A Sermon
(No. 12)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, March 4, 1855, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
At Exeter Hall, Strand.
"For so he giveth his beloved sleep."–Psalm 127:2.
The sleep of the body is the gift of God. So said Homer of old, when he
described it as descending from the clouds and resting on the tents of
the warriors around old Troy. And so sang Virgil, when he spoke of
Palinurus falling asleep upon the prow of his ship. Sleep is the gift
of God. We think that we lay our heads upon our pillows, and compose
our bodies in a peaceful posture, and that, therefore we naturally and
necessarily sleep. But it is not so. Sleep is the gift of God; and not
a man would close his eyes, did not God put his fingers on his eyelids;
did not the Almighty send a soft and balmy influence over his frame
which lulled his thoughts into quiescence, making him enter into that
blissful state of rest which we call sleep. True, there be some drugs
and narcotics whereby men can poison themselves well nigh to death, and
then call it sleep; but the sleep of the healthy body is the gift of
God. He bestows it; he rocks the cradle for us every night; he draws
the curtain of darkness; he bids the sun shut up his burning eyes; and
then he comes and says, "Sleep, sleep, my child; I give thee sleep."
Have you not known what it is at times to lie upon your bed and strive
to slumber? and as it is said of Darius, so might it be said of you:
"The king sent for his musicians, but his sleep went from him." You
have attempted it, but you could not do it; it is beyond your power to
procure a healthy repose. You imagine if you fix your mind upon a
certain subject until it shall engross your attention, you will then
sleep; but you find yourself unable to do so. Ten thousand things drive
through your brain as if the whole earth were agitated before you. You
see all things you ever beheld dancing in a wild phantasmagoria before
your eyes. You close your eyes, but still you see; and there be things
in your ear, and head, and brain, which will not let you sleep. It is
God alone, who alike seals up the sea boy's eyes upon the giddy mast,
and gives the monarch rest: for with all appliances and means to boot,
he could not rest without the aid of God. It is God who steeps the mind
in lethe, and bids us slumber, that our bodies may be refreshed, so
that for tomorrow's toil we may rise recruited and strengthened. O my
friends, how thankful should we be for sleep. Sleep is the best
physician that I know of. Sleep hath healed more pains of wearied bones
than the most eminent physicians upon earth. It is the best medicine;
the choicest thing of all the names which are written in all the lists
of pharmacy. There is nothing like to sleep! What a mercy it is that it
belongs alike to all! God does not make sleep the boon of the rich man,
he does not give it merely to the noble, or the rich, so that they can
keep it as a peculiar luxury for themselves; but he bestows it upon
all. Yea, if there be a difference, the sleep of the labouring man is
sweet, whether he eat little or much. He who toils, sleeps all the
sounder for his toil. While luxurious effeminacy cannot rest, tossing
itself from side to side upon a bed of eider down, the hard-working
labourer, with his strong and powerful limbs, worn out and tired,
throws himself upon his hard couch and sleeps: and waking, thanks God
that he has been refreshed. Ye know not, my friends, how much ye owe to
God, that he gives you rest at night. If ye had sleepless nights, ye
would then value the blessing. If for weeks ye lay tossing on your
weary bed, ye then would thank God for this favour. But as it is the
gift of God, it is a gift most precious, one that cannot be valued
until it is taken away; yea, even then we cannot appreciate it as we
ought.
The Psalmist says there are some men who deny themselves sleep. For
purposes of gain, or ambition, they rise up early and sit up late. Some
of us who are here present may have been guilty of the same thing. We
have risen early in the morning that we might turn over the ponderous
volume, in order to acquire knowledge; we have sat at night until our
burned-out lamp has chidden us, and told us that the sun was rising;
while our eyes have ached, our brain has throbbed, our heart has
palpitated. We have been weary and worn out; we have risen up early,
and sat up late, and have in that way come to eat the bread of sorrow.
Many of you business men are toiling in that style. We do not condemn
you for it; we do not forbid rising up early and sitting up late; but
we remind you of this text:–"It is vain for you to rise up early, to
sit up late, to eat the bread of sorrows: for so he giveth his beloved
sleep." And it is of this sleep, that God gives to his beloved, that we
mean to speak this morning, as God shall help us–a sleep peculiar to
the children of God–a sleep which he gives to "his beloved."
