A Sermon
(No. 51)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, November 25, 1855, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.
"Oh that I were as in months past."–Job 29:2.
FOR THE MOST part the gracious Shepherd leads his people beside the
still waters, and makes them to lie down in green pastures; but at
times they wander through a wilderness, where there is no water, and
they find no city to dwell in. Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainteth
within them, and they cry unto the Lord in their trouble. Though many
of his people live in almost constant joy, and find that religion's
ways are ways of pleasantness, and all her paths are peace, yet there
are many who pass through fire and through water: men do ride over
their heads,–they endure all manner of trouble and sorrow. The duty of
the minister is to preach to different characters. Sometimes we
admonish the confident, lest they should become presumptuous;
oftentimes we stir up the slumbering, lest they should sleep the sleep
of death. Frequently we comfort the desponding, and this is our duty
this morning–or if not to comfort them, yet to give them some
exhortation which may by God's help be the means of bringing them out
of the sad condition into which they have fallen, so that they may not
be obliged to cry out for ever–"Oh that I were as in months past!"
At once to the subject. A complaint; its cause and cure; and then close
up with an exhortation to stir up your pure minds, if you are in such a
position.
I. First, there is a COMPLAINT. How many a Christian looks on the past
with pleasure, on the future with dread, and on the present with
sorrow! There are many who look back upon the days that they have
passed in the fear of the Lord as being the sweetest and the best they
have ever had, but as to the present, it is clad in a sable garb of
gloom and dreariness. They could wish for their young days over again,
that they might live near to Jesus, for now they feel that they have
wandered from him, or that he has hidden his face from them, and they
cry out, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
1. Let us take distinct cases one by one. The first is the case of a
man who has lost the brightness of his evidences, and is crying out,
"Oh that I were as in months past!" Hear his soliloquy:–"Oh that my
past days could be recalled! Then I had no doubt of my salvation. If
any man had asked for the reason of the hope that was in me, I could
have answered with meekness and with fear. No doubt distressed me, no
fear harassed me; I could say with Paul, I know whom I have believed,'
and with Job, I know that my Redeemer liveth;'
'My steady soul did fear no more
Than solid rocks when billows roar.'
I felt myself to be standing on the rock Christ Jesus. I said–
'Let cares like a wild deluge come,
And storms of sorrow fall;
Sure I shall safely reach my home,
My God, my heaven, my all'
But ah! how changed it is now! Where there was no cloud it; all cloud;
where I could read my my title clear,' I tremble to read my damnation
quite as clearly. I hoped that I trusted in Christ, but now the dark
thought rises up, that I was a hypocrite, and had deceived myself and
others. The most I can attain to, is–Methinks I will hope in him
still; and if I may not be refreshed with the light of his countenance,
still in the shadow of his wings will I trust.' I feel that if I depart
from him there is no other Saviour; but oh! what thick darkness
surrounds me! Like Paul of old, there have been days and nights wherein
neither sun, nor moon nor stars have appeared. I have lost my roll in
the Arbour of Ease; I cannot now take it out of my breast, and read it
to console me on my journey; but I fear that when I get to the end of
the way they will deny me entrance, because I came not in by the door
to receive his grace and know his love, but have been deceived, have
taken carnal fancies for the workings of the Spirit, and have imputed
what was but natural conviction to the work of God the Holy Ghost."
This is one phase, and a very common one. You will meet many who are
crying out like that–"Oh that I were as in months past!"
2. Another phase of this great complaint, which it also very frequently
assumes, is one under which we are lamenting–not so much because our
evidences are withered as because we do not enjoy a perpetual peace of
mind as to other matters. "Oh "says one, "Oh that I were as in months
past; for then whatever troubles and trials came upon me, were less
than nothing. I had learned to sing–
'Father, I wait thy daily will;
Thou shalt divide my portion still;
Give me on earth what seems thee best,
Till death and heaven reveal the rest.'
I felt that I could give up everything to him; that if he had taken
away every mercy I could have said–
'Yea, if thou take them all away,
Yet will I not repine;
Before they were possessed by me,
They were entirely thine.'
