Conversion

A Sermon

(No. 45)

Delivered on Sabbath Morning, October 7, 1855, by the

REV. C.H. SPURGEON

At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.

"Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth; and one convert him;
Let him know that he which converteth sinner from the error of his way,
shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of
sins."–James 5:19-20.

THE TRUE BELIEVER is always pleased to hear of anything which concerns
the salvation of his own soul. He rejoices to hear of the covenant plan
drawn up for him from all eternity, of the great fulfillment on the
cross at Calvary, of all the stipulations of the Saviour, of the
application of them by the Holy Spirit, of the security which the
believer has in the person of Christ, and of those gifts and graces
which accompany salvation to all those who are heirs thereof: But I
feel certain that, deeply pleased as we are when we hear of things
touching our own salvation and deliverance from hell, we, as preachers
of God, and as new creatures in Christ, being made like unto him, have
true benevolence of spirit, and therefore are always delighted when we
hear, speak, or think, concerning the salvation of others. Next to our
own salvation, I am sure, as Christians, we shall always prize the
salvation of other people; we shall always desire that what has been so
sweet to our own taste, may also be tasted by others; and what has been
of so inestimably precious a value to our own souls, may also become
the property of all those whom God may please to shall unto everlasting
life. I am sure, beloved, now that I am about to preach concerning the
conversion of the ungodly, you will take as deep an interest in it as
if it were something that immediately concerned your own souls, for,
after all, such were some of you once. You were unconverted and
ungodly; and had not God taken thought for you, and set his people to
strive for your souls, where had you been? Seek, then, to exercise that
charity and benevolence towards others which God and God's people first
exercised towards you.

Our text has in it, first of all, a principle involved–that of
instrumentality.–"Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth, and
one convert him; let him know that he who converteth a sinner from the
error of his way, shall save a soul from death." Secondly, here is a
general fact stated:–"He who converteth a sinner from the error of his
way, shall save a soul from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins."
And thirdly, there is a particular application of this fact made.
"Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth and one convert
him,"–that is the same principle as when a sinner is converted "from
the error of his way."

I. First, then, here is a great principle involved–a very important
one–that of INSTRUMENTALITY. God has been pleased in his inscrutable
wisdom and intelligence to work the conversion of others by
instrumentality. True, he does not in all cases SO do, but it is his
general way. Instrumentality is the plan of the universe. In the new
creation it is almost always God's invariable rule to convert by means
of instruments. Now we will make one or two brief remarks upon this
first principle.

First, then, we say that instrumentality is not necessary with God. God
can, if he pleases, convert souls without any instruments whatsoever.
The mighty Maker who chooses to use the sword sometimes, can, if he
pleases, slay without it. He who uses the workman, the trowel, and the
hammer, can, if he so sees fit, build the house in a moment, and from
the foundation-stone even to the topstone thereof, can complete it by
the words of his own mouth. We never hear of any instrument used in the
conversion of Abraham. He lived in a far-off land in the midst of
idolaters, but he was called Ur of the Cheldees, and thence God called
him and brought him to Canaan by an immediate voice, doubtless from
above, by God's own agency, without the employment of any prophet; for
we read of none who could, as far as we can see, have preached to
Abraham and taught him the truth. Then in modern times we have a mighty
instance of the power of God, in converting without human might. Saul,
on his journey towards Damascus, upon his horse, fiery and full of fury
against the children of God, is hastening to hail men and women and
cast them into prison; to bring them bound unto Jerusalem; but on a
sudden, a voice is heard from heaven, "Saul! Saul! why persecutest thou
me?" and Saul was a new man. No minister was his spiritual parent, no
book could claim him as its convert; no human voice, but the immediate
utterance of Jesus Christ himself, at once, there and then, and upon
the spot, brought Saul to know the truth. Moreover, there are some men
who seem never to need conversion at all; for we have one instance in
Scripture of John the Baptist, of whom it is said, "He was filled with
the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb." And I do not know but
what there are some who very early in life have a change of heart. It
is quite certain that all infants, (who, doubtless, being each of them
elect, do ascend to heaven,) undergo a change of heart without
instrumentality; and so there may be some, concerning whom it maybe
written that though they were born in sin and shapen in iniquity, yet
they were so early taught to know the Lord, so soon brought to his
name, that it must have been almost without instrument at all. God can
if he pleases cast the instrument aside. The mighty Maker of the world
who used no angels to beat out the great mass of nature and fashion it
into a round globe, he who without hammer or anvil fashioned this
glorious world, can if he pleases, speak, and it is done; command, and
it shall stand fast. He needs not instruments, though he uses them.

