come to
your beds at night, think how one day ye shall undress for the last slumber? And when ye
wake in the morning, do ye never think that the trump of the archangel shall startle you
to appear before God in the last day of the great assize, wherein an universe shall stand
before the Judge? No. "All men think all men mortal but themselves;" and
thoughts of death we still push off, until at last we shall find ourselves waking up in
torment, where to wake is to wake too late. But thou to whom I specially speak this
morning, thou who feelest that thou art a great way off from Christ, thou shalt never die,
but live, and declare the works of the Lord; if thou hast really sought him, thou shalt
never die until thou hast found him. There was never a soul yet, that sincerely sought the
Saviour, who perished before he found him. No; the gates of death shall never shut on thee
till the gates of grace have opened for thee; till Christ has washed thy sins away thou
shalt never be baptized in Jordan's flood. Thy life is secure, for this is God's constant
plan—he keeps his own elect alive till the day of his grace, and then he takes them
to himself. And inasmuch as thou knowest thy need of a Saviour, thou art one of his, and
thou shalt never die until thou hast found him.
Your second fear is, "Ah, sir! I am not afraid of dying before I find Christ, I have
a worse fear than that; I have had convictions before, and they have often passed away; my
greatest fear to-day is, that these will be the same." I have heard of a poor
collier, who on one occasion, having been deeply impressed under a sermon, was led to
repent of sin and forsake his former life; but he felt so great horror of ever returning
to his former conversation, that one day he knelt down and cried thus unto God, "O
Lord, let me die on this spot, rather than ever deny the religion which I have espoused,
and turn back to my former conversation:" and we are credibly told, that he died on
that very spot, and so his prayer was answered. God had rather take him home to heaven
than suffer him to bear the brunt of temptation on earth. Now, when men come to Christ,
they feel that they had rather suffer anything than lose their convictions. Scores of
times have you and I been drawn to Christ under the preaching of the Word. We can look
back upon dozens of occasions on which it seemed just the turning point with us. Something
said in our hearts, "Now, believe in Christ, now is the accepted time, now is the day
of salvation." But we said, "To-morrow, to-morrow ;" and when to-morrow
came our convictions were gone. We thought what we said yesterday would be the deed of
to-day; but instead of it, the procrastination of yesterday became the hardened wickedness
of to-day: we wandered farther from God and forgot him. Now you are crying to him for
fear, lest he should give you up again. You have this morning prayed before you came here,
and you said, "Father, suffer not my companions to laugh me out of my religion; let
not my worldly business so engross my thoughts, as to prevent my due attention to the
matters of another world. Oh, let not the trifles of to-day so absorb my thoughts that I
may not be preparing myself to meet my God—
'Deeply on my thoughtful heart,
Eternal things impress,'
and make this a real saving work that shall
never die out, nor be taken from me." Is that your earnest prayer? O poor prodigal,
it shall be heard, it shall be answered. Thou shalt not have time to go back. To-day thy
Father views thee from his throne in heaven; to-day he runs to thee in the message of his
gospel; today he falls upon thy neck and weeps for joy; to-day he says to thee, "Thy
sins, which are many, are all forgiven ;" to-day, by the preaching of the Word, he
bids thee come and reason with him, "for though thy sins be as scarlet, they shall be
as wool, though the be red like crimson, they shall be whiter than snow."
But the last and the most prominent thought which I suppose the prodigal would have, would
be, that when he did get to his father, he would say to him, "Get along with you, I
will have nothing more to do with you." "Ah!" thought he to himself,
"I recollect the morning, when I rose up before day-break, because I knew I could not
stand my mothers tears; I remember how I crept down the back staircase and took all the
money with me, how I stole down the yard and ran away into the land where I spent my all.
Oh! what will the old gentlemen say of me when I come back? Why, there he is! he is
running to me. But he has got a horsewhip with him, to be sure, to whip me away. It is not
at all possible that if he comes he will have a kind word for me. The most I can expect is
that he will say, 'Well John, you have wasted all your money, you can not expect me to do
anything for you again. I won't let you starve; you shall be one of my servants: there,
come, I will take you as footman;' and if he will do that I will be obliged to him; nay,
that is the very thing I will ask of him; I will say, 'Make me as one of thy hired
servants.'" "Oh," said the devil within him, "your father will never
speak comfortably to you: you had better run away again. I tell you if he gets near you,
you will have such a dressing as you never received in your life. You will die with a
broken heart; you will very likely fall dead here; the old man will never bury you; the
carrion crows win eat you. There is no hope for you: see how you have treated him. Put
yourself in his place: what would you do if you had a son that had run away with half your
living, and spent it upon harlots?" And the son thought if he were in his fathers
place he should be very harsh and severe; and possibly, he almost turned upon his heel to
run away. But he had not time to do that. When he was just thinking about running away, on
a sudden his father's arms were about his neck, and he had received the paternal kiss.
