 Sermon 195. Looking unto Jesus This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. From the new Park Street pulpit of 1858, number 195. Looking unto Jesus. A Sermon. Delivered on Sabbath morning May 23, 1858, by the reverent C. H. Spurgeon, at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens. From Psalm 34 verse 5. They looked unto him, and were lightened, and their faces were not ashamed. From the connection we are to understand the pronoun hymn, as referring to the word Lord in the preceding verse. They looked unto the Lord Jehovah, and were lightened. But no man ever yet looked to Jehovah God as he is in himself, and found any comfort in him, for our God is a consuming fire. An absolute God, apart from the Lord Jesus Christ, can afford no comfort whatever to a troubled heart. We may look to him, and we shall be blinded, for the light of Godhead is insufferable, and as mortal I cannot fix its gaze upon the sun, no human intellect could ever look unto God, and find light, for the brightness of God would strike the eye of the mind with eternal blindness. The only way in which we can see God is through the mediator Jesus Christ. Till God in human flesh I see, my thoughts no comfort find. God shrouded and veiled in the manhood, there we can with steady gaze behold him, for so he cometh down to us, and our poor finite intelligence can understand, and lay hold upon him. I shall therefore use my text this morning, and I think very legitimately, in reference to our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. They looked unto him, and were lightened. For when we look at God as revealed in Jesus Christ our Lord, and behold the Godhead as it is apparent in the incarnate man who was born of the Virgin Mary, and was crucified by Pontius Pilate, we do see that which enlightens the mind, and casts rays of comfort into our awakened heart. And now this morning I shall first invite you in order to illustrate my text to look to Jesus Christ in his life on earth, and I hope there are some of you who will be lightened by that. We shall then look to him on his cross. Afterward we shall look to him in his resurrection. We shall look to him in his intercession, and lastly we shall look to him in his second coming. And it may be as with faithful eye we look upon him, the verse shall be fulfilled in our experience, which is the best proof of a truth. When we prove it to be true in our own hearts, we shall look unto him, and we shall be lightened. 1. First then we shall look to the Lord Jesus Christ in his life, and hear the troubled saint will find the most to enlighten him. In the example, in the patience, in the sufferings of Jesus Christ, there are stars of glory to cheer the midnight darkness of the sky of your tribulation. Come hither ye children of God, and whatever now are your distresses, whether they be temporal or spiritual, you shall in the life of Jesus Christ and his sufferings find sufficient to cheer and comfort you, if the Holy Spirit shall now open your eyes to look unto him. Perhaps I have among my congregation, indeed I am sure I have, some who are plunged in the depths of poverty. You are the children of toil, with much sweat of your brow you eat your bread. The heavy yoke of oppression galls your neck. Perhaps at this time you are suffering the very extremity of hunger. You are pinched with famine. And though in the house of God your body complains, for you feel that you are brought very low, look unto him, thou poor distressed brother in Jesus, look unto him, and be lightened. Why dost thou complain of want or distress, temptation or pain? He told thee no less. The heirs of salvation, we know from his word through much tribulation, must follow their Lord. See him there. Forty days he fasts and he hungers. See him again. He treads the weary way, and at last all a thirst he sits upon the kerb of the well of Sychar, and he, the Lord of glory, who holds the clouds in the hollow of his hand, said to a woman, Give me to drink, and shall the servant be above his master, and the disciple above his Lord. If he suffered hunger, and thirst, and nakedness, O air of poverty, be of good cheer. In all these thou hast fellowship with Jesus, therefore be comforted, and look unto him, and be lightened. Perhaps your trouble is of another cast. You have come here to-day smarting from the forked tongue of that adder slander. Your character, though pure and spotless before God, seems to be lost before man. For that foul, slanderous thing hath sought to take away that which is dearer to you than life itself, your character, your good fame. And you are this day filled with bitterness, and made drunken with wormwood, because you have been accused of crimes which your soul loathes. Come, thou child of mourning, this indeed is a heavy blow. Poverty is like Solomon's whip, but slander is like the scorpion of Rehoboam. To fall into the depths of poverty is to have it on thy little finger, but to be slandered is to have it on thy loins. But in all this thou mayest have comfort from Christ. Come, and look unto him, and be lightened. The king of kings was called a Samaritan. They said of him that he had a devil, and was mad, and yet infinite wisdom dwelt in him, though he was charged with madness. And was he not ever pure and holy? And did they not call him a drunken man and a wine-bibber? He was his father's glorious son, and yet they said he did cast out devils through Beelzebub the prince of the devils. Come, poor slandered one, wipe that tear away. If they have called the master of the house Beelzebub, how much more shall they call they of his household? If they had honoured him, then might you have expected that they would honour you. But inasmuch as they mocked him, and took away his glory and his character, blush not to bear the reproach and the shame, for he is with you, carrying his cross before you, and that cross was heavier than yours. Look then unto him, and be lightened. But I hear another say, Ah, but my trouble is worse than either of those. I am not to-day smarting from slander, nor am I burdened with penury, but, sir, the hand of God lies heavy upon me. He hath brought my sins to my remembrance. He hath taken away the bright shining of his countenance. Once I did believe in him, and could read my title clear to mansions in the skies. But to-day I am brought very low. He hath lifted me up and cast me down. Like a wrestler he has elevated me, that he might dash me to the ground with the greater force. My bones are sore vexed, and my spirit within me is melted with anguish. Come, my tried brother, look unto him, and be lightened. No longer groan over thine own miseries, but come thou with me, and look unto him, if thou canst. Seized thou the garden of olives. It is a cold night, and the ground is crisp beneath thy feet, for the frost is hard. And there, in the gloom of the olive garden, kneels thy Lord. Listen to him. Canst thou understand the music of his groans, the meaning of his sighs? Sure thy griefs are not so heavy as his were, when drops of blood were forced through his skin, and a bloody sweat did stain the ground. Say, are thy wrestlings greater than his? If then he had to combat with the powers of darkness, expect to do also, and look thou to him in the last solemn hour of his extremity, and hear him say, my God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me? And when thou hast heard that, murmur not as though some strange thing had happened to thee, as if thou hast to join in his lama sabbathani, and hast to sweat some few drops of his bloody sweat? They looked unto him, and were lightened. But possibly I may have hear someone who is much persecuted by man. Ah, Seth one, I cannot practice my religion with comfort. My friends have turned against me. I am mocked and jeered and reviled for Christ's sake. Come, Christian, be not afraid of all this, but look unto him, and be lightened. Remember how they persecuted him. Oh, think thou of the shame and spitting, the plucking off the hair, the reviling of the soldiers. Think thou of that fearful march through the streets, when every man did hoot him, and even when they that were crucified with him did revile him. Hasst thou been worse treated than he? Me thinks this is enough to make you gird your armor on once more. Why need you blush to be as much dishonoured as your master? It was this thought that cheered the martyrs of old. They that fought the bloody fight knew that they should win the blood-red crown, that ruby crown of martyrdom. Therefore they did endure, as seeing him who is invisible, for this ever cheered and comforted them. They remembered him who had endured such contradiction of sinners against himself that they might not be weary or faint in their minds. They resisted unto blood, striving against sin, for they knew their master had done the same, and his