The Sinner’s End

The Sinner's End
A Sermon
(No. 486)
Delivered on Sunday Morning, December 28th, 1862, by
Rev. C. H. SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"Until I went into the sanctuary of God; then understood I their end.
Surely thou didst set them in slippery places: thou castedst them down
into destruction."–Psalm 73:17, 18.
WANT OF UNDERSTANDING has destroyed many. The dark pit of ignorance has
engulfed its thousands. Where the lack of understanding has not
sufficed to slay, it has been able seriously to wound. Lack of
understanding upon doctrinal truth, providential dealing, or inward
experience, has often caused the people of God a vast amount of
perplexity and sorrow, much of which they might have avoided had they
been more careful to consider and understand the ways of the Lord. My
brethren, if our eyes are dim, and our hearts forgetful as to eternal
things, we shall be much vexed and tormented in mind, as David was when
he understood not the sinner's end; for indeed it is a great mystery to
ordinary reason to see the ungodly prospering and pampered while the
righteous are chastened and afflicted. Let us, however, receive a clear
understanding with regard to the death, judgment, and condemnation of
the proud sinner, then at once our sorrows and suspicions are removed,
and petulance gives place to gratitude. See the ox paraded through the
streets covered with garlands; who envies its lot when he remembers the
axe and the altar? The child may see nothing but the flowers, but from
the man of understanding no childish ornament can conceal the victim's
misery.
The best place in which to be instructed with heavenly wisdom is the
sanctuary of God. Until David went there he was in a mist, but entering
its hallowed portals, he stood upon a mountain's summit, and the clouds
floated far beneath his feet. You ask me what there could have been in
the ancient sanctuary which could have enlightened David as to the end
of the wicked. It may be, my brethren, that while he sat before the
Lord in prayer, his spirit had such communion with the unseen God, that
he looked into unseen things, and saw, as in an open vision, the
ultimate doom of the graceless; or it may be that the hallowed songs of
Israel's congregation foretold the overthrow of the foemen of Jehovah,
and stirred the royal soul. Perhaps on that holy day the priests read
in the scanty pages of the then written work some ancient story, such
as refreshed the Psalmist in his happier seasons. It may have been that
they rehearsed in the ears of the people the years beyond the flood,
and the universal death which swept a world of sinners to their eternal
prisons with a flood of wrath; or it may be that they read concerning
Sodom and Gomorrah, and the fiery shower which utterly consumed the
cities of the plain. It is not impossible that the theme of meditation
led the devout monarch back to the plagues of Egypt, and the day of the
Lord's vengeance, when he overthrew proud Pharaoh and his hosts in the
midst of the Red Sea. The book of the wars of the Lord is full of
notable records, all revealing most clearly that the right hand of the
Lord hath sooner or later dashed in pieces all his enemies.
Possibly when David went into the sanctuary of God the Law was read in
his ears. He heard the blessings for obedience, the curses for
rebellion; and as he listened to the thundering anathemas of the law
which curses none in vain, it may be that he said, "Now understand I
their end." Certainly a due estimate of the law of God, and the justice
which maintains its dignity will clear up all fears concerning the
ultimate escape of the wicked. Such a law and such a judge allow not
the slightest suspicion that sin will always prosper. Moreover,
brethren, David could not well go up to the sanctuary without
witnessing a sacrifice, and as he saw the knife uplifted and driven
into the throat of the victim, and knew that he himself was preserved
from destruction by the sufferings of a substitute, represented by that
lamb, he may have learnt that the wicked, having no such sacrifice to
trust to, must be led as sheep to the slaughter, and as the bullock is
felled by the axe, so must they be utterly destroyed. By some of these
means, either by the sight of the sacrifice, or by his own meditations,
or by the word read and the expositions given by prophets or priests in
the sanctuary–it was in God's own house that he understood the end of
the wicked. I trust, beloved, if you lack understanding in any
spiritual matters, you will go up to the house of the Lord to inquire
in his temple. The word of God is to us as the Urim and Thummim of the
High Priest, prayer asks counsel at the hand of the Lord, and often the
lip of the minister is God's oracle to our hearts. If you are vexed at
any time because Providence seems to deal indulgently with the vile,
and harshly with you, come ye to the spot where prayer is wont to be
made, and while learning the justice of God, and the overthrow which he
will surely bring upon the impenitent, ye shall go to your houses
calmed in mind and disciplined in spirit. May you sing as Dr. Watts
puts it–
"I saw the wicked rise,
And felt my heart repine,
While haughty fools, with scornful eyes,
In robes of honor shine.