Sleep is sometimes used in a bad sense in the Word of God, to express
the condition of carnal and worldly men. Some men have the sleep of
carnal ease and sloth: of whom Solomon tells us, they are unwise sons
that slumber in the harvest, causing shame; so that when the harvest is
spent, and the summer is ended, they are not saved. Sleep often
expresses a state of sloth, of deadness, of indifference, in which all
ungodly men are found, according to the words, "It is time for us to
awake out of sleep.–"Let us not sleep as do others, but let us who are
of the day be sober." There be many who are sleeping the sluggard's
sleep, who are resting upon the bed of sloth; but an awful waking shall
it be to them, when they shall find that the time of their probation
has been wasted; that the golden sands of their life have dropped
unheeded from the hourglass; and that they have come into that world
where there are no acts of pardon passed, no hope, no refuge, no
salvation.
In other places you find sleep used as the figure of carnal security,
in which so many are found. Look at Saul, lying asleep in fleshly
security–not like David, when he said, "I will lay me down and sleep,
for thou Lord makest me to dwell in safety." Abner lay there, and all
the troops lay around him, but Abner slept. Sleep on, Saul, sleep on.
But there is an Abishai standing at thy pillow, and with a spear in his
hand he says, "Let me smite him even to the earth at once." Still he
sleeps; he knows it not. Such are many of you, sleeping in jeopardy of
your soul; Satan is standing, the law is ready, vengeance is eager, and
all saying, "Shall I smite him? I will smite him this once, and he
shall never wake again." Christ says, "Stay, vengeance, stay." Lo, the
spear is even now quivering–"Stay, spare it yet another year, in the
hope that he may yet wake from the long sleep of his sin." Like Sisera,
I tell thee, sinner, thou art sleeping in the tent of the destroyer;
thou mayest have eaten butter and honey out of lordly dish; but thou
art sleeping on the doorstep of hell; even now the enemy is lifting up
the hammer and the nail, to smite thee through thy temples, and fasten
thee to the earth, that there thou mayest lie for ever in the death of
everlasting torment–if it may be called a death.
Then there is also mentioned in the Scripture, a sleep of lust, like
that which Samson had when he lost his locks, and such sleep as many
have when they indulge in sin, and wake to find themselves stripped,
lost, and ruined. There is also the sleep of negligence, such as the
virgins had, when it is said, "they all slumbered and slept;" and the
sleep of sorrow, which overcame Peter, James, and John. But none of
these are the gifts of God. They are incident to the frailty of our
nature; they come upon us because we are fallen men; they creep over us
because we are the sons of a lost and ruined parent. These sleeps are
not the benisons of God; nor does he bestow them on his beloved. We now
come to tell you what those sleeps are, which he does bestow.
I. First, there is a miraculous sleep which God has sometimes given to
his beloved–which he does not now vouchsafe. Into that kind of
miraculous sleep, or rather trance, fell Adam, when he slept
sorrowfully and alone; but when he awoke he was no more so, for God had
given him that best gift which he had then bestowed on man. The same
sleep Abram had, when it is said that a deep sleep came on him, and he
laid him down, and saw a smoking furnace and a burning lamp, while a
voice said to him, "Fear not, Abram; I am thy shield, and thy exceeding
great reward." Such a hallowed sleep also was that of Jacob, when, with
a stone for his pillow, the hedges for his curtains, he laid him down
and slumbered. Dreaming, he saw a ladder set upon the earth, the top of
which reached to heaven, the angels of God ascending and descending
upon it. Such a sleep had Joseph, when he dreamed that the other
sheaves made obeisance to his sheaf, and that the sun, moon, and seven
stars were subject unto him. So ofttimes did David rest, when his sleep
was sweet unto him, as we have just read. And such a sleep was that of
Daniel, when he said, "I was asleep upon my face, and behold the Lord
said unto me, Arise, and stand upon thy feet." And such, moreover, was
the sleep of the reputed father of our blessed Lord, when in a vision
of the night, an angel said to him, "Arise, Joseph, and take the young
child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, for Herod will seek the
young child to destroy him." These are miraculous slumbers. God's angel
hath touched his servants with the magic wand of sleep, and they have
slept, not simply as we do, but slept a wondrous sleep; they have dived
into the tenfold depths of slumber; they have plunged into a sea of
sleep, where they have seen the invisible, talked with the unknown, and
heard mystic and wondrous sounds: and when they awoke, they have said,
"What a sleep! Surely, my sleep was sweet unto me." "So he giveth his
beloved sleep."