example did comfort them. I am persuaded, beloved brothers and sisters, that if we looked more to Christ our troubles would not become anything like so black. In the darkest night looking to Christ will clear the ebony sky, when the darkness seems thick, like that of Egypt, darkness that might be felt, even solid pillars of ebony, even then, like a bright lightning flash, as bright, but not as transient, will a look to Jesus prove. One glimpse at him may well suffice for all our toils, while on the road. Cheered by his voice, nerved by his strength, we are prepared to do and suffer even as he did to the death, if he will be with us, even unto the end. This then is our first point. We trust that those of you who are weary Christians will not forget to look unto him and be lightened, too. And now I have to invite you to a more dreary sight. But strange it is just as the sight becomes more black, so to us does it grow more bright. The more deeply the Saviour dived into the depths of misery, the brighter were the pearls which he brought up, the greater his griefs, the greater our joys, and the deeper his dishonour, the brighter our glories. Come, then, and this time I shall ask poor, doubting, trembling, sinners and saints to come with me. Come ye now to Calvary's Cross. There, on the summit of that little hill, outside the gates of Jerusalem, where common criminals were ordinarily put to death, the tie-burn of Jerusalem, the old Bailey of that city, where criminals were executed, there stand three crosses. The centre one is reserved for one who is reputed to be the greatest of criminals. See there, they have nailed him to the cross. It is the Lord of life and glory, before whose feet angels delight to pour full vials of glory. They have nailed him to the cross. He hangs there in mid-heaven, dying, bleeding. He is thirsty, and he cries. They bring him vinegar and thrust it into his mouth. He is in suffering, and he needs sympathy, but they mock at him, and they say, he saved others, himself, he cannot save. They misquote his words. They challenge him now to destroy the temple, and build it in three days, while the very thing was being fulfilled. They taunt him with his powerlessness to accomplish it. Now see him ere the veil is drawn over Agony's to black for eye to behold. See him now. Was ever face marred like that face? Was ever heart so big with Agony? And did eyes ever seem so pregnant with the fire of suffering, as those great wells of fiery Agony? Come and behold him, come and look to him now. The sun is eclipsed, refusing to behold him. Earth quakes, the dead rise, the horrors of his sufferings have startled earth itself. He dies, the friend of sinners dies. And we invite you to look to this scene, that you may be lightened. What are your doubts this morning? Whatever they be, they can find a kind and fond solution here by looking at Christ on the cross. You have come here perhaps doubting God's mercy. Look to Christ upon the cross, and can you doubt it then? If God were not full of mercy and plenteous in his compassion, would he have given his son to bleed and die? Think you that a father would rend his darling from his heart and nail him to a tree, that he might suffer an ignominious death for our sakes, and yet be hard, merciless and without pity? God forbid the empire's thought. There must be mercy in the heart of God, or else there had never been a cross on Calvary. But do you doubt God's power to save? Are you saying in yourself this morning, how can he forgive so great a sinner as I am? Oh, look there, sinner, look there to the great atonement made, to the utmost ransom paid. Does thou think that that blood has not an efficacy to pardon and to justify? True, without that cross it had been an unanswerable question. How can God be just, and yet the justifier of the ungodly? But see there the bleeding substitute, and know that God has accepted his sufferings as an equivalent for the woes of all believers. And then let thy spirit dare to think, if it can, that there is not sufficient in the blood of Christ to enable God to vindicate his justice, and yet to have mercy upon sinners. But I know you say, my doubt is not of his general mercy, nor of his power to forgive, but of his willingness to forgive me. Now I beseech you, by him that liveth and was dead, do not this morning look into your own heart in order to find an answer to that difficulty. Do not now sit down and look at your sins. They have brought you into the danger. They cannot bring you out of it. The best answer you will ever get is at the foot of the cross. Sit down when you get home this morning, for half an hour, in quiet contemplation, sit at the foot of the cross, and contemplate the dying saviour. And I will defy you then to say, I doubt his love to me. Looking at Christ begets faith. You cannot believe on Christ, except as you see him. And if you look to him, you will learn that he is able to save. You will learn his loving kindness. And you cannot doubt him after having once beheld him. Look, Dr. What says, his worth if all the nations knew sure the whole world would love him to. And I am quite sure it is true if I read it another way. His worth if all the nations knew sure the whole world would trust him to. All that you would look to him now, and your doubts would soon be removed, for there is nothing that so speedily kills all doubt and fear as a look into the loving eye of the bleeding dying Lord. Ah, says one, but my doubts are concerning my own salvation in this respect. I cannot be so holy as I want to be. I have tried very much, says one, to get rid of all my sins, and I cannot. I have laboured to live without wicked thoughts, and without unholy acts, and I still find that my heart is seatful above all things, and I wander from God. Surely I cannot be saved while I am like this. Stay. Look to him, and be lightened. What business have you to be looking at yourself? The first business of a sinner is not with himself, but with Christ. Your business is to come to Christ, sick, weary, and soul-diseased, and ask Christ to cure you. You are not to be your own physician, and then go to Christ, but just as you are. The only salvation for you is to trust implicitly, simply, nakedly on Christ. As I sometimes put it, make Christ the only pillar of your hope, and never seek to buttress or prop him up. He is a people. He is willing. All he asks of you is just to trust him. As for your good works, they should come afterwards. They are after-fruits of the spirit, but your first business is not to do, but to believe. Look to Jesus, and put your only trust in him. All cries another, Sir, I am afraid I do not feel my need of a Savior as I ought. Looking to yourselves again, all looking to yourselves you see. This is all wrong. Our doubts and fears all arise from this cause. We will turn our eyes the wrong way. Just look to the cross again, just as the poor thief did when he was dying. He said, Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom. Do the same. You may tell him, if you please, that you do not feel your need of him as you ought. You may put this among your other sins, that you fear you have not a right sense of your great and enormous guilt. You may add it to all your confessions. This cry, Lord, help me to confess my sins better. Help me to feel them more penitently. But recollect, it is not your repentance that saves you. It is just the blood of Christ streaming from his hands and feet and side. All I beseech you by him, whose servant I am, this morning turn your eyes to the cross of Christ. There he hangs this day. He is lifted up in your midst. As Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness, even so is the Son of Man lifted up today in your eyes, that whosoever believeth in him may not perish, but have everlasting life. And you children of God, I turn to you, for you have your doubts too. Will you get rid of them? Would you rejoice in the Lord with faith unmoved and confidence unshaken? Then look to Jesus. Look again to him, and you shall be lightened. I know not how it is with you, my beloved friends. But I very often find myself in a doubting frame of mind, and it seems to be a question whether I have any love to Christ or not. And despite the fact that some laugh at the hymn, it is a hymn that I am forced to sing. Tis a point I long to know. Oft it causes anxious thought. Do I love the Lord or know? Am I His or am I not? And really I am convinced that every Christian has his doubts at times, and that the people who do not doubt are just the people that ought to doubt. For he who never doubts about his state perhaps may do so when it is too late. I knew a man who said that he had never had a doubt for thirty years. I told him that I knew a person who had never had a doubt about him for thirty years. How is that, said he? That is strange. He