The tumults of my thought
Held me in dark suspense,
Till to thy house my feet were brought,
To learn thy justice thence.
Thy word with light and power
Did my mistakes amend;
I view'd the sinner's life before,
But here I learned their end."
This morning we have selected our subject for many ends, but more
especially with the anxious desire that we may win souls for Christ;
that we may see a feast of ingathering at the end of the year; that
this may be the best of days to many, the birthday of many immortal
souls. The burden of the Lord weighs down my soul this morning; my
heart is filled even to bursting with an agony of desire that sinners
may be saved. O Lord make bare thine arm this day, even this day.
In enlarging upon our solemn subject, first, let us understand the
sinner's end; secondly, let us profit by our understanding of it;
thirdly, let us, having received this understanding, anxiously and
earnestly warn thou whose end this must be except they repent.
I. First, then, gathering up all our powers of mind and thought, LET US
ENDEAVOR TO UNDERSTAND THE SINNER'S END. Let me rehearse it in your
ears.
The end of the sinner, like the end of every man else in this world, is
death. When he dieth, it may be, that he will die gently, for often
there are no bands in their death, but their strength is firm. A seared
conscience gives a quietude of stupidity just as a full forgiveness of
sin gives a peacefulness of perfect rest. They talk about another world
as though they had no dread; they speak of standing before God as
though they had no transgression. "Like sheep they are laid in the
grave," "He fell asleep like a child," say his friends; and others
exclaim, "He was so happy, that he must be a saint." Ah! this is but
their apparent end. God knoweth that the dying repose of sinners is but
the awful calm which heralds the eternal hurricane. The sun sets in
glowing colors, but O the darkness of the black tempestuous night. The
waters flash like silver as the soul descends into their bosom, but who
shall tell the tenfold horrors which congregate within their dreadful
deeps. Frequently, on the other hand, the death of the wicked is not
thus peaceful. Not always can the hypocrite play out his game to the
end; the mask slips off too soon and conscience tells the truth. Even
in this world, with some men, the storm of everlasting wrath begins to
beat upon the soul before it leaves the shelter of the body. Ah, then,
the cries, the groans! What dread forebodings of the unquiet spirits!
What visions of judgment! What anxious peerings into the midnight of
future banishment and ruin! Ah, then the cravings after a little longer
span of life, the clutchings at anything for the bare chance of hope.
May your ears be spared the dreadful outcry of the spirit when it feels
itself seized by the hand invisible and dragged downward to its certain
doom. Give me sooner to be shut up in prison for months and years than
to stand by dying beds such as I have myself witnessed. They have
written their memorial on my young heart; the scars of the wounds they
gave me are there still. Why the faces of some men, like mirrors,
reflect the flames of hell while yet they live. All this, however, is
but of secondary importance compared with that which follows death. To
the ungodly there is awful significance in that verse of the
Revelation, "I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat
on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.
One woe is past, but there are other woes to come. If death were all, I
were not here this morning; for little mattereth it in what style a man
dies, if it were not that he shall live again. The sinner's death is
the death of all in which he took delight. No cups of drunkeness for
thee again, no viol, no lute, no sound of music, no more the merry
dance, no more the loud lascivious song, no jovial company, no
highsounding blasphemies; all these are gone for ever. Dives, thy
purple is plucked from off thee, the red games shall be thy mantle.