But, now-a-days, we do not have such sleeps as these. Many persons
dream very wonderful things, but most people dream nonsense. Some
persons put faith in dreams: and, certainly God doth warn us in dreams
and visions even now. I am sure he does. There is not a man but can
mention one or more instances of a warning, or a benefit, he has
received in a dream. But we never trust dreams. We remember what
Rowland Hill said to a lady, who knew she was a child of God, because
she dreamed such- and-such a thing: "Never mind, ma'am, what you did
when you were asleep; let us see what you will do when you are awake."
That is my opinion of dreams. I never will believe a man to be a
Christian merely because he has dreamed himself one; for a dreamy
religion will make a man a dreamer all his life–and such dreamers will
have an awful waking at last, if that is all they have to trust in.
II. He gives his beloved, in the second place, the sleep of a quiet
conscience. I think most of you saw that splendid picture, in the
Exhibition of the Royal Academy–the Sleep of Argyle–where he lay
slumbering on the very morning before his execution. You saw some
noblemen standing there, looking at him, almost with compunction; the
jailer is there, with his keys rattling; but positively the man sleeps,
though tomorrow morning his head shall be severed from his body, and a
man shall hold it up, and say, "This was the head of a traitor." He
slept because he had a quiet conscience: for he had done no wrong. Then
look at Peter. Did you ever notice that remarkable passage, where it is
said that Herod intended to bring out Peter on the morrow; but, behold,
as Peter was sleeping between two guards, the angel smote him? Sleeping
between two guards, when on the morrow he was to be crucified or slain!
He cared not, for his heart was clear; he had committed no ill. He
could say, "If it be right to serve God or man, judge ye;" and,
therefore, he laid him down and slept. O sirs! do ye know what the
sleep of a quiet conscience is? Have you ever stood out and been the
butt of calumny–pelted by all men; the object of scorn–the laugh, the
song of drunkards? And have ye known what it is, after all, to sleep,
as if you cared for nothing, because your heart was pure? Ah! ye who
are in debt–ah! ye who are dishonest–ah! ye who love not God, and
love not Christ–I wonder ye can sleep, for sin doth put pricking
thorns in the pillow. Sin puts a dagger in a man's bed, so that
whichever way he turns it pricks him. But a quiet conscience is the
sweetest music that can lull the soul to sleep. The demon of
restlessness does not come to that man's bed who has a quiet
conscience–a conscience right with God–who can sing–
With the world, myself, and thee,
I, ere I sleep, at peace shall be.
"So he giveth his beloved sleep."
But let me tell you who have no knowledge of your election in Christ
Jesus, no trust in the ransom of a Saviour's blood–you, who have never
been called by the Holy Ghost–you, who were never regenerated and born
again–let me tell you that you do not know this slumber. You may say
your conscience is quiet; you may say, you do no man any wrong, and
that you believe at the bar of God you shall have little to account
for. But, sirs, you know that the soul that sinneth, if it sins but
once, must die. If the picture has a single flaw, it is not a perfect
one. If ye have sinned but once, ye shall be damned for it, unless ye
have something to take away that one sin. Ye do not know this sleep,
but the Christian does, for all his sins were numbered on the
"scape-goat's head of old." Christ has died for all his sins however
great or enormous; and there is not now a sin written against him in
the Book of God. "I, even I," says God, "am he that blotteth out thy
transgressions for my name's sake, and I will not remember thy sins."
Now thou mayest sleep; for "so he giveth his beloved sleep."