thought it a compliment. I said, I knew a man who never had a doubt about you for thirty years. He knew you were always the most confounded hypocrite he ever met. He had no doubt about you. But this man had no doubt about himself. He was a chosen child of God, a great favourite of the most high. He loved the doctrine of election, wrote it on his very brow, and yet he was the hardest driver and the most cruel oppressor to the poor I ever met with. And when brought to poverty himself he might very frequently be seen rolling through the streets. And this man had not a doubt for thirty years. And yet the best people are always doubting. Some of those who are just living outside the gates of heaven are afraid of being cast into hell after all, while those people who are on the high road to the pit are not the least afraid. However, if you would get rid of your doubts once more, turn to Christ. You know what Dr Carey had put on his tombstone, just these words, for they were his comfort. A guilty week and helpless worm, into Christ's arms I fall. He is my strength and righteousness, my Jesus, and my all. Remember what that eminent Scotch divine said when he was dying? Someone said to him, What are you dying now? Said he, I am just gathering all my good works up together and I am throwing them all overboard, and I am lashing myself to the plank of free grace, and I hope to swim to glory on it. So do you do. Every day keep your eye only on Christ, and so long as your eye is single your whole body must and shall be full of light. But if you once look cross-eyed, first to yourself and then to Christ, your whole body shall be full of darkness. Remember then, Christian, to hire way to the cross. When that great black dog of hell is after you, away to the cross. Go where the sheep goes, when he is molested by the dog. Go to the shepherd. The dog is afraid of the shepherd's crook. You need not to be afraid of it. It is one of the things that shall comfort you. Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Away to the cross, my brothers, away to the cross, if thou wouldest get rid of thy doubts. Certain I am, that if we lived more with Jesus, were more like Jesus, and trusted more to Jesus, doubts and fears would be very scarce and rare things. And we should have as little to complain of them as the first emigrants in Australia had to complain of thistles. For they found none there, and none would have been there if they had not been carried there. If we live simply by faith on the cross of Christ, we live in a land where there are no thistles. But if we live on self, we shall have plenty of thistles, and thorns, and briars, and nettles growing there. They looked unto him, and were lightened. 3. And now I invite you to a glorious scene, Christ's resurrection. Come you here and look at him, as the old serpent bruises his heel. He dies the friend of Sinner's dies, and Salem's daughters weep around. He was wrapped in his grave-clothes, and put into his grave, and there he slept three days and nights. And on the first day of the week he, who could not be holden by the bands of death, and whose flesh did not see corruption, neither did his soul abide in Hades. He arose from the dead. In vain the bands that swaddled him, he unfolded them by himself, and by his own living power wrapped them in perfect order, and laid them in their place. In vain the stone and the seal, the angel appeared and rolled away the stone, and forth the Saviour came. In vain the guards and watchmen, for in terror they fled far away, and he rose, the conqueror over death, the first fruits of them that slept. By his own power and might he came again to life. I see among my congregation not a few wearing the black weeds of sorrow. You have lost some of you, the dearest of your earthly relatives. There are others here who, I doubt not, are under the constant fear of death. You are all your lifetime subject to bondage because you are thinking upon the groans and dying strife which fall upon men when they are near the river Jordan. Come, come, I beseech you, ye weeping and timid spirits. Behold, Jesus Christ risen. For, remember, this is a great truth. Now is Christ risen from the dead, and become the first fruits of them that slept. And the verse of our song just embodies it. What, though our inbred sins require our flesh to see the dust, yet as the Lord our Saviour rose, so all his followers must. There, widow, weep no longer for your husband if he died in Jesus. See the master, he is risen from the dead. No spectre is he. In the presence of his disciples he eats a piece of broiled fish. And part of a honeycomb. No spirit is he, for he saith, handle me and see. A spirit hath not flesh and bones as ye see me have. That was a real resurrection. And learn them, beloved, when you weep, to restrain your sorrows, for thy loved ones shall live again. Not only shall their spirits live, but their bodies too. Corruption earth and worms, do but refine this flesh. At the Ark angels sounding trump, we put it on afresh. Oh, think not that the worm has eaten up your children, your friends, your husband, your father, your aged parents. True, the worms seem to have devoured them. Oh, what is the worm after all but the filter through which our poor, filthy flesh must go, for in the twinkling of an eye at the last trump we shall be raised incorruptible, and the living shall be changed, and you shall see the eye that just now has been closed, and you shall look on it again. You shall again grasp the hand that just now fell motionless at the side. You shall kiss the lips that just now were clay cold and white, and you shall hear again the voice that is silent in the tomb. They shall live again. And you that fear death, why fear to die? Jesus died before you, and he passed through the iron gates, and as he passed through them before you, he will come and meet you. Jesus who lives can make the dying bed feel soft as downy pillows are. Why should you weep? For Jesus rose from the dead, so shall you. Be of good cheer and confidence. You are not lost when you are put into the tomb. You are but seed sown to ripen against the eternal harvest. Your spirit mounts to God, your body slumbers for a while to be quickened into eternal life. It cannot be quickened except it die, but when it dies it shall receive a new life, it shall not be destroyed. They looked to him and were lightened. Oh, this is a precious thing to look to, a risen Saviour. I know of nothing that can lift our spirits higher than a true view of the resurrection of Jesus Christ from the dead. We have not lost any friends then, they have gone before. We shall not die ourselves, we shall seem to die, but we shall begin to live, for it is written, He lives to die, He dies to live, He lives to die no more. May that be the lot of each one of us. Four. And with the greatest possible brevity, I invite you to look at Jesus Christ ascending into heaven. After forty days he takes his disciples to the hill, and while he discourses with them on a sudden he mounts upwards, and he is separated from them, and a cloud receives him into glory. Perhaps I may be allowed a little poetic license if I try to picture that which occurred after he ascended into the clouds. The angels came from heaven. They brought his chariot from on high, to bear him to his throne. Clapped their triumphant wings and cried, the glorious work is done. I doubt not, with that matchless triumph he ascended the hill of light and went to the celestial city, and when he neared the portals of that great metropolis of the universe, the angels shouted, Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up ye everlasting doors. And the bright spirits from burning battlements cried out, Who is this king of glory? Who? And the answer came, The Lord mighty in battle, and the Lord of hosts, He is the king of glory. And then both they upon the walls, and they who walk with the chariot join the song once more, and with one mighty sea of music beating its melodious waves against the gates of heaven, and forcing them open, the strain is heard. Lift up your heads, O ye gates, and be ye lift up ye everlasting doors, that the king of glory may come in. And in he went. And at his feet the angelic hosts all cast their crowns, and forth came the blood washed to meet him, not casting roses at his feet, as we do at the feet of conquerors in our streets, but casting immortal flowers, imperishable wreaths of honour that never can decay, while again, again, again the heavens did ring with this melody unto him that hath loved us, and washed us from our sins in his blood, and hath made us kings and priests unto God and his Father, unto him be glory for ever and ever. And all the saints and all the angels said, Amen. Now look ye here, Christians, here is your comfort. Jesus Christ won wrestling with spiritual enemies, not with