Secondly, we make another remark, which is, that instrumentality is
very honorable to God, and not dishonorable. One would think, perhaps,
at first sight, that it would reflect more glory to God, if he effected
all conversions himself, without the use of men; but that is a great
mistake. It is as honorable to God to convert by means of Christians
and others, as it would be if he should effect it alone. Suppose a
workman has power and skill with his hands alone to fashion a certain
article, but you put into his hands the worst of tools you can find;
you know he can do it well with his hands, but these tools are so badly
made, that they will be the greatest impediment you could lay in his
way. Well now, I say, if a man with these bad instruments, or these
poor tools–things without edges–that are broken, that are weak and
frail, is able to make some beauteous fabric, he has more credit from
the use of those tools, than he would have had if he had done it simply
with his hands because the tools, so far from being an advantage, were
a disadvantage to him; so far from being a help, are of my supposition,
even a detriment to him in his work. So with regard to human
instrumentality. So far from being any assistance to God, we are all
hindrances to him. What is a minister? He is made by God a means of
salvation, but it is a wonderful thing that any one so faulty, so
imperfect so little skilled, should yet be blessed of God to bringing
forth children for the Lord Jesus. It seems as marvellous as if a man
should fashion rain from fire, or if he should fabricate some precious
alabaster vase out of the refuse of the dunghill. God in his mercy does
more than make Christians without means; he takes bad means to make
good men with, and so he even reflects credit on himself because his
instruments are all of them such poor things. They are all such earthen
vessels, that they do but set of the glory of the gold which they hold,
like the foil that setteth forth the jewel, or like the dark spot in
the painting that makes the light more brilliant; and yet the dark spot
and the foil are not in themselves costly or valuable. So God uses
instruments to set forth his own glory; and to exalt himself.

This brings us to the other remark, that usually God does employ
instruments. Perhaps in one case out of a thousand, men are converted
by the immediate agency of God–and so indeed are all in one
sense,–but usually, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, God is
pleased to use the instrumentality of his ministering servants, of his
Word, of Christian men, or some other means to bring us to the Saviour.
I have heard of some–I remember them now–who were called like Saul,
at once from heaven. We can remember the history of the brother who in
the darkness of the night was called to know the Saviour by what he
believed to be a vision from heaven or some effect on his imagination.
On one side he saw a black tablet of his guilt, and his soul was
delighted to see Christ cast a white tablet over it; and he thought he
heard a voice that said, "I am he that blotteth out thy transgressions
for mine own sake, and will not remember thy sins." There was a man
converted almost without instrumentality; but you do not meet with such
a case often. Most persons have been convinced by the pious
conversation of sisters, by the holy example of mothers, by the
minister, by the Sabbath-school, or by the reading of tracts or
perusing Scripture. Let us not therefore believe that God will often
work without instruments; let us not sit down silently and say, "God
will do his own work." It is quite true he will; but then he does his
work by using his children as instruments. He does not say to the
Christian man when he is converted, "Sit thee down; I have nought for
thee to do, but I will do all myself and have all the glory." No; he
says, "Thou art a poor weak instrument; thou canst do nothing; but lo!
I will strengthen thee, and I will make thee thrash the mountains and
beat them small, and make the hills as chaff: and so shall I get more
honor through thy having done it than I should had mine own strong arm
smitten the mountains and broken them in pieces."