Where now thy fine linen, wherefore is thy nakedness thus revealed to
thy shame and contempt? Where now thy delicate tables, O thou who didst
fare sumptuously every day? Thy parched lips shall crave in vain the
blessed drop to cool thy tongue. Now where are thy riches, thou rich
fool? Thy barns are indeed pulled down, but thou needest not build
greater, thy corn, thy wine, thine oil have vanished like a dream, and
thou art poor indeed, cursed with a depth of penury such as the
dog-licked Lazarus never knew. Death removes every delight from the
graceless. It takes away from his eye, his ear, his hand, his heart,
everything which might yield him solace. The cruel Moabites of death
shall cut down every fair tree of hope, and fill up with huge stones
every well of comfort, and there shall be nothing left for the spirit
but a dreary desert, barren of all joy or hope, which the soul must
traverse with weary feet for ever and ever!
Nor is this all. Let us understand their end yet farther. No sooner is
the sinner dead than he stands before the bar of God in his disembodied
state. That impure spirit is set before the blazing eye of God. Its
deeds are well known to itself; it needs no opening of the great books
as yet. A motion of the eternal finger bids it go its way. Whither can
it go? It dare not climb to heaven; there is but one road open: it
sinks to its appointed place. The expectation of future torment plagues
the soul with a self-kindled hell, conscience becomes a never-dying,
ever-gnawing worm. Conscience, I say, crieth in the souls of men, "Now
where art thou? Thou art lost, and this thy lost estate thou hast
brought upon thyself. Thou art not yet judged" says conscience; "yet
thou art lost, for when those books are opened, thou knowest that their
records will condemn thee." Memory wakes up and confirms the voice of
conscience "'Tis true," she saith, "'tis true." Now the soul remembers
its thousand faults and crimes. The judgment also shakes off its
slumber, holds up its scales, and reminds the man that conscience
clamours not amiss. Hope has been smitten down, but all the fears are
living and full of vigor; like serpents with a hundred heads, they
sting the heart through and through. The heart bowed down with
unnumbered dreads moaneth within itself: "The awful trumpet will soon
sound, my body will rise; I must suffer both in body and in soul for
all my wrong-doings, there is no hope for me, no hope for me. Would God
I had listened when I was warned! Ah! would to God that I had turned at
the faithful rebuke, that when Jesus Christ was presented to me in the
Gospel I had believed on him! But no, I despised my own salvation. I
chose the fleeting pleasures of time, and for that poor price I have
earned eternal ruin. I chose rather to drown my conscience than to let
it lead me to glory. I turned my back upon the right, and now here I
am, waiting like a prisoner in a condemned cell till the great assize
shall come and I shall stand before the Judge."
Let us go on to consider their end. The day of days, that dreadful day
has come. The millennial rest is over, the righteous have had their
thousand years of glory upon earth. Hark! the dread trumpet, louder
than a thousand thunders, startles death and hell. Its awful sound
shakes both earth and heaven; every tomb is rent and emptied. From the
teeming womb of earth, that fruitful mother of mankind, up start
multitudes upon multitudes of bodies, as though they were new-born; lo,
from Hades come the spirits of the lost ones–and they each enter into
the body in which once it sinned, while the righteous sit upon their
thrones of glory, their transformed bodies made like unto the glorious
body of Christ Jesus the Lord from heaven. The voice of the trumpet
waxes exceeding loud and long, the sea has given up her dead, from
tongues of fire, from lion's jaws, and from corruption's worm, all
mortal flesh has been restored, atom to atom, bone to bone, at the fiat
of Omnipotence all bodies are refashioned. And now the great white
throne is set with pomp of angels. Every eye beholds it. The great
books are open, and all men hear the rustling of their awful leaves.