flesh and blood, but with principalities and powers. You are at war to-day, and may hap the enemy has thrust sore at you, and you have been ready to fall. It is a marvel to you that you have not turned your back in the day of battle, for you have often feared lest you should be made to fly like a coward from the field. But tremble not. Your master was more than conqueror, and so shall you be. The day is coming when with splendour less than his, but yet the same in its measure. You too shall pass the gates of bliss. When you are dying, angels shall meet you in the mid-stream, and when your blood is cooling with the cold current, then shall your heart be warming with another stream, a stream of light and heat from the great fountain of all joy. And you shall stand on the other side of Jordan, and angels shall meet you clothed in their immaculate garments. They shall attend you up the hill of light, and they shall chant the praise of Jesus and hail you as another trophy of his power. And when you enter the gates of heaven, you will be met with Christ your master, who will say to you, Well done, good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord. Then you will feel that you are sharing in his victory, as once you shared in his struggles and his war. Fight on, Christian, your glorious captain has won a great victory, and has secured for you in one and the same victory a standard that never yet was stained with defeat, though often dipped in the blood of the slain. Five. And now once more look to him and be lightened. See there he sits in heaven. He has led captivity captive, and now sits at the right hand of God for ever making intercession for us. Can your faith picture him today? Like a great high priest of old, he stands without stretched arms. There is majesty in his mane, for he is no mean cringing supplicant. He does not beat his breast, nor cast his eyes upon the ground, but with authority he pleads enthroned in glory now. There on his head is the bright shining mitre of his priesthood. And look you, on his breast are glittering the precious stones, whereon the names of his elect are everlastingly engraved. Hear him as he pleads. Hey, you not what it is. It is your prayer that he is mentioning before the throne. The prayer that this morning you offered ere you came to the house of God, Christ is now offering before his father's throne. The vow which just now you uttered when you said, have pity and have mercy. He is now uttering there. He is the altar and the priest. And with his own sacrifice he perfumes our prayers. And yet may have you have been at prayer many a day and had no answer. Poor weeping supplicant, thou has sought the Lord and he has not heard thee or at least not answered thee to thy soul's delight. Thou has cried unto him, but the heavens have been as brass and he hath shut out thy prayer. Thou art full of darkness and heaviness on account of this. Look to him and be lightened. If thou dost not succeed, he will. If thy intercession be unnoticed, his cannot be passed away. If thy prayers can be like water spilt on a rock which cannot be gathered up. Yet his prayers are not like that. He is God's son. He pleads and must prevail. God cannot refuse his own son what he now asks. He who once brought mercies with his blood, all be of good cheer. Continue still thy supplication. Look unto him and be lightened. Six. In the last place there are some of you here weary with this world's din and clamour and with this world's iniquity and vice. You have been striving all your life long to put an end to the reign of sin, and it seems as if your efforts have been fruitless. The pillars of hell stand as fast as ever, and the black palace of evil is not laid in ruins. You have brought against it all the battering rams of prayer and the might of God you have thought, and yet the world still sins. Its rivers still roll with blood, its plains are still defiled with the lascivious dance, and its ear is still polluted with the filthy song and profane oath. God is not honoured. Man is still vile. And perhaps you are saying, it is vain for us to fight on. We have undertaken a task which cannot be accomplished. The kingdoms of this world never can become the kingdoms of our Lord and of his Christ. But, Christian, look unto him and be lightened. Lo, he cometh, he cometh, he cometh quickly, and what we cannot do in six thousand years he can do in an instant. Lo, he comes, he comes to reign. We may try to build his throne, but we shall not accomplish it. But when he comes he shall build his throne himself on solid pillars of light, and sit and judge in Jerusalem amidst his saints gloriously. Perhaps today the hour we are assembled Christ may come. For of that day and hour knoweth no man, know not the angels in heaven. Jesus Christ may, while I yet speak, appear in the clouds of glory. We have no reason to be guessing at the time of his appearing. He will come as a thief in the night, and whether it shall be at cock crowing, or broad day, or at midnight, we are not allowed to guess. It is left entirely in the dark, and vain are the prophecies of men, vain your apocalyptic sketches, or all of that. No man knoweth anything of it, except that it is certain he will come. But when he comes no spirit in heaven or on earth should pretend to know. All it is my joyous hope that he may come whilst yet I live. Perhaps there may be some of us here who shall be alive, and remain at the coming of the Son of Man. All glorious hope, we shall have to sleep, but we shall all be changed. He may come now, and we that are alive and remain shall be caught up together with the Lord in the air, and so shall be for ever with him. But if you die, Christian, this is your hope. I will come again and receive you to myself, that where I am, there ye may be also. And this is to be your duty. Watch, therefore, for in such an hour as you think not, the Son of Man cometh. All will I not work on, for Christ is at the door. All will I not give up toiling never so hard for my master cometh, and his reward is with him, and his work before him, giving unto every man according as his work shall be. All I will not lie down in despair, for the trump is sounding now. Methinks I hear the trampling of the conquering legion, the last of God's mighty heroes are even now perhaps born into the world. The hour of this revival is the hour of the turning of the battle. Thick has been the fight, and hot and furious the struggle. But the trump of the conqueror is beginning to sound. The angel is lifting it now to his lips. The first blast has been heard across the sea, and we shall hear it yet again. Or if we hear it not in these our days, yet still it is our hope. He comes, he comes, and every eye shall see him, and they that have crucified him shall weep and wail before him, but the righteous shall rejoice, and shall magnify him exceedingly. They looked unto him, and were lightened. I remember I concluded preaching at Exeter Hall with these three words, Jesus, Jesus, Jesus. I think I will conclude my sermon of this morning with the same words, but not till I have spoken to one poor fallen soul who is standing over there, wondering whether there is mercy for him. He says, It is well enough, sir, to say, Look to Jesus, but suppose you cannot look, if your eye is blind what then? Oh, my poor brother, turn your restless eyeballs to the cross, and that light which gives light to them that see shall give eyesight to them that are blind. Oh, if thou canst not believe this morning, look and consider, and weigh the matter, and in weighing and reflecting thou shalt be helped to believe. He asks nothing of thee. He bids thee now believe that he died for thee. If today thou feelest thyself a lost guilty sinner, all he asks is that thou wouldst believe on him, that is to say, Trust him, confide in him. Is it not little, he asks? And yet it is more than any of us are prepared to give, except the spirit hath made us willing. Come, cast yourself upon him, fall flat on his promise, sink or swim, confide in him, and you cannot guess the joy that you shall feel in that one instant that you believe on him. Were there not some of you impressed last Sabbath day, and you have been anxious all the week? Oh, I hope I have brought a good message to you this morning for your comfort. Look unto me and be ye saved all the ends of the earth, saith Christ, for I am God, and beside me there is none else. Look ye now, and looking ye shall live. May every blessing rest upon you, and may each go away to think of that one person whom we love, even Jesus. Jesus. Jesus. End of Sermon 195. Recording by Tim Bulkley of BigBible.org. Spergeon's Sermons from May 1858. Sermon 196 by Charles Spergeon. A Present Religion. A Sermon. Number 196, delivered on Sabbath morning, May 30, 1858, by the Reverend C. H. Spergeon