Now another thought, and that is–If God sees fit to make use of any of
us for the conversion of others, we must not therefore be too sure that
we are converted ourselves. It is a most solemn thought, that God makes
use of ungodly men as instruments for the conversion of sinners. And it
is strange that some most terrible acts of wickedness have been the
means of the conversion of men. When Charles II ordered the Book of
Sports to be read in churches, and after the service the clergyman was
required to read to all the people to spend the afternoon in what are
called harmless diversions and games that I will not mention here–even
that was made the means of conversion; for one man said within himself,
"I have always disported myself thus on the Sabbath-day; but now to
hear this read in church! how wicked we must have become! how the whole
land must be corrupt." It led him to think of his own corruption, and
brought him to the Saviour. There have been words proceeding, I had
almost said from devils, which have been the means of conversion. Grace
is not spoiled by the rotten wooden spout it runs through. God did once
speak by an ass to Balaam, but that did not spoil his words. So he
speaks, not simply by an ass, which he often does, but by something
worse than that. He can fill the mouths of ravens with food for an
Elijah, and yet the raven is a raven still. We must not suppose because
God has made us useful that we are therefore converted ourselves.

But then another thing. If God in his mercy does not make us useful to
the conversion of sinners, we are not therefore to say we are sure we
are not the children of God. I believe there are some ministers who
have had the painful labor of toiling from year to year without seeing
a single soul regenerated. Yet those men have been faithful to their
charge, and have well discharged their ministry. I do not say that such
cases often occur, but I believe they have occurred sometimes. Yet,
mark you, the end of their ministry has been answered after all. For
what is the end of the gospel ministry? Some will say it is to convert
sinners. That is a collateral end. Others will say it is to convert the
saints. That is true. But the proper answer to give is–it is to
glorify God, and, God is glorified even in the damnation of sinners. If
I testify to them the truth of God and they reject his gospel; if I
faithfully preach his truth, and they scorn it, my ministry is not
therefore void. It has not returned to God void, for even in the
punishment of those rebels he will be glorified, even in their
destruction he will get himself honor; and if he cannot get praise from
their songs, he will at last get honor from their condemnation and
overthrow, when he shall cast them into the fire for ever. The true
motive for which we should always labor, is the glory of God in the
conversion of souls; and building up of God's people; but let us never
lose sight of the great end. Let God be glorified; and he will be, if
we preach his truth faithfully and honestly. So, therefore, while we
should seek for souls, if God denies them unto us, let us not say, "I
will not have other mercies that he has given; "but let us comfort
ourselves with the thought–that though they be not saved, though
Israel be not gathered in, God will glorify and honor us at last.

One thought more upon this subject–God by using us as instruments
confers upon us the highest honor which men can receive. O beloved! I
dare not dilate upon this. It should make our hearts burn at the
thought of it. It makes us feel thrice honored that God should use us
to convert souls; and it is only the grace of God which teaches us on
the other hand, that it is grace and grace alone which makes us useful;
which can keep us humble under the thought, that we are bringing souls
to the Saviour. It is a work which he who has once entered if God has
blessed him cannot renounce. He will be impatient; he will long to win
more souls to Jesus; he will account that; he will think that labor is
but ease, so that by any means he may save some, and bring men to
Jesus. Glory and honor, praise and power, be unto God, that he thus
honors his people. But when he exalts us most, we will still conclude
with, "Not unto us, not unto us, but unto thy name be all the glory for
ever and ever."