III. Again: there is the sleep of contentment which the Christian
enjoys. How few people in this world are satisfied. No man ever need
fear offering a reward of a thousand pounds to a contented man; for if
any one came to claim the reward, he would of course prove his
discontent. We are all in a measure, I suspect, dissatisfied with our
lot; the great majority of mankind are always on the wing; they never
settle; they never light on any tree to build their nest; but they are
always fluttering from one to the other. This tree is not green enough,
that is not high enough, this is not beautiful enough, that is not
picturesque enough; so they are ever on the wing, and never build a
peaceful nest at all. The Christian builds his nest; and as the noble
Luther said, "Like yon little bird upon the tree, he hath fed himself
tonight–he knoweth not where his breakfast is tomorrow. He sitteth
there while the winds rock the tree; he shuts his eyes, puts his head
under his wing, and sleeps; and, when he awakes in the morning sings,
Mortals cease from toil and sorrow;
God provideth for the morrow."
How few there are who have that blessed contentment–who can say, "I
want nothing else; I want but little here below–yea, I long for
nothing more–I am satisfied–I am content." You sung a beautiful hymn
just now; but I suspect that many of you had no right to it, because
you did not feel it.
With thy will I leave the rest,
Grant me but this one request;
Both in life and death to prove
Tokens of thy special love.
Could you say there was nothing you wanted on earth, save Jesus? Did
you mean that you are perfectly content–that you had the sleep of
contentment? Ah! no. You, who were apprentices, are sighing till you
shall be journeymen; you who are journeymen, are groaning to be
masters; masters are longing till they shall retire from business, and
when they have retired, they are longing that all their children shall
be settled in life. Man always looks for a yet-beyond; he is a mariner
who never gets to port; an arrow which never reaches the target. Ah!
the Christian hath this text and communed with it:–"So he giveth his
beloved sleep." In my reverie, as I was on the border of the land of
dreams, methought I was in a castle. Around its massive walls there ran
a deep moat. Watchmen paced the walls both day and night. It was a fine
old fortress, bidding defiance to the foe; but I was not happy in it. I
thought I lay upon a couch; but scarcely had I closed my eyes, ere a
trumpet blew, "To arms! To arms!" and when the danger was overpast I
lay me down again. "To arms! To arms! once more resounded, and again I
started up. Never could I rest. I thought I had my armour on, and moved
about perpetually clad in mail, rushing each hour to the castle top,
aroused by some fresh alarm. At one time a foe was coming from the
west; at another from the east. I thought I had a treasure somewhere
down in some dep part of the castle, and all my care was to guard it. I
dreaded, I feared, I trembled lest it should be taken from me. I awoke,
and I thought I would not live in such a tower as that for all its
grandeur. It was the castle of discontent, the castle of ambition, in
which man never rests. It is ever "To arms! To arms! To arms!" There is
a foe here or a foe there. His dear-loved treasure must be guarded.
Sleep never crosses the drawbridge of the castle of discontent. Then I
thought I would supplant it by another reverie. I was in a cottage. It
was in what poets call a beautiful and pleasant place, but I cared not
for that. I had no treasure in the world, save one sparkling jewel on
my breast; and I thought I put my hand on that and went to sleep, nor
did I wake till morning light. That treasure was a quiet conscience and
the love of God–"the peace that passeth all understanding." I slept,
because I slept in the house of content, satisfied with what I had. Go
ye, overreaching misers! Go ye, grasping ambitious men! I envy not your
life of inquietude. The sleep of statesmen is often broken; the dream
of the miser is always evil; the sleep of the man who loves gain is
never hearty; but God "giveth," by contentment, "his beloved sleep."
IV. Once more: God giveth his beloved the sleep of quietness of soul as
to the future. O that dark future! that future! The present may be
well; but ah! the next wind may wither all the flowers, and where shall
I be? Clutch thy gold, miser; for "riches make to themselves wings and
fly away." Hug that babe to thy breast, mother; for the rough hand of
death may rob thee of it. Look at thy fame and wonder at it, O thou man
of ambition! But one slight report shall wound thee to the heart, and
thou shalt sink as low as e'er thou hast been lifted high by the voices
of the multitude. The future! All persons have need to dread the
future, except the Christian. God giveth to his beloved sleep with
regard to the events of coming time.
What may be the future lot,
High or low concerns me not;
This doth set my heart at rest,
What my God appoints is best.