I knew no fear for the future. Like a child on its mother's breast I
slept securely; I said, Jehovah-jireh, my God will provide,' I put my
business into his hands; I went to my daily labor; like the little bird
that waketh up in the morning, and knoweth not where its breakfast is
to come from, but sitteth on the spray, singing–
'Mortal, cease from toil and sorrow
God provideth for the morrow;'
so was I. I could have trusted Him with my very life, with wife, with
children, with everything, I could give all into his hands, and say
each morning, Lord, I have not a will of my own, or if I have one,
still, thy will be done; thy wish shall be my wish; thy desire shall be
my desire.' But oh that I were as in months past!' How changed am I
now! I begin fretting about my business; and if I lose now but a live
pound note, I am worried incessantly, whereas, if it were a thousand
before, I could have thanked the God who took it away as easily as I
could the God that gave it to me. How the least thing disturbs me. The
least shadow of a doubt as to some calamity that may befall me, rests
on my soul like a thick cloud. I am perpetually self-willed, desiring
always to have just what I wish. I cannot say I can resign all into his
hands; there is a certain something I could not give up. Twined round
my heart there is an evil plant called self-love. It has twisted its
roots within the very nerves and sinews of my soul. There is something
I love above my God. I cannot give up all now; but oh that I were as in
months past!' For then my mercies were real mercies, because they were
God's mercies. "Oh," says he, "that I were as in months past!' I should
not have had to bear such trouble as I have now, for though the burden
might have pressed heavily, I would have cast it on the Lord. Oh! that
I knew the heavenly science of taking the burdens off my own shoulders,
and laying them on the Rock that supports them all! Oh! if I knew how
to pour out my griefs and sorrows as I once did! I have been a fool, an
arrant fool, a very fool, that I should have run away from that sweet
confidence I once had in the Saviour! I used then to go to his ear, and
tell him all my griefs.
'My sorrows and my griefs I poured
Into the bosom of my God;
He helped me in the trying hour,
He helped me bear the heavy load.'
But now, I foolishly carry them myself, and bear them in my own breast,
Ah!
'What peaceful hours I then enjoyed!'
Would that they would return to me."
3. Another individual perhaps is speaking thus concerning his enjoyment
in the house of God and the means of grace. "Oh," says one, "in months
past, when I went up to the house of God, how sweetly did I hear! Why,
I sat with my ears open, to catch the words, as if it were an angel
speaking; and when I listened, how at times did the tears come rolling
down my cheeks! and how did my eyes flash, when some brilliant
utterance, full of joy to the Christian, aroused my soul! Oh! how did I
awake on the Sabbath morning, and sing,
'Welcome, sweet day of rest,
That saw the Lord arise;
Welcome to this reviving breast,
And these rejoicing eyes!'
And when they sang in the house of God, whose voice was so fond as
mine. When I retired from worship, it was with a light tread; I went to
tell my friends and my neighbors what glorious news I had heard in the
sanctuary. Those were sweet Sabbaths; and when the prayer-meetings came
round, how was I found in my places and the prayers were prayers indeed
to my spirit; whoever I heard preach, provided it was the gospel, how
did my soul feed and fatten under it! for I sat at a very banquet of
joy. When I read the Scriptures they were always illuminated, and glory
did gild the sacred page, whenever I turned it over. When I bent my
knee in prayer, I could pour my soul out before God, and I loved the
exercise; I felt that I could not be happy unless I spent my time upon
my knees; I loved my God, and my God loved me; but oh! how changed now!
Oh that I were as in months past!' I go up to God's house; it is the
same voice that speaks, the same man I love so much, still addresses
me; but I have no tears to shed now; my heart has become hardened even
under his ministry; I have few emotions of joy; I enter the house of
God as a boy goes to school, without much love to it, and I go away
without having my soul stirred. When I kneel down in secret prayer, the
wheels are taken off my chariot, and it drags very heavily; when I
strive to sing, all I can say is, I would but cannot'; Oh that I were
as in months past!' when the candle of the Lord shone round about me!"
I trust there are not many of you who can join in this; for I know ye
love to come up to the house of God. I love to preach to a people who
feel the word, who give signs of assent to it–men and women who can
afford a tear now and then in a sermon–people whose blood seems to
boil within them when they hear the gospel. I don't think you
understand much of the phase I am describing; but still you may
understand a little of it. The word may not be quite so sweet and
pleasant to you as it used to be; and then you may cry out–"Oh that I
were as in months past!"