II. Secondly, we come to the GENERAL FACT. "He who converteth the
sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from death, and
shall hide a multitude of sins." The choicest happiness which mortal
breast can know is the happiness of benevolence,–of doing good to our
fellow-creatures. To save a body from death, is that which gives us
almost heaven on earth. Some men can boast that they have sent so many
souls to perdition; that they have hurled many of their fellows out of
the world. We meet, now and then a soldier who can glory that in battle
he struck down so many foemen; that his swift and cruel sword reached
the heart of so many of his enemies; but I count not that glory. If I
thought I had been the means of the death of a single individual,
methinks I should scarce rest at night, for the uneasy ghost of that
murdered wretch would stare me in mine eyes. I should remember I had
slain him, and perhaps sent his soul unshaven and unwashed into the
presence of his Maker. It seems to me wonderful that men can be found
to be soldiers. I say not if it be right or wrong; still I wonder where
they can find the men. I know not how after a battle they can wash
their hands of blood, wipe their swords and put them by, and then lie
down to slumber, and their dreams be undisturbed. Methinks the tears
would fall hot and scalding on my cheek at night, and the shrieks of
the dying, and the groans of those approaching eternity would torture
mine ear. I know not how others can endure it. To me it would be the
very portal of hell, if I could think I had been a destroyer of my
fellow-creatures. But what bliss is it to be the instrument of saving
bodies from death! Those monks on Mount St. Bernard, surely, must feel
happiness when they rescue men from death. The dog comes to the door,
and they know what it means; he has discovered some poor weary traveler
who has lain him down to sleep in the snow, and is dying from cold and
exhaustion. Up rise the monks from their cheerful fire, intent to act
the good Samaritan to the lost one. At last they see him, they speak to
him, but he answers not. They try to discover if there is breath in his
body, and they think he is dead. They take him up, give him remedies;
and hastening to their hostel, they lay him by the fire, and warm and
chafe him, looking into his face with kindly anxiety, as much as to
say, "Poor creature! art thou dead? "When, at last, they perceive some
heavings of the lungs, what joy is in the breast of those brethren, as
they say, "His life is not extinct." Methinks if there could be
happiness on earth, it would be the privilege to help to chafe one hand
of that poor, almost dying man, and be the means of bringing him to
life again. Or, suppose another case. A house is in flames, and in it
is a woman with her children, who cannot by any means escape. In vain
she attempts to come down stairs; the flames prevent her. She has lost
all presence of mind and knows not how to act. The strong man comes,
and says, "Make way! make way! I must save that woman! "And cooled by
the genial streams of benevolence, he marches through the fire. Though
scorched, and almost stifled, he gropes his way. He ascends one
staircase, then another, and though the stairs totter, he places the
woman beneath his arm, takes a child on his shoulder, and down he
comes, twice a giant, having more might than he ever possessed before.
He has jeopardized his life, and perhaps an arm may be disabled, or a
limb taken away, or a sense lost, or an injury irretrievably done to
his body, yet he claps his hands, and says, "I have saved lives from
death!" The crowd in the street hail him as a man who has been the
deliverer of his fellow-creatures, honoring him more than the monarch
who had stormed a city, sacked a town, and murdered myriad's.

But ah! brethren, the body which was saved from death to-day may die
tomorrow. Not so the soul that is saved from death: it is saved
everlastingly. It is saved beyond the fear of destruction. And if there
be joy in the breast of a benevolent man when he saves a body from
death, how much more blessed must he be when he is made the means in
the hand of God of saving "a soul from death, and hiding a multitude of
sins." Suppose that by some conversation of yours you are made the
means of delivering a soul from death. My friends, you are apt to
imagine that all conversion is under God done by the minister. You make
a great mistake. There are many conversions effected by a very simple
observation from the most humble individual. A single word spoken maybe
more the means of conversion than a whole sermon. There you sit before
me. I thrust at you, but you are too far off. Some brother, however,
addresses an observation to you–it is a very stab with a short
poignard in your heart. God often blesses a short pithy expression from
a friend more than a long discourse from a minister. There was once in
a village, where there had been a revival in religion, a man who was a
confirmed infidel. Notwithstanding all the efforts of the minister and
many Christian people, he had resisted all attempts, and appeared to be
more and more confirmed in his sin. At length the people held a prayer
meeting specially to intercede for his soul. Afterwards God put it into
the heart of one of the elders of the church to spend a night in prayer
in behalf of the poor infidel. In the morning the elder rose from his
knees, saddled his horse, and rode down to the man's smithy. He meant
to say a great deal to him, but he simply went up to him, took him by
the hand, and all he could say was, "O sir! I am deeply concerned for
your salvation. I am deeply concerned for your salvation. I have been
wrestling with God all this night for your salvation." He could say no
more, his heart was too full. He then mounted on his horse and rode
away again. Down went the blacksmith's hammer, and he went immediately
to see his wife. She said, "What is the matter with you?" "Matter
enough," said the man, "I have been attacked with a new argument this
time. There is elder B_______ has been here this morning; and he said,"
I am concerned about your salvation.' Why, now, if he is concerned
about my salvation, it is a strange thing that I am not concerned about
it." The man's heart was clean captured by that kind word from the
elder; he took his own horse and rode to the elder's house. When he
arrived there the elder was in his parlor, still in prayer, and they
knelt down together. God gave him a contrite spirit and a broken heart,
and brought that poor sinner to the feet of the Saviour. There was "a
soul saved from death, and a multitude of sins covered."