Whether I am to live or die is no matter to me; whether I am to be the
"offscouring of all things," or "the man whom the king delighteth to
honour," matters not to me. All is alike, provided my Father doth but
give it. "So he giveth his beloved sleep." How many of you have arrived
at that happy point that you have no wish of your own at all? It is a
sweet thing to have but one wish; but it is a better thing to have no
wish at all–to be all lost in the present enjoyment of Christ and the
future anticipation of the vision of his face. O my soul! what would
the future be to thee, if thou hadst not Christ? If it be a bitter and
a dark future, what matters it, so long as Christ thy Lord sanctifies
it, and the Holy Ghost still gives thee courage, energy, and strength?
It is a blessed thing to be able to say with Madame Guyon–
To me tis equal, whether love ordained,
My life or death, appoint me pain or ease;
My soul perceives no real ill in pain,
In ease or health, no real good she sees.
One good she covets, and that good alone,
To choose thy will, from selfish bias free,
And to prefer a cottage to a throne,
And grief to comfort, if it pleases thee.
That we should bear the cross is thy command–
Die to the world, and live to sin no more;
Suffer unmoved beneath the rudest hand,
As pleased when shipwrecked, as when safe on shore.
It is a happy condition to attain. "So he giveth his beloved sleep."
Ah! if you have a self-will in your hearts, pray to God to uproot it.
Have you self-love? Beseech the Holy Spirit to turn it out; for if you
will always will to do as God wills, you must be happy. I have heard of
some good old woman in a cottage, who had nothing but a piece of bread
and a little wafer, and lifting up her hands, she said, as a blessing,
"What! all this, and Christ too?" It is "all this," compared with what
we deserve. And I have read of some one dying, who was asked if he
wished to live or die; and he said, "I have no wish at all about it."
"But if you might wish, which would you choose?" "I would not choose at
all." "But if God bade you choose?" "I would beg God to choose for me,
for I should not know which to take." Happy state! happy state! to be
perfectly acquiescent–
To lie passive in his hand,
And to know no will but his.
"So he giveth his beloved sleep."
V. In the fifth place: there is the sleep of security. Solomon slept
with his armed men round his bed, and thus slumbered securely; but
Solomon's father slept one night on the bare ground–not in a
palace–with no moat round his castle wall,–but he slept quite as
safely as his son, for he said, "I laid me down and slept, and I
awaked, for the Lord sustained me." Now, some persons never feel secure
in this world at all; I query whether one half of my hearers feel
themselves so. Suppose I burst out in a moment, and sing this–
I to the end shall endure,
As sure as the earnest is given;
More happy, but not more secure,
Are the glorified spirits in heaven.
You would say, that is too high doctrine; and I would reply, very
likely it is for you, but it is the truth of God, and it is sweet
doctrine for me. I love to know, that if I am predestinated according
to the foreknowledge of God the Father, I must be saved; if I was
purchased by the Son's blood, I cannot be lost, for it would be
impossible for Jesus Christ to lose one whom he has redeemed, otherwise
he would be dissatisfied with his labours. I know that where he has
begun the good work he will carry it on. I never fear that I shall fall
away, or be lost; my only fear is, lest I should not have been right at
first; but, provided I am right, if I be really a child of God, I might
believe that the sun would be smitten with madness, and go reeling
through the universe like a drunken man–I might believe that the stars
would urn form their courses, and instead of marching with their
measured tramp, as now they do, whirl on in wild courses like the dance
of Bacchanals–I could even conceive that this great universe might all
subside in God, "even as a moment's foam subsides again upon the wave
that bears it;" but neither reason, heresy, logic, eloquence, nor a
conclave of divines, shall make me pay a moment' attention to the vile
suggestion that a child of God may ever perish. Hence I tread this
earth with confidence. Arguing a little while ago with an Arminian, he
said, "Sir, you ought to be a happy man; for if what you say be true,
why you are as secure of being in heaven as if you were there." I said,
"Yes, I know it." "Then you ought to live above cares and tribulations,
and sing happily from morning to night." I said, "So I ought, and so I
will, God helping me." This is security. "He giveth his beloved sleep."
To know that if I died I should enter heaven–to be as sure as I am of
my own existence that God, having loved me with an everlasting love,
and he being immutable, will never hate me if he has once loved me–to
know that I must enter the kingdom of glory–is not this enough to make
all burdens light, and give me the hind's feet wherewith I may stand
upon my high places. Happy state of security! "So he giveth his beloved
sleep."