at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens. Beloved, now we are the sons of God, 1 John 3, 2. I shall not pretend to preach from the whole of my text this morning, short though it be. The word now is to me the most prominent word in the text, and I shall make it so this morning. Beloved, now we are the sons of God. It is astonishing how distance blunts the keen edge of anything that is disagreeable. War is at all times a most fearful scourge. The thought of slain bodies and of murdered men must always harrow up the soul. But because we hear of these things in the distance, there are few Englishmen who can truly enter into their horrors. If we should hear the booming of cannon on the deep which girdles this island, if we should see at our doors the marks of carnage and bloodshed, then should we more thoroughly appreciate what war means. But distance takes away the horror, and we therefore speak of war with too much levity, and even read of it with an interest not sufficiently linked with pain. As it is with war, so it is with death. Death is a frightful thing. He who is the bravest must still fear before it, for at best it is a solemn thing to die. Man, therefore, adopts the expedient of putting off all thoughts of death. It may be very near to him, but he conceives it to be at a distance, and when the same effect is produced as when war is at a distance, its horror is forgotten, and we speak of it with less solemnity. So likewise with true religion, men are constrained to believe that there is truth in religion. Though there are some foolhardy enough to deny it, the most of us in this enlightened land are obliged to acknowledge that there is a power in godliness. What then does the worldling do? He practices the same expedient. He puts religion far away. He knows that its disagreeableness will be diminished by his believing it to be distant. Hence, there has sprung up in the minds of the unregenerate world a notion that religion is a thing to be accomplished just at the close of life. And the usual prayer of an ungodly man, when in the slightest degree pricked in his conscience, is, Oh, that I may be saved at last. He does not feel anxious to be saved now. Religion is a thing for which he has no appetite, and therefore believing it essential to ensure his eternal welfare, he adopts the alternative of saying, I hope to have it at last. The religion then of the present is not the worldling's religion. He tolerates that which speaks of eternity, that which deals with dying beds, that which leads him to look back with a specious repentance upon a life spent in sin, but not that which will enable him to look forward to a life spent in holiness. Very differently, however, do we act with affairs of the present life, for things that are sweet to us become the more sweet by their nearness. Was it ever a child who longed for his father's house, who did not feel that the holidays grew more sweet in his estimation, the shorter the time was that he had to tarry? What man is there, who, having once set his heart on riches, did not find his delight in the thought of being rich? Increase with the nearness of his approach to the desired object. And are we not all of us accustomed, when we think a good thing is at a distance? To try if we can shorten the time between us and it, we try anything and everything to push on the lagging hours. We chide them, wish that time had double wings, that he might swiftly fly, and bring the expected season. When the Christian talks of heaven, you will always hear him try to shorten the distance between himself and the happy land. He says, A few more rolling suns at most will land me on Fair Canaan's coast. There may be many years between him and Paradise, but still he is prone to say, The way may be rough, but it cannot belong. Thus do we all delight to shorten the distance between us and the things for which we hope. Now, let us apply this rule to religion. They who love religion, love a present thing. The Christian who really seeks salvation will never be happy unless he can say, Now I am a channeled of God, because the worldling dislikes it. He puts it from him. Because the Christian loves it, therefore its very fairest feature is its present existence, its present enjoyment in his heart. That word, now, which is the sinner's warning, and his terror, is to the Christian his greatest delight and joy. There is therefore, and then the sweetest bell of all rings, there is therefore now no condemnation to them that are in Christ Jesus. To the sinner, that same idea is the blackest of all. He that believeth not, is condemned already, because he hath not believed on the Son of God. This morning in God's name I shall endeavour to plead with men, and show them the importance of having a present religion. I am quite certain that this is a habit which is too much kept in the background. I am sure from mixing with mankind, that the current belief is that religion is a future thing. Perhaps the wish is farther to the thought. I am certain the ground of it is. Men love not religion, and therefore they desire to thrust it far from them. I shall commence by endeavouring to show that religion must be a thing of the present, because the present has such intimate connection with the future. And to proceed we are told in Scripture that this life is a seed time, and the future is the harvest. He that soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption. He that soweth to the spirit shall of the spirit reap life everlasting. The Scripture often speaks to us in words like these. They that sow in tears shall reap in joy. It is always supposed in Scripture that this life is a time of generating. If I may use such an expression, the life that is to come as a seed generates the plant. Even so doth this present life generate the eternal future. We know indeed that heaven and hell are after all but the developments of our present character. For what is hell but this? He that is filthy let him be filthy still. He that is unholy let him be unholy still. Do we not know that in the bowels of every sin damnation slumbers? Is it not a fearful truth that the germ of a lasting torment sleeps in every vile wish, every unholy thought, every unclean act, so that hell is but a great breaking out of slumbering lava, which had been so quiet that while the mountain was covered with fair verger, even to its summit death comes and bides that lava rise, and down the steeps of manhood's eternal existence the fiery flame, the hot scalding lava of eternal misery doth pour itself. Yet it was there before, for sin is hell, and to rebel against God is but the prelude of misery. So is it with heaven? I know that heaven is a reward not of debt but of grace, but still the Christian has that within him which forstall for him a heaven. What did Christ say? I give unto my sheep eternal life. He did not say I will give, but I give unto them. As soon as they believe in me, I give them eternal life, and he that believeth hath eternal life, and shall never come into damnation. The Christian hath within him the seedbeds of a paradise, in due time the light that is sown for the righteous, and the gladness that is buried beneath the black earth for the upright in heart shall spring up, and they shall reap the harvest. Is it not plain, then, that religion is a thing which we must have here? Is it not prominently revealed that religion is important for the present? For if this life be the seed time of the future, how can I expect to reap in another world other crops than I have been sowing here? How can I trust that I shall be saved, and as I am saved? How can I have hope that heaven shall be my eternal inheritance, unless the earnest be begun in my own soul on earth? But again, this life is always said in Scripture to be a preparation for the life to come. Prepare to meet thy God though Israel. They that were ready went in with him to the supper, and the door was shut. There is in this world a getting ready for another world. To use a biblical figure, we must here put on the wedding dress which we are to wear forever. This knife is as the vestibule of the king's court. We must put off our shoes from off our feet, we must wash our garments, and make ourselves ready to enter into the marriage supper of the Lamb. Somehow in Scripture the thought comes out as plain as if written with a sunbeam. This world is the beginning of the end. It is the preparing place for the future. Supposing you have no religion now, how will you stand when now is turned into eternity, when days and years are gone? How will it fare with you, if all your days have been spent without God and without Christ? Do you hope to hurry on a white garment after death? Alas, you shall be good with your shroud, but not be able to put on the wedding raiment. Do you trust that you shall wash you and make you clean in the