The finger of the hand that once was crucified turns leaf after leaf,
and names of men are sounded forth–to glory, to destruction–"Come ye
blessed;" "Depart ye cursed:"–these are the final arbiters of glory or
of ruin. And now where art thou, sinner, for thy turn is come? Thy sins
are read and published! Shame consumes thee. Thy proud face now mantles
with a thousand blushes. Thou wouldst cover thyself, but thou canst
not, and, most of all, thou art afraid of the face of him who to-day
looks on thee with eyes of pity, but then with glances of fiery wrath,
the face of Jesus, the face of the Lamb, the dying Lamb, then enthroned
in judgment. Oh how ashamed thou wilt be to think thou hast despised
him, to think that though he died for sinners, thou didst scorn and
scoff him, didst malign his followers and slander his religion! How
piteously wilt thou crave a veil of granite to hide thy shameful face
from him. "Rocks hide me! Mountains fall upon me! Hide me from the face
of him that sits upon the throne." But it must not–it must not be.
"Where now, oh, where shall sinners seek
For shelter in the general wreck?
Shall falling rocks be o'er them thrown?
See rocks, like snow, dissolving down."
O, sinner, this is but the beginning of the end, for now thy sentence
is read out, thy doom pronounced, hell opens her wide jaws, and thou
fallest to destruction. Where art thou now? Body and soul re-married in
an everlasting union, having sinned together must now suffer together,
and that for ever. I cannot picture it; imagination's deepest dye
paints not this tenfold night. I cannot pourtray the anguish which both
soul and body must endure–each nerve a road for the hot feet of pain
to travel on, each mental power a blazing furnace heated seven times
hotter with raging flames of misery. Oh, my God, deliver us from ever
knowing this in our own persons!
Let us now pause and review the matter. It behoves us to remember
concerning the sinner's latter end, that it is absolutely certain. The
same "word" which says, "he that believeth shall be saved," makes it
also equally certain and clear that "he that believeth not shall be
damned." If God be true, then must sinners suffer. If sinners suffer
not, then saints have no glory, our faith is vain, Christ's death was
vain, and we may as well abide comfortably in our sins. Sinner,
whatever philosophy may urge with its syllogisms, whatever scepticism
may declare with her laughter and sneers, it is absolutely certain
that, dying as thou art, the wrath of God shall come upon thee to the
uttermost. If there were but a thousandth part of a fear that you or I
might perish, it were wisdom to fly to Christ; but when it is not a
"perhaps" or a "peradventure," but an absolute certainty that he who
rejects Christ must be lost for ever, I do conjure you, if ye be
rational men, see to it, and set your houses in order, for God will
surely smite, though he tarry never so long. Though for ninety years
thou avoid the arrows of his bow, his bolt will in due time find thee,
and pierce thee through, and where art thou then?
And as it is certain, so let us recollect that to the sinner it is
often sudden. In such an hour as he thinketh not, to him the Son of man
cometh. As pain upon a woman in travail, as the whirlwind on the
traveler, as the eagle on his prey, so suddenly cometh death. Buying
and selling, marrying and giving in marriage, chambering and full of
wantonness, the ungodly man saith, "Go thy way for this time, when I
have a more convenient season I will send for thee;" but as the frost
often cometh when the buds are swelling ready for the spring and nips
them on a sudden how often doth the frost of death nip all the hopeful
happiness of ungodly men and it withers once for all. Hast thou a lease
of thy life? Lives there a man who can insure that thou shalt breathe
another hour? Let but thy blood freeze in its channels; let but thy
breath stop for a moment, and where art thou? A spider's web is a
strong cable when compared with the thread on which moral life depends.
We have told you a thousand times, till the saying has become so trite
that you smile when we repeat it, that life is frail, and yet ye live O
men, as though your bones were brass, and your flesh were adamant, and
your lives like the years of the Eternal God. As breaks the dream of
the sleeper, as flies the cloud before the wind, as melts the foam from
the breaker, as dies the meteor from the sky, so suddenly shall the
sinner's joys pass from him for ever, and who shall measure the
greatness of his amazement?