And there is a sleep, my dear friends, of security, which is enjoyed on
earth even in the midst of the greatest troubles. Do you remember that
passage in the book of Ezekiel, where it is said, "They shall dwell
securely in the wilderness and sleep in the woods?" A queer place to
sleep in! "In the woods." There is a wolf over yonder; there is a tiger
in the jungle; and eagle is soaring in the air; a horde of robbers
dwell in the dark forest. "Never mind," says the child of God:
He that hath made his refuge God,
Shall find a most secure abode;
Shall walk all day beneath his shade,
And there at night shall rest his head.
I have often admired Martin Luther, and wondered at his composure. When
all men spoke so ill of him, what did he say? Turn to that Psalm–"God
is our refuge and strength, a very present help in time of trouble;
therefore we will not fear, though the earth be removed, and though the
mountains be carried into the midst of the sea." In a far inferior
manner, I have been called to stand up in the position of Martin
Luther, and have been made the butt of slander, a mark for laughter and
scorn; but it has not broken my spirit yet; not will it, while I am
enabled to enjoy that quiescent state of–"So he giveth his beloved
sleep." But thus far I beg to inform all those who choose to slander or
speak ill of me, that they are very welcome to do so till they are
tired of it. my motto is cedo nulli–I yield to none. I have not
courted any man's love; I asked no man to attend my ministry; I preach
what I like, and when I like, and as I like. Oh! happy state–to be
bold, though downcast, and distressed–to go and bend my knee and tell
my Father all, and then to come down from my chamber, and say–
If on my face, for thy dear name,
Shame and reproach shall be;
I'll hail reproach, and welcome shame,
For thou'lt remember me.
VI. The last sleep God giveth his beloved is the sleep of a happy
dismission. I have stood by the graves of many servants of the Lord. I
have buried some of the excellent of the earth; and when I bid farewell
to my brother down below there slumbering in his coffin, I usually
commence my speech with those words, "So he giveth his beloved sleep."
Dear servants of Jesus! There I see them! What can I say of them, but
that "so he giveth his beloved sleep?" Oh! happy sleep! This world is a
state of tossing to and fro; but in that grave they rest. No sorrows
there; no sighs, no groans, to mingle with the songs that warble from
immortal tongues. Well may I address the dead thus:–"My brother,
oftentimes hast thou fought the battles of this world; thou hast had
thy cares, thy trials, and thy troubles; but now thou art gone–not to
worlds unknown, but to yonder land of light and glory. Sleep on,
brother! Thy soul sleepeth not, for thou art in heaven; but thy body
sleepeth. Death hath laid thee in thy last couch; it may be cold, but
it is sanctified; it may be damp, but it is safe; and on the
resurrection morning, when the archangel shall set his trumpet to his
mouth, thou shalt rise. Blessed are they dead that die in the Lord:
yea, saith the Spirit, for they rest from their labours, and their
works do follow them.' Sleep on in thy grave, my brother, for thou
shalt rise to glory." "So he giveth his beloved sleep."
Some of you fear to die, and have good reason to do so, for death for
you would be the beginning of sorrows; and on its approach ye might
hear the voice of the angel of the Apocalypse: "One woe is past, but
behold two woes more are to come." If, sirs, ye were to die unprepared,
and unconverted, and unsaved, "There remaineth nothing but a fearful
looking for of judgment and fiery indignation." I need not speak like a
Boanerges, for it is to you a well known truth, that without God,
without Christ, "strangers from the commonwealth of Israel," your
portion must be amongst the damned–the fiends–the tortured–the
shrieking ghosts–the wandering souls who find no rest–
On waves of burning brimstone toss'd,
For ever, O for ever lost!
"The wrath to come!" "The wrath to come!" "The wrath to come!"
But beloved Christian brother, wherefore dost thou fear to die? Come
let me take thy hand:
To you and me by grace tis given,
To know the Saviour's precious name;
And shortly we shall meet in heaven,
Our end, our hope, our way the same.
Do you know that heaven is just across that narrow stream? Are you
afraid to plunge in and swim across? Do you fear to be drowned? I feel
the bottom–it is good. Dost thou think thou shalt sink? Hear the voice
of the Spirit: "Fear not, I am with thee; be not dismayed, I am thy
God: when thou passest through the river, I will be with thee, and the
floods shall not overflow thee." Death is the gate of endless joys, and
dost thou dread to enter there? What! fear to be emancipated from
corruption? Oh! say not so! but rather, gladly lay down and sleep in
Jesus, and be blessed.