Nay, before he could get his whole prayer finished, he was arrayed in a white robe, the
best in the house; and they had brought him to the table, and the fatted calf was being
killed for his repast. And poor soul, it shall be so with you. Thou sayest, "If I go
to God, he win never receive me. I am too vile and wretched: others he may have pressed to
his heart, but he will not me. If my brother should go, he might be saved; but there are
such aggravations in my crime; I have grown so old since; I have done such a deal of
mischief; I have so often blasphemed him, so frequently broken his Sabbaths; ah! and I
have so often deceived him; I have promised I would repent, and when I got well I have
lied to God, and gone back to my old sin. Oh, if he would but let me creep inside the door
of heaven! I win not ask to be one of his children; I win only ask that he will let me be
where the Syro-Phoenician woman desired to be—to be a dog, to eat the crumbs that
fall from the Master's table. That is all I ask; and oh! if he will but grant it to me, he
shall never hear the last of it, for as long as I live I will sing his praise; and when
the world doth fade away, and the sun grow dim with age, my gratitude, immortal as my
soul, shall never cease to sing his love, who pardoned my grossest sins and washed me in
his blood." It shad be so. Come and try. Now, sinners, dry your tears; let hopeless
sorrows cease; look to the wounds of Christ, who died; let all your griefs now be removed,
there is no further cause for them; your Father loves you; he accepts and receives you to
his heart.
III. Now, in conclusion, I may notice HOW THESE FEARS WERE MET IN THE PRODIGAL'S CASE, and
how they shall be met in ours if we are in the same condition.
The text says, "The Father saw him." Yes, and God saw thee just now. That tear
which was wiped away so hastily—as if thou wast ashamed of it—God saw it, and he
stored it in his bottle. That prayer which thou didst breathe just a few moments ago, so
faintly, and with such little faith—God heard it. The other day thou wast in thy
chamber, where no ear heard thee; but God was there. Sinner, let this be thy comfort, that
God sees thee when thou beginnest to repent. He does not see thee with his usual gaze,
with which he looks on all men; but he sees thee with an eye of intense interest. He has
been looking on thee in an thy sin, and in all thy sorrow, hoping that thou wouldst
repent; and now he sees the first gleam of grace, and he beholds it with joy. Never warder
on the lonely castle top saw the first grey light of morning with more joy than that with
which God beholds the first desire in thy heart. Never physician rejoiced more when he saw
the first heaving of the lungs in one that was supposed to be dead, than God doth rejoice
over thee, now that he sees the first token for good. Think not that thou art despised and
unknown, and forgotten. He is marking thee from his high throne in glory, and rejoicing in
what he sees. He saw thee pray, he heard thee groan; he marked thy tear; he looked upon
thee and rejoiced to see that these were the first seeds of grace in thine heart.
And then, the text says, "he had compassion on him." He did not merely see him,
but he wept within himself to think he should be in such a condition. The old father had a
very long range of eye-sight; and though the prodigal could not see him in the distance,
he could see the prodigal. And the fathers first thought when he saw him was
this—"O my poor son, O my poor boy! that ever he should have brought himself
into such a state as this!" He looked through his telescope of love, and he saw him,
and said, "Ah! he did not go out of my house in such trim as that. Poor creature, his
feet are bleeding; he has come a long way, I'll be bound. Look at his face, he doesn't
look like the same boy he was when he left me. His eye that was so bright, is now sunken
in its socket; his cheeks that once stood out with fatness, have now become hollow with
famine. Poor wretch, I can tell all his bones, he is so emaciated." Instead of
feeling any anger in his heart, he felt just the contrary; he felt such pity for his poor
son. And so the Lord feels for you—you that are groaning and moaning on account of
sin. He forgets your sins; he only weeps to think you should have brought yourself to be
what you are: "Why didst thou rebel against me, and bring thyself into such a state
as this?" It was just like that day when Adam sinned. God walked in the garden, and
he missed Adam. He did not cry out, "Adam, come here and be judged!" No; with a
soft, sorrowful, and plaintive voice, he said, "Adam, where art thou? Oh, my fair
Adam, thou whom I made so happy, where art thou now? Oh, Adam! thou didst think to become
a God; where art thou now? Thou hast walked with me: dost thou hide thyself from thy
friend? Little dost thou know, O Adam, what woes thou hast brought on thyself, and thine
offspring. Adam, where art thou?" And Jehovah bowels yearn to-day over you. He is not
angry with you; his anger is passed away, and his hands are stretched out still. Inasmuch
as he has brought you to feel that you have sinned against him, and to desire
reconciliation with him, there is no wrath in his heart. The only sorrow that he feels is
sorrow that you should have brought yourself into a state so mournful as that in which you
now are found.