Again, you may be the means of conversion by a letter you may write.
Many of you have not the power to speak or say much; but when you sit
down alone in your chamber you are able, with God's help, to write a
letter to a dear friend of yours. Oh! I think that is a very sweet way
to endeavor to be useful. I think I never felt so much earnestness
after the souls of my fellow-creatures as when I first loved the
Saviour's name, and though I could not preach, and never thought I
should be able to testify to the multitude, I used to write texts on
little scraps of paper and drop them anywhere, that some poor creatures
might pick them up, and receive them as messages of mercy to their
souls. There is your brother. He is careless and hardened. Sister, sit
down and write a letter to him, when he receives it, he will perhaps
smile, but he will say, "Ah, well! it is Betsy's letter after all!" And
that will have some power. I knew a gentleman, whose dear sister used
often to write to him concerning his soul. "I used," said he, "to stand
with my back up against a lamp-post, with a cigar in my mouth, perhaps
at two o'clock in the morning, to read her letter. I always read them;
and I have," said he, "wept floods of tears after reading my sister's
letters. Though I still kept on the error of my ways, they always
checked me, they always seemed a hand pulling me away from sin; a voice
crying out," Come back! come back!'" And at last a letter from her, in
conjunction with a solemn providence, was the means of breaking his
heart, and he sought salvation through a Saviour.

Again. How many nave been converted by the example of true Christians.
Many of you feel that you cannot write or preach, and you think you can
do nothing. Well, there is one thing you can do for your Master–you
can live Christianity. I think there are more people who look at the
new life in Christ written out in you, than they will in the old life
that is written in the Scriptures. An infidel will use arguments to
disprove the Bible, if you set it before him; but, if you do to others
as you would that they should do to you, if you give of your bread to
the poor and disperse to the needy, living like Jesus, speaking words
of kindness and love, and living honestly and uprightly in the world,
he will say, "Well, I thought the Bible was all hypocrisy; but I cannot
think so now, because there is Mr. So-and-so, see how he lives. I could
believe my infidelity if it were not for him. The Bible certainly has
an effect upon his life, and therefore I must believe it."