river Jordan? Alas, ye shall breed corruption in your tomb, but ye shall not find holiness there. Do you trust to be pardoned after you have departed? There are no acts of pardon passed in the cold grave to which we haste, but darkness, death, and fell despair reign in eternal silence there. Or do ye think that when ye near the borders of the grave, then will be the time to prepare? Be not deceived. We read in Scripture one instance of a man saved at the Eleventh Hour. Remember, there is but one, and we have no reason to believe that there ever was, or ever will be another. There may have been persons saved on their dying beds, but we are not sure there ever were. Such things may have happened, but none of us can tell. Alas, facts are sadly against it. For we have been assured by those who have the best means of judging, those who have long walked the hospital of humanity, that such as thought they were dying, and made vows of repentance, have almost invariably turned back, like the dog to his own vomit, and the sow that was washed to her wallowing in the mire. Oh no! Today, if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts. For today is the preparing time for the dread tomorrow. Today is the making ready for the eternal future. Let me urge one other reflection here. How are we saved? All through Scripture, we are told we are saved by faith, except in one passage, wherein it is said, we are saved by hope. Now, note how certain it is that religion must be a present thing if we are saved by faith, because faith and hope cannot live in another world. What a man seeth, why doth he yet hope for? Hope cannot exist in that world of realities where shadows are unknown. How can faith be exercised when we see a thing? For what a man perceiveth by faith, that he realizes not by sense. And although we say seeing is believing, we are quite certain that seeing and believing are at opposite poles. Believing is an assurance of that which we see not. And in confidence of faith, waiting until we do see it, but seeing is sensuous, and the very reverse of faith. Now, if I am to be saved by faith, it is quite certain that I must be saved in a state where faith can be exercised, that is, in this world. And if I am to be saved by hope, I cannot be saved by hope in that world where hope cannot exist. I must be saved here, for here is the only place where hope can breathe an air that let it live. The air of heaven is too bright and pure, too heavenly to warm, too sweet with angel's songs, for faith and hope to inhabit. They leave us on this side of the Jordan. If then we are saved by these, I think it follows, and every one of you must perceive the inference, we must be saved now, because faith and hope are not things of the future. Oh, how pleasant, if after these remarks we can say, yes, it is so, it is even so, and we rejoice therein, for now we are the sons of God. In the second place, as I have briefly shown the connection between the present and the future, let me use another illustration to show the importance of a present salvation. Salvation is a thing which brings present blessings. When you read Scripture, and alas, there are few who care to read it as they ought in these times, they read anything rather than their Bibles. When you read Scripture, you will be struck with the fact that every blessing is spoken of in the present tense. You remember how the apostle in one of his epistles says, unto them which are saved, Christ's power of God and wisdom of God. He does not say, to them who shall be saved, but to them which are saved. We know too that justification is a present blessing. There is therefore now no condemnation. Adoption is a present blessing, for it says, now we are the sons of God. And we know also that sanctification is a present blessing, for the apostle addresses himself to the saints who are sanctified in Christ Jesus, and called all blessings of the new covenant are spoken of in the present tense, because with the exception of eternal glory in heaven, they are all to be enjoyed here. I know this, that I shall be one day, if I am a believer in Christ, more sanctified than I am today, if not in the sense of consecration, yet still in the sense of purification. But at the same time, I know this of assurity, that when I stand at God's right hand, midst the lamps of eternal brightness, when these fingers move with vigor across the golden strings, and when this voice is filled with the immortal songs, I shall not be one wit more a child of God than I am now, and when the white robe is upon me, and the crown upon my head, I shall not be more justified than I am at the present moment. For it is the doctrine of Holy Scripture that, the moment a sinner believes and trusts in the crucified God, his pardon at once he receives, salvation in full through his blood. But the assurance of our possession in these things is a present blessing also. I will illustrate what I mean by a circumstance which happened to myself. A lady called upon me in some distress of mind, and this was her difficulty. She had, she trusted, been converted to God, enjoyed great peace of mind, and for a little season was very full of joy, because she believed that she had been forgiven, and was accepted in the beloved. Naturally enough, seeking her religious instructor, she went to the clergyman of the parish, who, unfortunately for her, was a blind guide. For when she began to tell him concerning her joy, he checked her by saying, My good woman, this is all presumption. Nay, sir, said she, I trust not, my hope is fixed on nothing else than Jesus. I repose alone in him. That is right enough, said he, but you have no authority to say you know you are saved. You have no authority to believe that you are already pardoned. He told her, that he did not believe it possible for any Christian to be assured of this, except a very few eminent saints. They might hope that was all. They might trust, but they could never be sure. Ah! Me thinks he had gone but a very little way on the road to the kingdom of heaven. He must have been a very small infant in Christ, if in Christ at all, to have told her so. For those of us who have, for a few years, put on the Lord Jesus, know of assurity that there is such a thing as infallible assurance. We know that although there is such a thing as presumption, there is a distinction which every Christian can easily mark between the one and the other. Presumption says, I am a child of God, I may live as I like. I know I am saved, I need not therefore seek to have present communion with Christ. But assurance says, I know whom I have believed. I am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed under him against that day. And then she meekly bows her head and says, Hold down me up, and I shall be safe. Keep me, and I shall be kept. Draw me, and I will run after thee. Oh, my dear hearers, never believe that falsehood of the day that a man cannot know himself to be a child of God. For if you tell us that, we can refute you with a thousand testimonies. We have seen the poor, the humble, and the illiterate, confident of their interest in Christ. It is true, we have seen them doubt. We have heard their wailings when they could not see Christ with their heart. Ye, we have known the time when the greatest of God's people have had to tremble and say, It is a point I long to know. Often it causes anxious thought. Do I love the Lord or know? Am I his or am I not? But still, God's people may be assured they may know, by the witness of the Spirit within, that they are born of God. For doth not an apostle say? We know we have passed from death unto life because we love the brethren. The Spirit beareth witness with our spirits that we are born of God. I would that we had more Christians who lived in the enjoyment of full assurance. How precious it is when the milk of faith settles down, and the thick cream of full assurance can be skimmed from the surface as marrow and fatness to the children of God. Religion, then, is a thing of present assurance. A man may know in this life, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that he is accepted in Christ Jesus. Yet, I am inclined to think that the worldly man most of all objects to present religion, because he does not like its duties. Most men would be very religious if religion did not entail obligations. Many a free liver would be a very pious man, if he were not curtailed of a few of his bottles of wine. Many a loose character would have no objection to go up to the temple and pray, and subscribe his name to the God of Jacob, if the gospel did not forbid all uncleanness, and everything that is lascivious. Many a tradesman would put on the Lord Jesus Christ. If there were no necessity to put off the old man, if he could keep his sins and have Christ too, oh how willing would he be? Indeed, there are great