Remember, O sons of men, how terrible is the end of the ungodly. You
think it easy for me to talk of death and damnation now, and it is not
very difficult for you to hear; but when you and I shall come to die,
ah! then every word we have uttered shall have a weightier meaning than
this dull hour can gather from it. Imagine the sinner dying. Weeping
friends are about him; he tosses to and fro upon yon weary couch. The
strong man is bowed down. The last struggle is come. Friends watch the
glazing of the eyes; they wipe the clammy sweat from the brow. At last
they say, "He is gone! He is gone!" Oh, my brethren, what amazement
must seize upon the unsanctified spirit then! Ah, if his spirit could
then speak, it would say, "It is all true that I was wont to hear. I
spoke ill of the minister, the last sabbath in the year, for trying to
frighten us, as I said, but he did not speak half so earnestly as he
ought to have done. Oh, I wonder he did not fall down upon his and pray
me to repent, but even if he had, I should have rejected his
entreaties. Oh, if I had known! If I had known! If I had known all
this; if I could have believed it; if I had not been such a fool as to
doubt God's word and think it all a tale to frighten children with. Oh,
if I had known all this! but now I am lost! lost! lost for ever!" I
think I hear that spirit's wail of utter dismay, as it exclaims, "Yes,
it has come; the thing whereof I was told it has all come to pass.
Fixed is my everlasting state; no offers of mercy now; no blood of
sprinkling now; no silver trumpet of the gospel now; no invitations to
a loving Savior's bosom now! His terrors have broken me in pieces, and
as a leaf is driven with the whirlwind, so am I driven I know not
whither; but this I know, I am lost, lost, lost beyond all hope."
Horrible is the sinner's end. I shudder while thus briefly I talk of
it. O, believer, take heed that thou understandest this well.
Do not fail to remember that the horror of the sinner's end will
consist very much in the reflection that he will lose heaven. Is that a
little? The harps of angels, the company of the redeemed, the smile of
God, the society of Christ–is this a trifle–to lose the saint's best
rest, that heritage for which martyrs wade through rivers of blood,
that portion which Jesus thought it worth while to die that he might
purchase. They lose all this, and then they earn in exchange the pains
of hell, which are more desperate than tongue can tell. Consider a
moment! He that indicts the punishment is God. What blows must He
strike! He did but put out his finger and he cut Rahab and wounded the
dragon in the Red Sea. What will it be when stroke after stroke shall
fall from his heavy hand? Oh Omnipotence, Omnipotence, how dreadful are
thy blows! Sinner, see and tremble; God himself comes out in battle
against you? Why the arrows of a man, when they stick in your
conscience, are very sharp, but what will the arrows of God be! How
will they drink your blood and infuse poison into your veins. Even now,
when you feel a little sickness you are afraid to die, and when you
hear a heart-searching sermon, it makes you melancholy. But what will
it be when God in thunderdressed, comes out against thee and his fire
consumes thee like the stubble. Will God punish thee? O sinner, what
punishment must that be which he inflicts? I tremble for thee. Flee, I
pray thee, to the cross of Christ, where shelter is prepared.
Remember, moreover, it will be a God without mercy, who will then dash
thee in pieces. He is all mercy to thee to-day, O sinner. In the wooing
words of the Gospel he bids thee live, and in his name I tell thee as
God lives he willeth not thy death, but would rather thou shouldest
turn unto him and live; but if thou wilt not live; if thou wilt be his
enemy; if thou wilt run upon the point of his spear, then he will be
even with thee in the day when mercy reigns in heaven, and justice
holds its solitary court in hell. O that ye were wise, and would
believe in Jesus to the salvation of your souls!
I would have you know, O ye who choose your own destructions, that ye
shall suffer universally. Now, if our head ache, or if our heart be
palpitating, or a member be in pain, there are other parts of the body
which are at ease; but then, every power of body and of mind shall
suffer at one time. All the chords of man's nature shall vibrate with
the discord of desolation. Then shall suffering be unceasing. Here we
have a pause in our pain, the fever has its rests, paroxysms of agony
have their seasons of quiet; but there in hell the gnashing of teeth
shall be unceasing, the worm's gnawings shall know no cessation; on, on
for ever–for ever a hot race of misery.