And then how many souls may be converted by what some men are
privileged to write and print. There is "Dr. Doddridge's Rise and
Progress of Religion." Though I decidedly object to some things in it,
I could wish that everybody lad read that book, so many have been the
conversions it has produced. I think it more honor to have written
"Watts's Psalms and Hymns," than "Milton's Paradise Lost, "and more
glory to have written that book of old Wilcocks," A Drop of Honey; "or
the tract that God has used so much–"The Sinner's Friend"–than all
the books of Homer. I value books for the good they may do to men's
souls. Much as I respect the genius of Pope, or Dryden, or Burns, give
me the simple lines of Cowper, that God has owned in bringing souls to
him. Oh! to think that we may write and print books which shall reach
poor sinners' hearts. The other day my soul was gladdened exceedingly
by an invitation from a pious woman to go and see her. She told me she
had been ten years on her bed, and had not been able to stir from it.
"Nine years," she said, "I was dark, and blind, and unthinking; but my
husband brought me one of your sermons. I read it, and God blessed it
to the opening of my eyes. He converted my soul with it. And now, all
glory to him! I love his name! Each Sabbath morning," she said, "I wait
for your sermon. I live on it all the week, as marrow and fatness to my
spirit." Ah! thought I, there is something to cheer the printers, and
all of us who labor in that good work. One good brother wrote to me
this week, "Brother Spurgeon, keep your courage up. You are known in
multitudes of households of England, and you are loved too; though we
cannot hear you, or see your living form, yet throughout our villages
your sermons are scattered. And I know of cases of conversion from
them, more than I can tell you." Another friend mentioned to me an
instance of a clergyman of the Church of England, a canon of a
cathedral, who frequently preaches the sermons on the Sabbath–whether
in the cathedral or not, I cannot say, but I hope he does. Oh! who can
tell, when these things are printed what hearts they may reach, what
good they may effect? Words that I spoke three weeks ago, eyes are now
perusing, while tears are gushing from them as they read! "Glory be to
God most high!"

But, after all, preaching is the ordained means for the salvation of
sinners, and by this ten times as many are brought to the Saviour as by
any other. Ah! my friends, to have been the means of saving souls from
death by preaching–what an honor. There is a young man who has not
long commenced his ministerial career. When he enters the pulpit
everybody notices what a deep solemnity there is upon him, beyond his
years. His face is white, and blanched by an unearthly solemnity, his
body is shriveled up by his labor, constant study and midnight lamp
have worn him away; but when he speaks he utters wondrous words that
lift the soul up to heaven. And the aged saint says, "Well! ne'er did I
go so near to heaven as when I listened to his voice!" There comes in
some gay young man, who listens and criticizes his aspect. He thinks it
is by no means such as to be desired; but he listens. One thought
strikes him, then another. See you that man; He has been moral all his
life long–but he has never been renewed. Now tear begin to flow down
his cheeks. Just put your ear against his breast, and you will hear him
groan out, "God be merciful to me a sinner." Ah! good reward for a
withered frame, or a ruined constitution! Or, take another case. A man
is preaching the Word of God. He is standing up to deliver his Master's
message, and in steals some poor harlot. Such a case I knew not long
ago. A poor harlot determined she would go and take her life on
Blackfriars Bridge. Passing by these doors one Sunday night, she
thought she would step in, and for the last time hear something that
might prepare her to stand before her Maker. She forced herself into
the aisle, and she could not escape until I rose from the pulpit. The
text was, "Seest thou this woman?" I dwelt upon Mary Magdalene and her
sins; her washing the Saviour's feet with her tears, and wiping them
with the hair of her head. There stood the woman, melted away with the
thought that she should thus hear herself described, and her own life
painted. Oh! to think of saving a poor harlot from death, to deliver
such an one from going down to the grave, and then, as God pleased, to
save her soul from going down to hell! Is it not worth ten thousand
lives, if we could sacrifice them all on the altar of God? When I
thought of this text yesterday, I could only weep to think that God
should have so favored me. Oh! men and women, how can ye better spend
your time and wealth than in the cause of the Redeemer? What holier
enterprise can ye engage in than this sacred one of saving souls from
death, and hiding a multitude of sins? This is a wealth that ye can
take with you–the wealth that has been acquired under God, by having
saved souls from death, and covered a multitude of sins.