4. But I will tell you one point which perhaps may escape you. There
are some of us who lament extremely that our conscience is not as
tender as it used to be; and therefore doth our soul cry in bitterness,
"Oh that I were as in months past!" "When first I knew the Lord," you
say, "I was almost afraid to put one foot before another, lest I should
go astray; I always looked before I leaped; if there were a suspicion
of sin about anything, I faithfully avoided it; it there were the
slightest trace of the trail of the serpent on it, I turned from it at
once; people called me a Puritan; I watched everything; I was afraid to
speak, and some practices that were really allowable I utterly
condemned; my conscience was so tender, I was like a sensitive plant;
if touched by the hand of sin, my leaves curled up in a moment; I could
not bear to be touched I was so tender, I was all over wounds, and if
any one brushed against me I cried out. I was afraid to do anything,
lest I should sin against God. If I heard an oath, my bones shook
within me; if I saw a man break the Sabbath, I trembled and was afraid;
wherever I went, the least whisper of sin startled me; it was like the
voice of a demon when I heard a temptation, and I said with violence,
Get thee behind me, Satan,' I could not endure sin; I ran away from it
as from a serpent; I could not taste a drop of it; but Oh that I were
as in months past.' It is true, I have not forsaken his ways; I have
not quite forgotten his law; it is true, I have not disgraced my
character, I have not openly sinned before men, and none but God
knoweth my sin; but oh! my conscience is not what it once was. It did
thunder once, but it does not now. O conscience! conscience! thou art
gone too much to sleep, I have drugged thee with laudanum, and thou art
slumbering when thou oughtest to be speaking! Thou art a watchman; but
thou dost not tell the hours of the night as thou once didst. O
conscience! sometimes I heard thy rattle in my ears, and it startled
me, now thou sleepest, and I go on to sin. It is but a little I have
done; still, that little shows the way. Straws tell which way the wind
doth blow; and I feel that my having committed one little sin,
evidences in what way my soul is inclined. Oh! that I had a tender
conscience again! Oh! that I had not this rhinoceros conscience, which
is covered over with tough hide, through which the bullets of the law
cannot pierce! Oh! that I had a conscience such as I used to have! ' Oh
that I were as in months past!'"
5. One more form of this sad condition. There are some of us, dearly
beloved, who have not as much zeal for the glory of God and the
salvation of men as we used to have. Months ago, if we saw a soul going
to destruction, our eyes were filled with tears in a moment; if we did
but see a man inclined to sin, we rushed before him with tears in our
eyes, and wished to sacrifice ourselves to save him; we could not walk
the street, but we must be giving somebody a tract, or reproving some
one; we thought we must be for ever speaking of the Lord Jesus; if
there were any good to be done, we were always first and foremost in
it: we desired by all means to save some, and we did think at that time
that we could give up ourselves to death, if we might but snatch a soul
from hell. So deep, so ardent was our love to our fellowmen, that for
the love we bore Christ's name, we would have been content to be
scoffed at, hissed at, and persecuted by the whole world, if we might
have done any good in it. Our soul was burning with intense longing for
souls, and we considered all things else to be mean and worthless; but
ah! now souls may be damned, and there is not a tear; sinners may sink
into the scalding pit of hell, and not a groan; thousands may be swept
away each day, and sink into bottomless woe, and yet not an emotion. We
can preach without tears; we can pray for them without our hearts. We
can speak to them without feeling their necessities; we pass by the
haunts of infamy–we wish the inmates better, and that is all. Even our
compassion has died out. Once we stood near the brink of hell, and we
thought each day that we heard the yellings and howlings of the doomed
spirits ringing in our ears; and then we said, "O God, help me to save
my fellow-men from going down to the pit! "But now we forget it all. We
have little love to men, we have not half the zeal and energy we once
had. Oh! if that be your state, dearly beloved; if you can join in
that, as your poor minister, alas! can do in some measure, then may we
well say, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
II. But now we are about to take these different characters, and tell
you the CAUSE AND CURE.
1. One of the causes of this mournful state of things is defect in
prayer; and of course the cure lies somewhere next door to the cause.
You are saying, "Oh that I were as in months past!" Come, my brother;
we are going into the very root of the matter. One reason why it is not
with you as in months past is this: you do not pray as you once did.