Then, worst of all, it shall be without end. When ten thousand years
have run their course, thou shalt be no nearer to the end than at
first. When millions have been piled on millions, still the wrath shall
be to come–to come, as much as if there had been no wrath at all. Ah!
these are dreadful things to talk of, and you who hear or read my
sermons know that I am falsely accused when men say that I dwell often
upon this dreadful theme, but I feel as if there is no hope for some of
you, unless I thunder at you. I know that often God has broken some
hearts with an alarming sermon, who might never have been won by an
inviting and wooing discourse. My experience goes to show that the
great hammer of God breaks many hearts, and some of my more terrible
sermons have been even more useful than those in which I lifted up the
cross and tenderly pleaded with men. Both must be used, sometimes the
love which draws, and anon the vengeance which drives. Oh, my hearers,
I cannot bear the thought that you should be lost! As I meditate, I
have a vision of some of you passing away from this world, and will you
curse me? Will you curse me as you go down to the pit? Will you accuse
me, "You were not faithful with me. Pastor, you did not warn me;
minister, you did not strive with me?" No, by the help of my Lord,
through whose grace I am called to the work of this ministry, I must, I
will be clear of your blood. You shall not make your bed in hell
without knowing what an uneasy resting place ye choose. Ye shall hear
the warning. It shall ring in your ears. Who among us shall dwell with
everlasting fire? Who among us shall abide with the eternal burnings?"
I do assure you a true love speaks to you in every harsh word I utter,
a love that cares too much for you to flatter you, a love which must
tell you these things without mitigating them in any degree, lest ye
perish through my trifling. "He that believeth not shall be damned."
"Turn ye, turn ye, why will ye die?" Why will ye reject your mercies?
God help you by his Holy Spirit to understand your latter end and lay
hold on Jesus now.
II. This brings us to our second remark–If we have understood the
sinner's end, LET US NOW PROFIT BY IT. How can we do this?
We can profit by it, first, by never envying the ungodly again. If at
any time we feel with the Psalmist that we cannot understand how it is
that the enemies of God enjoy the sweets of life, let us cease at once
from such questionings, because we remember their latter end. Let
David's confession warn us–
"Lord, what a thoughtless wretch was I
To mourn, and murmur, and repine,
To see the wicked placed on high,
In pride and robes of honor shine!
But oh, their end! their dreadful end!
Thy sanctuary taught me so:
On slippery rocks I see them stand,
And fiery billows roll below,
Now let them boast how tall they rise,
I'll never envy them again;
There they may stand with haughty eyes,
Till they plunge deep in endless pain."
If the sinnner's end be so terrible, how grateful ought we to be, if we
have been plucked from these devouring names! Brothers and sisters,
what was there in us why God should have mercy on us? Can we ascribe
the fact that we have been washed from sin in Jesu's blood, and made to
choose the way of righteousness–can we ascribe this to anything but
grace-free, rich, sovereign grace? Come then, let us with our tears for
others mingle joyous gratitude to God for that eternal love which has
delivered our souls from death, our eyes trom tears, and our feet from
falling. Above all let us prize the sufferings of Christ beyond all
cost. Oh, blessed cross, which has lifted us up from hell. Oh, dear
wounds, which have become gates of heaven to us. Can we refuse to love
that Son of man-that Son of God? Will we not to-day, at the foot of his
dear cross, give ourselves to him anew, and ask him to bestow on us
more grace, that we may live more to his honor, and spend and be spent
in his service? Saved from hell, I must love thee, Jesus; and while
life and being last, I must live and be prepared to die for thee.
Again, beloved friends, how such a subject as this should lead you that
profess to be followers of Christ to make your calling and election
sure! If the end of the impenitent be so dreadful, let nothing content
us but certainties with regard to our own escape from this woe. Have
you any doubts this morning? Have no peace of mind till those doubts
are all solved. Is there any question upon your spirit as to whether
you have real faith in the living Savior? If so, rest not, I pray you,
till in prayer and humble faith you have renewed your vows and come
afresh to Christ. Examine yourselves, whether ye be in the faith; prove
yourselves; build on the rock; make sure work for eternity, lest it
should happen after all, that you have been deceived. Oh, if it should
turn out so. Alas! alas! alas! for you to have been so near to heaven
and yet to be cast down to hell.