many who are so fond of it that they have tried it. We know people who are like the Roman emperor, who believed that Jesus Christ was God, and thought that all the other strange gods were likewise to be worshipped. So these people think religion a very good thing, and think sin a very good thing too. So they sit up the two together, and their whole life is like Janus, two-faced. They look most comely Christians in the synagogue, but they look most unmistakable hypocrites if you see them in the market. Men will not direct a single eye to religion because it curtailes license and entails duties. And this, I think, proves that religion is a present thing, because the duties of religion cannot be practiced in another world, they must be practiced here. Now, what are the duties of religion? In the first place, here are its active duties, which a man should do between man and man, to walk soberly and righteously and uprightly in the midst of an evil generation. Lightly as some people speak about morality, or against morality, there is no true religion where there is no morality. Do not tell me about your orthodoxy. Do not come and tell me about your private prayers and secret piety. If your life be bad, you are bad altogether. A good tree cannot bring forth anything but good fruit, and a corrupt tree will bring forth corrupt fruit. There is no questioning that. What your life is, that you are. For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaks, so out of the abundance of the heart the man lives. It is all in vain for you to depreciate so strong a sentiment as this, and to say, the best of saints are fallible, I know they are. I know that even the best of men will sin, but they will not sin willingly. If they sin publicly, it will be but an exception. Their lives under the power of divine grace will be holy and pure and upright. I believe the devil likes antinomianism. And he says to the Romanist, preach on, you priest, I do not mind what you preach, for you will enter my dominions. You tell people that they may live in sin, and then break your absolution for a shilling, find doctor in that. And he pats the priest on the back, and gives him all the assistance he can. Then comes there an antinomian minister into the pulpit. The devil says, ah, though he rails against the Pope of Rome, I like him both. The one as much as the other. Then how he preaches. He begins preaching justification by faith alone, and he carries his argument a step too far, for he begins railing at good works, calls them legalists who think it is their duty to lead a holy life, and hints with a smirk and a smile, that the excellent conduct of a man is of little importance, so long as he believes the truth and goes to his chapel. Ha, ha, says the devil, preach away. I love the two things, antinomianism and papery. For they are two of the finest quacks for canting souls. Again I say, be not deceived, God is not mocked. For whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap. By our works we are not to be justified. But still by our works we shall be judged, and by our works we shall be condemned. So set the scriptures, and this we must receive. Religion therefore must be a present thing. We need not talk of walking righteously and soberly in the world to come. There all is pure and all is clear, there all is joy and love. There will be no duty to discharge between the tradesmen and the customer, between the debtor and the creditor, between the father and the child, between the husband and the wife in heaven. For all relationships shall have passed away. Religion must be intended for this life. The duties of it cannot be practised, unless they are practised here. But besides these, there are other duties devolving upon the Christian. Though it is every man's duty to be honest and sober, the Christian has another code of law. It is the Christian's duty to love his enemies, to be at peace with all men, to forgive as he hopes to be forgiven. And it is his duty not to resist evil, when spent on the one cheek to turn the other also. It is his duty to give to him that asketh of him, and from him that would borrow of him not to turn away. He is to be a liberal soul in devising liberal things. It is the Christian's duty to visit his master's children when they are sick, so that it may be said to him at last. I was sick and naked and imprisoned, and he visited me, and ministered to my necessities. Now, if religion be not a thing for this world, I ask you, how is it possible to perform its duties at all? There are no poor in heaven we can comfort and visit. There are no enemies in heaven whom we can graciously forgive. There are no injuries inflicted or wrongs endured which we can bear with patience. Religion must have been intended in the very first place for this world. It must have been meant that now we should be the sons of God, for again I repeat it, that the major part of the duties of religion cannot be practiced in heaven, and therefore religion must be a present thing. But, coming near our conclusion, I believe there are many more persons who do not like religion for today, but who want to have it at the last. For this reason, they think religion is not a happy thing. They believe it makes men miserable. They have met with persons with long faces. They have seen some who were born in stormy weather, and who seem to have lived all their lives long with a hurricane inside their hearts, never having one flash of sunlight, nor one pleasant rainbow across their brow. Many young people imbibe this idea. They think that surely religion must be a thing that will make men go moping and melancholy, all through this world. In fact, they enter chapel sometimes, and they hear the saints singing, and what a sweet hymn it is. A sorry sweetness in truth. Lord, what a wretched land this is. And they go out and say, no doubt it is. We will have nothing to do with it. Looking upon religion as medicine, which is extremely nauseous, if they must drink it, they will put it off to the last, they will gulp it down with a lord have mercy on me, and their its business is fairly in their mouth. They expect to begin to enjoy its sweetness in heaven. What a mistake. Religion has its present enjoyments. I do solemnly affirm today in the face of this congregation and before Almighty God. If I was certain that I were to die like a dog. And when I was buried, there would be an end of me. Had I my choice of the happiest life a man could lead, I would say, let me be a Christian. For if, as some say, it be a delusion, it is one of the most magnificent delusions that ever we devised. If any man could prove the religion of Christ to be a delusion, the next thing he should do would be to hang himself, because there is nothing worth living for. He might well sit down and weep to think that he had made a ruin of so goodly a structure and dissolved such a pleasant dream. Ah, beloved, there are present enjoyments in religion. Speak ye that know them, for ye can tell. Yet ye cannot recount them all. Oh, would ye give up your religion for all the joys that earth calls good or great? Say, if your immortal life could be extinguished, would you give it up, even for all the kingdoms of this world? Oh ye sons of poverty! Has not this been a candle to you in the darkness? Has not this lightened you through the dark shades of your tribulation? Oh ye horny-handed sons of toil! Has not this been your rest, your sweet repose? Have not the testimonies of God been your song in the house of your pilgrimage? Oh ye daughters of sorrow! Ye who spend the most of your time upon your beds, and your couch is to you a rack of pain? Has not religion been to you a sweet quietess? When your bones were sore vexed, could ye not even then praise him on your beds? Speak from your couches today ye consumptives, blanched though your cheeks. Speak this day from your beds of agony. Ye that are troubled with innumerable diseases and are drawing near your last home. Is not religion worth having in the sick chamber, on the bed of pain and anguish? Ah! they heartily say. We can praise him from our beds. We can sing his high praises in the fires. And ye men of business, speak for yourselves. You have hard struggles to pass through life. Sometimes you have been driven to a great extremity, and whether you would succeed or not seemed to hang upon a thread. Has not your religion been a joy to you in your difficulties? Has it not calmed your minds? When you have been fretted and troubled about worldly things, have you not found it a pleasant thing to enter your closet, and shut to the door, and tell your father in secret all your cares? Oh ye that are rich, cannot you bear the same testimony, if you loved the master? What had all your riches been without a saviour? Can you not say that your religion did gild your gold, and make your silver shine more