Nothing brings such leanness into a man's soul as want of prayer. It is
well said that a neglected closet is the birth-place of all evil. All
good is born in the closet, all good springeth from it; there the
Christian getteth it; but if he neglecteth his closet, then all evil
comes of it. No man can progress in grace if he forsakes his closet. I
care not how strong he may be in faith. It is said that fat men may for
a time live on the flesh they have acquired; but there is not a
Christian so full of flesh that he can live on old grace. If he waxes
fat he kicks, but he cannot live upon his fat. Those who are strong and
mighty in themselves cannot exist without prayer. If a man should have
the spiritual might of fifty of God's choicest Christians in himself,
he must die, if he did not continue to plow. My brother, cannot you
look back and say, "Three or four months ago my prayers were more
regular, more constant, more earnest than they are now; but now they
are feeble, they are not sincere, they are not fervent, they are not
earnest? "O brother, do not ask anybody what is the cause of your
grief; it is as plain as possible; you need not ask a question about
it. There is the cause; and where is the remedy? Why, in more prayer,
beloved. It was little prayer that brought you down; it is great prayer
that will lift you up. It was lack of prayer that brought you into
poverty, it must be increase of prayer that will bring you into riches
again. Where no oxen are the crib is clean. There is nothing for men to
eat where there are no oxen to plough; and where there are no prayers
to plough the soil, you have little to feed upon. We must be more
earnest in prayer. Oh! beloved, might not the beam out of the wall cry
against us? Our dusty closets might bear witness to our neglect of
secret devotion; and that is the reason why it is not with us as in
months past. My friends: if you were to compare the Christian to a
steam-engine, you must make his prayers, fed by the Holy Spirit, to be
the very fire which sustains his motion. Prayer is God's chosen vehicle
of grace, and he is unwise who neglects it. Let me be doubly serious on
this matter, and let me give a home-thrust to some. Dear friend, do you
mean what you say, and do you believe what you say–that neglect of
prayer will bring your soul into a most hazardous condition? If so, I
will say no more to thee; for thou wilt easily guess the remedy for thy
lamentable cry, "Oh that I were as in months past!" A certain merchant
wishes that he were as rich as he used to be:–he was wont to send his
ships over to the gold country, to bring him home cargoes of gold, but
ne'er a ship has been out of port lately, and therefore can he wonder
that he has had no cargo of gold? So when a man prayeth he sends a ship
to heaven, and it comes back laden with gold; but if he leaves off
supplication, then his ship is weather-bound and stays at home, and no
wonder he cometh to be a poor man.
2. Perhaps, again, you are saying, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
not so much from your own fault as from the fault of your minister.
There is such a thing, my dear friends, as our getting into a terribly
bad condition through the ministry that we attend. Can it be expected
that men should grow in grace when they are never watered with the
streams that make glad the city of our God? Can they be supposed to wax
strong in the Lord Jesus, when they do not feed on spiritual food? We
know some who grumble, Sabbath after Sabbath, and say they cannot hear
such and such a minister. Why don't you buy an ear-trumpet then? Ah!
but I mean, that I can't hear him to my soul's profit. Then do not go
to hear him, if you have tried for a long while and don't get any
profit. I always think that a man who grumbles as he goes out of chapel
ought not to be pitied, but whipped, for he can stay away if he likes,
and go where he will be pleased. There are plenty of places where the
sheep may feed in their own manner; and every one is bound to go where
he gets the pasture most suited to his soul; but you are not bound to
run away directly your minister dies, as many of you did before you
came here. You should not run away from the ship directly the storm
comes, and the captain is gone, and you find her not exactly
sea-worthy; stand by her, begin caulking her, God will send you a
captain, there will be fine weather by-and-bye, and all will be right;
but very frequently a bad minister starves God's people into walking
skeletons, so that you can tell all their bones; and who wonders that
they starve out their minister, when they get no food and no nutriment
from his ministrations. This is a second reason why men frequently cry
out, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
3. But there is a better reason still, that will come more home to some
of you. It is not so much the badness of the food, as the seldomness
that you come to eat it. You know, my dear friends, we find every now
and then that there is a man who came twice a day to the house of God
on the Sabbath. On the Monday night he was busy at work; but his apron
was rolled up, and if he could not be present all the while, he would
come in at the end. On the Thursday evening he would, if possible, come
to the sanctuary, to hear a sermon from some gospel minister, and would
sit up late at night and get up early in the morning, to make up the
time he had spent in these religious exercises; but by-and-bye he
thought, "I am too hard-worked; this is tiring; it is too far to walk."