Now this subject should teach Christians to be in earnest about the
salvation of others. If heaven were a trifle we need not be zealous for
the salvation of men. If the punishment of sin were some slight pain we
need not exercise ourselves diligently to deliver men from it; but oh,
if "eternity" be a solemn word, and if the wrath to come be terrible to
bear, how should we be instant in season and out of season, striving to
win others from the flames! What have you done this year, some of you?
I fear me, brother Christians, some of you have done very little.
Blessed be God, there are many earnest hearts among you; you are not
all asleep; there are some of you who strive with both your hands to do
your Master's work, but even you are not as earnest as you should be.
The preacher puts himself here in the list, mournfully confessing that
he does not preach as he desires to preach. Oh, had I the tears and
cries of Baxter, or the fervent seraphic zeal of Whitfield, my soul
were well content, but, alas! we preach coldly upon burning themes and
carelessly upon matters which ought to make our hearts like flames of
fire. But I say, brethren, are there not men and women here, members of
this Church, doing nothing for Christ; no soul saved this year by you,
Christ unhonoured by you; no gems placed in his crown? What have ye
been living for, ye cumber-ground? Wherefore stand ye in the Church, ye
fruitless trees? God make you–oh ye that do little for him–to humble
yourselves before him, and to begin the next year with this
determination, that knowing the terrors of the Lord, you will persuade
men, and labor, and strive to bring sinners to the cross of Christ.
III. But we must leave that point of instruction and come to our last
and pleading point, and that is very earnestly to WARN THOSE WHOSE END
THIS MUST BE EXCEPT THEY REPENT.
And who are they? Please to remember we are not speaking now of people
in the street, of drunkards, and harlots, and profane swearers, and
such like–we know that their damnation is sure and just–but, alas, I
need not look far. If I glance along these seats and look into faces
upon which my eye rests every Sabbath day, there are some of you, some
of you who are unconverted still. You are not immoral but you are
unregenerated; you are not unamiable but you are ungracious, you are
not far from the kingdom, but you are not in the kingdom. It is your
end I speak of now, yours ye sons of godly mothers, yours ye daughters
of holy parents–your end, unless God give you repentance. I want you
to see where you are standing to-day. "Surely thou didst set them in
slippery places." If it has ever been your lot to tread the glaciers of
the Alps you will have seen upon that mighty river of ice, huge
wave-like mountains of crystal, and deep fissures of unknown depth, and
of an intensely blue color. If condemned to stand on one of these icy
eminences with a yawning crevasse at its base, our peril would be
extreme. Sinner it is on such slippery place you stand, only the danger
is far greater than my metaphor sets forth.
Your standing is smooth; pleasure attends you; yours are not the rough
ways of penitence and contrition–sin's road is smooth–but ah how
slippery from its very smoothness. O be warned, you must fall sooner or
later, stand as firmly as you may. Sinner you may fall now, at once.
The mountain yields beneath your feet, the slippery ice is melting
every moment. Look down and learn your speedy doom. Yonder yawning gulf
must soon receive you, while we look after you with hopeless tears. Our
prayers cannot follow you; from your slippery standing place you fall
and you are gone for ever. Death makes the place where you stand
slippery, for it dissolves your life every hour. Time makes it
slippery, for every instant it cuts the ground from under your feet.