brightly? For all things that you have are sweetened by this thought. That you have all these, and Christ too? Was there ever a child of God who could deny this? We have heard of many infidels who grieved over their infidelity, when they came to die. Did you ever hear of a Christian, acting the counterpart? Did you ever hear of any one on his deathbed, looking back on a life of holiness with sorrow? We have seen the rake, with a wasted constitution, shrivel into a corpse through his iniquities, and we have heard him bemoan the day in which he went astray. We have seen the poor, debauched child of sin rotting with disease, and listened to her shriek, and heard her miserably curse herself, that she ever turned aside, to what was called the path of gaiety, but what was really the path to hell. We have seen the miser too, who has gripped his bags of gold, and on his dying bed, we have found him curse himself, that when he came to die, his gold, though laid upon his heart, could not still its achings and give him joy. Never, never did we know a Christian who repented of his Christianity. We have seen Christians so sick, that we wondered that they lived, so poor that we wondered that they're misery. We've seen them so full of doubts, that we pitted their unbelief. But we never heard them say, even then, I regret that I gave myself to Christ. No. With the dying clasp, when heart and flesh were failing, we've seen them hug this treasure to their breast, and press it to their heart, still feeling that this was their life, their joy, their all. Oh, if ye would be happy, if ye would be saved, if ye would strew your path with sunshine, dig out the nettles and blunt the thorns. Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness, and all these things shall be added unto you. Seek not happiness first, seek Christ first, and happiness shall come after. Seek ye first the Lord, then he will provide for you everything that is unprofitable for you in this life, and he will crown it with everything that is glorious in the life to come. Beloved, now we are the sons of God. Before closing this discourse, I fear that there are a great many of you who will say, Well, I care nothing about religion. It's of no avail to me. No, my friends. And it is very probable that you will not care about it, until you shall be too late to care. May happy you will go on pushing off these thoughts, until the day shall come when they will come so thick upon you, that you will not be able to procrastinate any longer. Then will you in right earnest set about seeking Christ, but at that hour he will say to you, inasmuch as Moab has wearied himself upon the high places, and he bet taketh himself to my sanctuary. I will not hear him, saith the Lord. Strive to enter in at the straight gate now. For many shall seek to enter in, but shall not be able. Let us fear, lest, having the gospel preached in our ears, we should neglect and put it off until the last hour has struck, and we find ourselves without hope, when there is no time to seek a saviour. I know where this morning's sermon will be found profitable. It will be in the case of those who are seeking Christ. Old flock are too used to preach till within the last few months in the streets of Edinburgh, a much despised but a very godly man used to say, When I begin my sermon, I begin by preaching the law. Then I bring the gospel afterwards. For, he said, it's like a woman who's sewing. She cannot sew with thread alone. She first sticks a sharp needle through, and then draws the thread afterwards. So, he says, does the Lord with us. He sends the sharp needle of conviction, the needle of the law into our hearts, and pricks us in the heart, and he draws through the long, silken thread of consolation afterwards. Oh, I would that some of you were pricked in the heart today. Remember, there are thunders in this book. Though they are sleeping now, they will wake by and by. There are, in this Bible, curses too horrible for the heart to know their full extent of meaning. They're slumbering now, but they shall waken, and when they leap from between the folded leaves, and the seven seals are broken, where will you flee? Where shall you hide yourselves in that last great day of anger? If then, ye are pricked to the heart, I preach to you the gospel now. Today, if you will hear his voice, harden not your heart, says in the provocation. This day, look to him that hung upon the cross. This day, believe and live. And now, to illustrate the manner in which rebellious sinners are reconciled to God, I will relate to you an interesting anecdote from the life of a soldier. It may picture to your minds the majesty of God in strewing grace, and the humbling experience of the sinner in receiving it, and help us to answer that solemn question. What must I do to be saved? My author says that himself and his comrades of a certain regiment serving in India had been without pay for about six months, and there was strong suspicion throughout the ranks that their commanding officer had embezzled the money. He was a great gambler, and they thought it most likely that he had gambled away their pay. They were determined to seek redress, so all the private soldiers, with the exception of non-commissioned officers, agreed that on a particular morning when on parade, they would not obey the word of command. The day arrived, and they carried their design into execution. The regiment was assembled, the men in companies, headed by their respective officers, proceeded to the parade ground, and formed into open column. The commanding officer took his station in front, and gave the word of command. Not one, however, of the privates obeyed. This being the conduct of the regiment, the commanding officer, with great self-possession, ordered every tenth man to be confined in the guardhouse. It was done without a show of resistance. After which all the privates fixed bannets, shouldered arms, and marched off the band playing and the drums beating alternately, all the way to the residence of the general about a mile distant. There they halted, and formed in line, fronting the house, in a most orderly manner. One man from each of the ten companies then stepped forward, and they proceeded to lodge a written complaint against the colonel. Having thus fulfilled their purpose, they marched back and dismissed. But the next thing was to release the prisoners, and this they did without any violence being offered by the guard. Whatever extenuations we may conceive for such conduct, according to military law, it was a heinous crime. The soldier's duty is to obey. He must not think for himself, and he must be a tool in the hands of his superior officers to do as he is told and not to complain. Shortly after this, to the surprise of these soldiers, the general was seen approaching with a large army of seapoys, infantry, and cavalry, with field-pieces in front. The regiment went out and respectfully saluted him, forming in line. But this was not what the general came for. They saw the storm brewing and prepared to fight. After the two lines had been formed facing each other, the general moved out on horseback and said, 20 second, take the command from me. They obeyed. Then he said, order arms. Next, handle arms. At last, which was most disgraceful to them, ground arms. Having thus disarmed, he ordered his black cavalry to charge upon them, and drive them from their arms. One more order he gave to those disaffected men, that they should strip off their accoutrements and lay them on the ground, and be off to their cantonments. When he had thus disarmed and dishonored the men, he forgave them. And now, will not this incident fitly represent the manner of God with sinners, when, according to the Gospel of our Lord Jesus Christ, he brings terms of peace and reconciliation to us who are in revolt against him. He says, ground arms. Give up your sins. Take off your self-righteousness. He disarms us, dishonours us, and strips away all our comely array, and then says, now I will forgive you. If there be anyone here who has thrown down his weapons of rebellion, and whose fine ornaments of beauty are stained with shame, let him believe that God will now forgive him. He forgives those who cannot forgive themselves. The great captain of our salvation will pardon those whom he has humbled. He will have you submit to his will, and though that will may at first seem imperious to drive you from your quarters, and visit you with punishment, you shall presently find that his sovereign will is gracious, and he delighteth in mercy. Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved, for thus seth the word. He that believeth and his baptised shall be saved, but he that believeth not shall be damned. End of Sermons from May 1858 by Charles Spurgeon More sermons by Charles Spurgeon may be found at www.spurgeon.org