And so he gives up first one service, and then another, and then begins
to cry out, "Oh that I were as in months past!" Why, brethren you need
not wonder at it. The man does not eat so much as he used to do. Little
and often is the way children should be fed, though I have given you a
great deal this morning. Still, little and often is a very good rule. I
do think, when people give up week-day services, unless it is utterly
impracticable for them to attend them, farewell to religion. "Farewell
to practical godliness," says Whitfield, "when men do not worship God
on the week-day!" Week-day services are frequently the cream of all.
God giveth his people pails full of milk on the Sabbath, but he often
skims off the cream for the week-day. If they stay away, is it
wonderful that they have to say, "Oh, that I were as in months past!" I
do not blame you, beloved; I only wish to "stir up your pure minds by
way of remembrance." A very plain fellow that is–is he not? Yes, he
always tells you what he means, and always intends to do so. Stand to
your colors, my men! Keep close to the standard if you would win the
battle! And when there seems to be the slightest defection, it is
simply our duty to exhort you, lest by any measure ye depart from the
soundness of your faith.
4. But frequently this complaint arises from idolatry. Many have given
their hearts to something else save God, and have set their affections
upon the things of earth, instead of the things in heaven. It is hard
to love the world and love Christ, it is impossible: that is more; but
it is hard not to love the creature; it is hard not to give yourself to
earth; I had almost said, it is impossible not to do that; it is
difficult, and only God can enable us; he alone can keep us with our
hearts fully set on him; but mark whenever we make a golden calf to
worship sooner or latter it will come to this,–we shall get our golden
calf ground up and put into our water for us to drink, and then we
shall have to say, "He hath made me drunken with wormwood." Never a man
makes an idol for himself to worship but it tumbles down on him and
breaks some of his bones. There was ne'er a man yet who departed to
broken cisterns to find water, but instead thereof he found loathsome
creatures therein, and was bitterly deceived. God will have his people
live on him, and on none else, and if they live on anything else but
him he will take care to give them of the waters of Mara, to embitter
their drink, and drive them to the Rock of purest streams. Oh, beloved,
let us take care that our hearts are wholly his, only Christ's, solely
Christ's! If they are so, we shall not have to cry out, "Oh that I were
as in months past!"
5. We scarcely need, however, detail any more reasons. We will add but
one more and that is the most common one of all. We have, perhaps,
become self-confident and self-righteous. If so, that is a reason why
it is not with us as in months past. Ah! my friends, that old rascal
self-righteousness, you will never get rid of him as long as you live.
The devil was well pictured under the form of a serpent because a
serpent can creep in anywhere, though the smallest crevice.
Self-righteousness is a serpent; for it will enter anywhere. If you try
to serve your God, "What a fine fellow you are," says the devil. "Ah!
don't you serve your God well! You are always preaching. You are a
noble fellow." If you go to a prayer meeting, God gives you a little
gift, and you are able to pour out your heart. Presently there is a pat
on the back from Satan. "Did not you pray sweetly? I know the brethren
will love you; you are growing in grace very much." If a temptation
comes, and you are able to resist it, "Ah!" says he at once, "you are a
true soldier of the cross; look at the enemy you have knocked down; you
will have a bright crown by-and-bye; you are a brave fellow!" You go on
trusting God implicitly; Satan then says, your faith is very strong: no
trial can overcome you: there is a weak brother, he is not half as
strong as you are!" Away you go, and scold your weak brother, because
he is not as big as you, and all the while Satan is cheering you up,
and saying, "What a mighty warrior you are! so faithful–always
trusting in God, you have not any self-righteousness." The minister
preaches to the Pharisee: but the Pharisee is not fifty-ninth cousin to
you; you are not at all self-righteous in your own opinion, and all the
while you are the most self-righteous creature in existence. Ah!
beloved, just when we think ourselves humble we are sure to be proud;
and when we are groaning over our pride we are generally the most
humble. You may just read your own estimate backwards. Just when we
imagine we are the worst, we are often the best, and when we conceive
ourselves the best, we are often the worst. It is that vile
self-righteousness who creeps into our souls, and makes us murmur, "Oh
that I were as in months past!" Your candle has got the snuff of
self-righteousness upon it; you want to have that taken away, and then
you will burn all right. You are soaring too high; you require
something that will bring you down again to the feet of the Saviour, as
a poor lost and guilty sinner–nothing at all; then you will not cry
any longer. "Oh that I were as in months past!"