I know there are some now before the throne who first wept the
penitential tear in this house of prayer, and who thanked God that they
had listened to this voice; and methinks, they have a tender and
affectionate love still for him whom God honored thus. Minister of the
gospel, if you on earth are privileged to win souls I think when you
die those spirits will rejoice to be your guardian angels. They will
say, "Father, that man is dying whom we love, may we go and watch him?"
"Yea," saith God, "ye may go, and carry heaven with you." Down come the
spirits, ministering angels, and oh! how lovingly they look on us. They
would, if they could, strike out the furrow from the forehead, and take
the cold clammy sweat with their own blessed hands away. They must not
do it; but Oh! how tenderly they watch that suffering man who was made
the means of doing good to their souls, and when he opens his eyes to
immortality he shall see them like guards around his bed, and hear them
say, "Come with us, thrice welcome, honored servant of God; come with
us." And when he speeds his way upwards towards heaven on strong wings
of faith, these spirits who stand by him will clap their wings behind
him, and he will enter heaven with many crowns upon his head, each of
which he will delight to cast at the feet of Jesus. Oh, brethren, if ye
turn a sinner from the error of his ways, remember ye have saved a soul
from death, and hidden a multitude of sins.

III. The APPLICATION, I can only just mention. It is this; that he who
is the means of the conversion of a sinner does, under God, "save a
soul from death, and bide a multitude of sins," but particular
attention ought to be paid to backsliders; for in bringing backsliders
into the church there is as much honor to God as in bringing in
sinners. "Brethren, if any of you do err from the truth, and one
convert him." Alas! the poor backslider is often the most forgotten. A
member of the church has disgraced his profession, the church
excommunicated him, and he was accounted "a heathen man and a
publican." I know of men of good standing in the gospel ministry, who,
ten years ago, fell into sin; and that is thrown in our teeth to this
very day. Do you speak of them? you are at once informed, "Why, ten
years ago they did so-and-so." Brethren, Christian men ought to be
ashamed of themselves for taking notice of such things so long
afterwards. True, we may use more caution in our dealings; but to
reproach a fallen brother for what he did so long ago, is contrary to
the spirit of John, who went after Peter, three days after he had
denied his Master with oaths and curses. Now-a-days it is the fashion,
if a man falls, to have nothing to do with him. Men say, "he is a bad
fellow, we will not go after him." Beloved, suppose he is the worst, is
not that the reason why you should go most after him? Suppose he never
was a child of God–suppose he never knew the truth, is not that the
greater reason why you should go after him? I do not understand your
mawkish modesty, your excessive pride, that won't let you after the
chief of sinners. The worse the case, the more is the reason why we
should go. But suppose the man is a child of God, and you have cast him
off–remember, he is your brother; he is one with Christ as much as you
are; he is justified, he has the same righteousness that you have; and
if, when he has sinned, you despise him, in that you despise him you
despise his Master. Take heed! thou thyself mayest be tempted, and
mayest one day fall. Like David, thou mayest walk on the top of thine
house rather too high, and thou mayest see something which shall bring
thee to sin. Then what wilt thou say, if then the brethren pass thee by
with a sneer, and take no notice of thee? Oh! if we have one backslider
connected with our church, let us take special care of him. Don't deal
hardly with him. Recollect you would have been a backslider too if it
were not for the grace of God. I advise you, whenever you see
professors living in sin to be very shy of them; but if after a time
you see any sign of repentance, or if you do not, go and seek out the
lost sheep of the house of Israel; for remember, that if one of you do
err from the truth, and one convert him, let him remember, that "he who
converteth the sinner from the error of his way, shall save a soul from
death, and shall hide a multitude of sins."