I have finished expounding my subject. There is only one question I
want to ask of you before you pass out of those doors. Do you seriously
and solemnly believe that you belong to the "beloved" here mentioned? I
may be impertinent in asking such a question; I have been accused of
that before now, but I have never denied it. I rather take the credit
of it than not. But seriously and solemnly I ask you–Do you know
yourselves to be amongst the beloved? And if it happens that you want a
test, allow me to give you three tests, very briefly, and I have done.
It has been said that there are three kinds of preachers–doctrinal
preachers, experimental preachers, and practical preachers. Now I think
there are three things that make up a Christian–true doctrine, real
exzperience, and good practice.
Now, then, as to your doctrine. You may tell whether you are the Lord's
beloved partly by that. Some think it matters not what a man believes.
Excuse me: truth is alway precious, and the least atom of truth is
worth searching out. Now- a-days the sects do not clash so much as they
did. Perhaps that is good; but there is one evil about it. People do
not read the Bibles so much as they did. They think we are all right.
Now, I believe we may be all right in the main, but we cannot be all
right where we contradict one another; and it becomes every man to
search the Bible to see which is right. I am not afraid to submit my
Calvinism, or my doctrine of believer's baptism, to the searching of
the Bible. A learned lord, an infidel, once said to Whitfield, "Sir I
am an infidel, I do not believe the Bible, but if the Bible be true,
you are right, and your Arminian opponents are wrong. If the Bible be
the Word of God, the doctrines of grace are true;" adding that if any
man would grant him the Bible to be the truth, he would challenge him
to disprove Calvinism. The doctrines of original sin, election,
effectual calling, final perseverance, and all those great truths which
are called Calvinism–though Calvin was not the author of them, but
simply an able writer and preacher upon the subject–are, I believe,
the essential doctrines of the Gospel that is in Jesus Christ. Now, I
do not ask you whether you believe all this–it is possible you may
not; but I believe you will before you enter heaven. I am persuaded,
that as God may have washed your hearts, he will wash your brains
before you enter heaven. He will make you right in your doctrines. But
I must enquire whether you read your Bibles. I am not finding fault
with you this morning for differing from me, I may be wrong; but I want
to know whether you search the Scriptures to find what is truth. And,
if you are not a reader of the Bible, if you take doctrines
second-hand, if you go to chapel, and say, "I do not like that:' what
matters your not liking it, provided it is in the Bible? Is it Biblical
truth, or is it not? If it is God's truth, let us have it exalted. It
may not suit you; but let me remind you, that the truth that is in
Jesus never was palatable to carnal men, and I believe never will be.
The reason you love it not, is because it cuts too much at your pride;
it lets you down too low. Search yourselves, then, in doctrine.
Then take care that you remember the experimental test. I am afraid
there is very little experimental religion amongst us; but where there
is true doctrine, there ought always to be a vital experience. Sirs,
try yourselves by the experimental test. Have you ever had an
experience of your wretchedness, of your depravity, your inability,
your death in sin? Have you ever felt life in Christ, an experience of
the light of God's countenance, of wrestling with corruption? Have you
had a grace-given Holy Ghost-implanted experience of a communion with
Christ? If so, then you are right on the experimental test.
And, to conclude, take care of the practical test. "Faith without works
is dead, being alone." He that walketh in sin is a child of the devil;
and he that walketh in righteousness is a child of light. Do not think,
because you believe the right doctrines, therefore you are right. There
are many that believe right, act wrong, and they perish. "Be not
deceived; God is not mocked; whatsoever a man soweth that shall he also
reap."
I have done. Now let me beseech thee, you, by the frailty of your own
lives–by the shortness of time–by the dreadful realities of
eternity–by the sins you have committed–by the pardon that you
need–by the blood and wounds of Jesus–by his second coming to judge
the world in righteousness–by the glories of heaven–by the awful
horrors of hell–by time–by eternity–by all that is good–by all that
is sacred–let me beg of you, as you love your own souls, to search and
see whether ye are amongst the beloved, to whom he giveth sleep. God
bless you.