III. And now, the closing up is to be an EXHORTATION. An exhortation,
first of all, to consolation, One is saying, "Oh! I shall never be in a
more happy state than I now am in, I have lost the light of his
countenance; he hath clean gone away from me, and I shall perish." You
remember in John Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," the description of the
man shut up in the iron cage. One says to him, "Wilt thou never come
out of this cage?" "No, never." "Art thou condemned for ever?" "Yes, I
am." "Why was this?" "Why I grieved the Spirit, and he is gone; I once
thought I loved him, but I have treated him lightly and he has
departed. I went from the paths of righteousness, and now I am locked
up here, and cannot get out." Yes, but John Bunyan does not tell you
that the man never did get out? There have been some in that iron cage
that have come out. There may be one here this morning, who has been
for a long while sitting in that iron cage, rattling the bars, trying
to break them, trying to file them through with his own little might
and strength. Oh! dear friend, you will never file through the iron
bars of that terrible cage; you will never escape by yourself. What
must you do? You must begin to sing like the bird in the cage does;
then the kind master will come and let you out. Cry to him to deliver
you; and though you cry and shout, and he shutteth out your prayer, he
will hear you by-and-bye; and like Jonah you shall exclaim in days to
come, "Out of the belly of hell I cried unto the Lord, and he heard
me." You will find the roll under the settle, although you have dropped
it down the Hill of Difficulty; and when thou hast it thou will put it
in thy bosom again, and hold it all the more tightly, because thou hast
lost it for a little season.
"Return, O wanderer, return,
And seek an injured Father's face;
Those warm desires that in thee burn
Were kindled by reclaiming grace."
And now another exhortation, not so much to console you as to stir you
up more and more to seek to be what you ought to be. O Christian men
and women, my brethren and sisters in the faith of Jesus Christ! How
many there are of you who are content just to be saved, and merely to
enter heaven. How many do we find who are saying "Oh! if I can but just
get in at the door–if I can simply be a child of God!" and they carry
out their desires literally, for they are as little Christian as
possible. They would have moderation in religion! But what is
moderation in religion? It is a lie; it is a farce. Doth a wife ask her
husband to be moderately loving? Doth a parent expect his child to be
moderately obedient? Do you seek to have your servants moderately
honest? No! Then how can you talk about being moderately religious? To
be moderately religious is to be irreligious. To have a religion that
does not enter into the very heart and influence the life, is virtually
to have no religion at all. I tremble sometimes, when I think of some
of you who are mere professors. Ye are content ye whitewashed
sepulchres; because ye are beautifully whitened ye rest satisfied,
without looking at the charnel-house beneath. How many of you make
clean the outside of the cup and platter; and because the church can
lay nothing to your charge, and the world cannot accuse you, you think
the outside of the cup will be sufficient. Take heed! take heed! The
judge will look at the inside of the cup and platter one day; and if it
be full of wickedness he will break that platter, and the fragments
shall for ever be cast about in the pit of torment. Oh! may God give
you to be real Christians! Waxen-winged professors! ye can fly very
well here; but when like Icarus, ye fly upwards, the mighty sun of
Jesus shall melt your wings, and ye shall fall into the pit of
destruction. Ah! gilded Christians, beautifully painted, varnished,
polished, what will ye do when ye shall be found at last to have been
worthless metal? When the wood, hay, and stubble shall be buried and
consumed, what will ye do if ye are not the genuine coin of heaven, if
ye have not been molten in the furnace, if ye have not been minted from
on high? If ye are not real gold, how shall ye stand the fire in that
"great and terrible day of the Lord?" Ah! and there are some of you who
can stand the fire, I trust. You are the children of God, but, beloved,
do I charge you wrongfully when I say, that many of us know that we are
the children of God, but we are content to be as little dwarf children,
we are always crying out, "Oh that I were as in months past!" That is a
mark of dwarfishness. If we are to do great things in the world we must
not often utter this cry, We must often be singing
"I the chief of sinners am; but Jesus died for me;"
and with cheerful countenance we must be able to say that we "know whom
we have believed." Do you wish to be useful? Do you desire to honor
your Master? Do you long to carry a heavy crown to heaven, that you may
put it on the Saviour's head? If you do–and I know you do–then seek
above all things that your soul may prosper and be in health–that your
inner-man may not be simply in a living state, but that you may be a
tree planted by the rivers of water, bringing forth your fruit in your
season, your leaf never withering, and whatsoever you do prospering.