"Backsliders, who your misery feel," I will come after you one moment.
Poor backslider, thou wast once a Christian. Dost thou hope thou wast?
"No," sayest thou, "I believe I deceived myself and others; I was no
child of God." Well, if thou didst, let me tell thee, that if thou wilt
acknowledge that God will forgive thee. Suppose you did deceive the
church, though art not the first that did it. There are some members of
this church, I fear, who have done so, and we have not found them out.
I tell you your case is not hopeless. That is not the unpardonable sin.
Some who have tried to deceive the very elect have yet been delivered;
and my Master says he is able to save to the uttermost (and ye have not
gone beyond the uttermost) all who come unto him. Come thou, then, to
his feet, cast thyself on his mercy; and though thou didst once enter
his came as a spy, he will not hang thee up for it, but will be glad to
get thee anyhow as a trophy of mercy. But if thou was a child of God,
and canst say honestly, "I know I did love him, and he loved me," I
tell thee he loves thee still. If thou hast gone ever so far astray,
thou art as much his child as ever. Though thou hast run away from thy
Father, come back, come back, he is thy Father still. Think not he has
unsheathed the sword to slay thee. Say not, "He has cast me out of the
family." He has not. His bowels yearn over thee now. My Father loves
thee; come then to his feet, and he will not even remind thee of what
thou hast done. The prodigal was going to tell his Father all his sins,
and to ask him to make him one of his hired servants, but the Father
stopped his mouth He let him say that he was not worthy to be called
his son, but he would not let him say, "make me as an hired servant."
Come back and thy Father will receive thee gladly; he will put his arms
around thee and kiss thee with the kisses of his love, and he will say,
"I have found this my son that was lost; I have recovered this sheep
that had gone astray." My Father loved thee without works, he justified
thee irrespective of them; thou hast no less merit now than thou hadst
then. Come and trust and believe in him.

Lastly, you who believe you are not backsliders, if you are saved,
remember that a soul is saved from death, and a multitude of sins
hidden. Oh, my friends, if I might but be a hundred-handed man to catch
you all, I would love to be so. If aught I could say could win your
souls–if by preaching here from now till midnight, I might by any
possibility capture some of you to the love of the Saviour, I would do
it. Some of you are speeding your way to hell blindfolded. My hearers,
I do not deceive you, you are going to perdition as fast as time can
carry you. Some of you are deceiving yourselves with the thought that
you are righteous, and you are not so. Many of you have had solemn
warnings, and have never been moved by them. You have admired the way
in which the warning has been given, but the thing itself has never
entered your heart. Hundreds of you are without God, and without
Christ, strangers to the commonwealth of Israel: and may I not plead
with you? Is a gloomy religious system to hold me captive and never let
me speak? Why, poor hearts, do you know your sad condition? Do you know
that "God is angry with the wicked every day;" that "the way of
transgressors is hard;" that "he that believeth not is condemned
already?" Has it never been told you that "he that believeth not shall
be damned? "and can you stand damnation? My hearers could you make your
bed in hell? Could you lie down in the pit? Do you think it would be an
easy portion for your souls to be rocked on waves of flame for ever,
and to be tossed about with demons in the place where hope cannot come?
You may smile now, but will not smile soon. God sends me as an
ambassador now; but if ye listen not to me, he will not send an
ambassador next time, but an executioner. There will be no wooing words
of mercy soon: the only exhortation thou wilt hear will be the dull
cold voice of death, that shall say, "Come with me." Then thou wilt not
be in the place where we sing God's praises, and where righteous
prayers are daily offered. The only music thou wilt hear will be the
sighs of the damned, the shrieks of fiends, and the yellings of the
tormented. O may God in his mercy snatch you as brands from the fire,
to be trophies of his grace throughout eternity. The way to be saved is
to "renounce thy works and ways with grief," and fly to Jesus. And if
now thou art a conscience-stricken sinner, that is all I want. If thou
will confess that thou art a sinner, that is all God requires of thee,
and even that he gives thee. Jesus Christ says "Come unto me all ye
that labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." Do you hear
his wooing words? Will ye turn from his sweet looks of mercy? Has his
cross no influence? have his wounds no power to bring you to his feet?
Ah! then, what can I say? The arm of the Spirit, which is mightier than
man, alone can make hard hearts melt, and bow stubborn wills to the
ground. Sinners, if you confess your sins this morning, there is a
Christ for you. You need not say, "Oh, that I knew where to find him."
The Word is nigh thee, on thy lips, and in thy heart. If thou wilt with
thine heart believe, and with thy mouth confess, the Lord Jesus, thou
shalt be saved, for "He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved;
and he that believeth not shall be damned."