But he did not stop in mere compassion. Having had compassion, "he ran, and fell on
his neck, and kissed him." This you do not understand yet; but you shall. As sure as
God is God, if you this day are seeking him aright through Christ, the day shall come when
the kiss of full assurance shall be on your lip, when the arms of sovereign love shall
embrace you, and you shall know it to be so. Thou mayest have despised him, but thou shalt
know him yet to be thy Father and thy Friend. Thou mayest have scoffed his name: thou
shalt one day come to rejoice in it as better than pure gold. Thou mayest have broken his
Sabbaths and despised his Word; the day is coming when the Sabbath shall be thy delight,
and his Word thy treasure. Yes, marvel not; thou mayest have plunged into the kennel of
sin, and made thy clothes black with iniquity; but thou shalt one day stand before his
throne white as the angels be; and that tongue that once cursed him shall yet sing his
praise. If thou be a real seeker, the hands that have been stained with lust shall one day
grasp the harp of gold, and the head that has plotted against the Most High shall yet be
girt with gold. Seemeth it not a strange thing that God should do so much for sinners? But
strange though it seem, it shall be strangely true. Look at the staggering drunkard in the
ale-house. Is there a possibility that one day he shall stand among the fairest sons of
light? Possibility! ay, certainty, if he repents and turns from the error of his ways.
Hear you yon curser and swearer? See you the man who labels himself as a servant of hell,
and is not ashamed to do so? Is it possible that he shall one day share the bliss of the
redeemed? Possible! ay, more, it is sure, if he turneth from his evil ways. O sovereign
grace, turn men that they may repent! "Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die, O house of
Israel?"
"Lord, do thou the sinner turn,
For thy tender mercy's sake."
One word or so, and I have done. If any of you
to-day are under conviction of sin, let me solemnly warn you not to frequent places where
those convictions are likely too be destroyed.
A correspondent of the New York Christian Advocate furnishes the following
affecting narrative:—
"When I was travelling in the state of Massachusetts, twenty-six years ago, after
preaching one evening in the town of ___________, a very serious-looking young man arose,
and wished to address the assembly. After obtaining leave, he spoke as follows:—'My
friends, about one year ago, I set out in company with a young man of my intimate
acquaintance, to seek the salvation of my soul. For several weeks we went on together, we
laboured together, and often renewed our covenant not to give over seeking till we
obtained the religion of Jesus. But, all at once, the young man neglected attending
meeting, appeared to turn his back on all the means of grace, and grew so shy of me, that
I could scarcely get an opportunity to speak with him. His strange conduct gave me much
painful anxiety of mind; but still I felt resolved to obtain the salvation of my soul, or
perish, making the publican's plea. After a few days, a friend informed me that my young
companion had received an invitation to a ball, and was determined to go. I went
immediately to him, and, with tears in my eyes, endeavoured to persuade him to change his
purpose, and to go with me on that evening to a prayer-meeting. I pleaded with him in
vain. He told me, when we parted, that I must not give him up as lost, for after he had
attended that ball, he intended to make a business of seeking religion. The appointed
evening came, and he went to the ball, and I went to the prayer-meeting. Soon after the
meeting opened, it pleased God, in answer to my prayer, to turn my spiritual captivity,
and make my soul rejoice in his justifying love. Soon after the ball opened, my young
friend was standing at the head of the ball-room, with the hand of a young lady in his
hand, preparing to lead down the dance; and, while the musician was turning his violin,,
without one moment's warning, the young man sallied back, and fell dead on the floor. I
was immediately sent for, to assist in devising means to convey his remains to his
father's house. You will be better able to judge what were the emotions of my heart, when
I tell you that that young man was my own brother.'"
Trifle not, then, with thy convictions, for eternity shall be too short for thee to utter
thy lamentations over such trifling.
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