Ah! do you want to go to heaven, and wear a starless crown there–a
crown that shall be a real crown, but that shall have no star upon it,
because no soul has been saved by you? Do you wish to sit in heaven
with a dress of Christ's on, but without one single jewel that God has
given you for your wages here below? Ah! no; methinks you wish to go to
heaven in full dress, and to enter into the fullness of the joy of the
Lord. Five talents well improved, five cities; and let no man be
satisfied with his one talent merely, but let him seek to put it out at
interest; "for unto him that hath shall be given, and he shall have
abundance."
And finally, to many of you what I have preached about has no interest
whatever. Perhaps you may say, "Oh that I were as in months past!' for
then I was quite well and a jolly fellow was I. Then I could drink with
the deepest drinker anywhere. Then I could run merrily into sin, but I
cannot now. I have hurt my body. I have injured my mind. It is not with
me as it used to be, I have spent all my money. I wish I were as I used
to be!" Ah! poor sinner, thou hast good reason to say, "Oh that I were
as in months past!" But wait four or five months, and then you will say
it more emphatically, and think even to day better than that day; and
the further you go on, the more you will wish to go back again; for the
path to hell is down, down, down, down–always down–and you will be
always saying, "Oh that I were as in months past!" Thou wilt look back
to the time when a mother's prayer blessed thee, and a father's reproof
warned thee–when thou wentest to a Sabbath-school, and sattest upon
thy mother's knee, to hear her tell thee of a Saviour; and the longer
the retrospect of goodness, the more that goodness will pain you. Ah I
my friends, ye have need to go back, some of you. Remember how far ye
have fallen–how much ye have departed; but oh! ye need not turn back!
Instead of looking back and crying, "Oh that I were as in months past!"
say something different. Say, "Oh that I were a new man in Christ
Jesus–"It would not do for you to begin again in your present state;
you would soon be as bad as you now are; but say, "Oh that I were a new
man in Christ Jesus; oh that I might begin a new life!" Some of you
would like to begin a new life–some of you reprobates, who have gone
far away! Well, poor mortal, thou mayest. "How?" savest thou. Why, if
thou art a new man in Christ Jesus thou wilt begin again. A Christian
is as much a new man as if he had been no man at all before; the old
creature is dethroned, he is a new creature, born again, and starting
on a new existence. Poor soul! God can make thee a new man. God the
Holy Spirit can build a new house out of thee, with neither stick nor
stone of the old man in it, and he can give thee a new heart, a new
spirit, new pleasures new happiness, new prospects, and at last give
thee a new heaven. "But," says one "I feel that I want these things;
but may I have them?" Guess whether you may have them, when I tell
you–"This is a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that
Jesus Christ came into the world to save sinners." It does not say it
is worthy of some acceptation, but it is worthy of all the acceptation
you will ever give it. If you now say, "Jesus came into the world so
save sinners, I believe he did! I know he did; he came to save me," you
will find it "worthy of all acceptation." You say still, "But will he
save me?" I will give you another passage: "Whosoever cometh unto me I
will in no wise cast out." Ah! but I do not know whether I may come!
"Whosoever," it saith. "Him that cometh unto me I will in no wise cast
out." "Whosoever will, let him come," it is written. Dost thou will? I
only speak to such as will, who know their need of a Saviour. Dost thou
will? Then God the Holy Spirit says, "Whosoever will let him come, and
take the water of life freely."
The feeble, the guilty, the weak, the forlorn,
In coming to Jesus shall not meet with scorn;
But he will receive them, and bless them, and save
From death and destruction, from hell and the grave.
and he will lift them up to his kingdom of glory. God so grant it; for
his name sake.