The vanities which you enjoy make your place slippery, for they are all
like ice which shall melt before the sun. You have no foot-hold,
sinner, you have no sure hope, no confidence. It is a melting thing you
trust to. If you are depending on what you mean to do–that is no
foot-hold. If you get peace from what you have felt or from what you
have done–that is no foot-hold. It is a slippery place you stand in. I
read yesterday of the hunter of the chamois springing from crag to crag
after the game he had wounded. The creature leapt down many a frowning
precipice, but the hunter fearlessly followed as best he could. At last
in his hot haste he found himself slipping down a shelving rock. The
stone crumbled away as it came in contact with his thickly-nailed
shoes, which he tried to dig into the rock to stop his descent. He
strove to seize on every little inequality, regardless of the sharp
edges; but as his fingers, bent convulsively like talons, scraped the
stone, it crumbled off as though it had been baked clay, tearing the
skin like ribands from his fingers and cutting into his flesh. Having
let go his long pole, he heard it slipping down behind him, its iron
point changing as it went; and then it flew over the ledge bounding
into the depths below. In a moment he must follow, for with all his
endeavors he is unable to stop himself. His companion looks on in
speechless horror. But heaven intervenes. Just as he expects to go over
the brink, one foot is arrested in its descent by a slight inequality.
He hardly dares to move lest the motion might break his foot-hold, but
gently turning his head to see how far he is from the brink, he
perceives that his foot has stopped not a couple of inches from the
edge of the rock; those two inches further and destruction had been his
lot.
Ungodly man, in this mirror see thyself, you are sliding down a
slippery place, you have neither foot-hold, nor hand-hold. All your
hopes crumble beneath your weight. The Lord alone knows how near you
are to your eternal ruin. Perhaps this morning you are scarce two
inches from the edge of the precipice. Your drunken companion who died
a few days ago, has just now gone over the edge. Did you not hear him
falling–and you yourself are about to perish. Good God! the man is
almost gone! Oh that I could stay you in your downward course. The Lord
alone can do it, but he works by means. Turn round and gaze upon your
past life; behold the wrath of God which must come on account of it.
You are sliding down the slippery places to a fearful end, but the
angel of mercy calls you, and the hand of love can save you. Hear how
Jesus pleads with thee. "Put thy hand in mine," he says; "thou art
lost, man, but I can save thee now." Poor wretch! wilt thou not do it.
Then art thou lost. Oh wherefore wilt thou not, when love and
tenderness would woo thee, wherefore wilt thou not put thy trust in
him. He is able and willing to save thee, even now. Believe in Jesus,
and though thou art now in slippery places thy feet shall soon be set
upon a rock of safety. I know not how it is, the more earnestly I long
to speak, and the more passionately I would set forth the danger of
ungodly men, the more my tongue refuses. These weighty burdens of the
Lord are not to be entrusted it seems to the power of oratory. I must
stammer and groan them out to you. I must in short sentences tell out
my message and leave it with you. I have the solemn conviction this
morning that there are scores and hundreds of you who are on the road
to hell. You know you are. If conscience speaks truly to you, you know
you have never sought Christ, you have never put your trust in him, you
are still what you always were, ungodly, unconverted. Is this a trifle?
Oh, I ask you, I put it to your own judgments, is this a thing of which
you ought to think carelessly? I pray you let your hearts speak. Is it
not time that some of you began to think of these things? Nine years
ago we had some hopes of you, those hopes have been disappointed up
till now. As each year rolls round you promise yourself that the next
shall be different; but there has been no change yet. May we not fear
that you will continue entangled in the great net of procrastination
until at last you will have eternally to regret that you kept
deferring, and deferring, and deferring, till it was too late. The way
of salvation is not hard to comprehend; it is no great mystery, it is
simply "Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt be saved."
Trust Christ with thy soul and he will save it. I know you will not do
this unless the Holy Spirit constrains you, but this does not remove
your responsibility. If you reject this great salvation you deserve to
perish. When it is laid so clearly before you, if you refuse it, no eye
can pity you among all the thousands in hell or all the millions in
heaven.
"How they deserve the deepest hell
Who slight the joys above;
What chains of vengeance must they feel
Who break the cords of love."
May I ask all Christian people to join in prayer for the ungodly. When
I cannot plead as a preacher, I bless God I can plead as an
intercessor. Let us spend, all of us, a little time this afternoon in
private intercession. May I ask it of you as a great favor-occupy a
little time this afternoon, each child of God, in praying for the
unconverted among us. Conversion work does go on; there are many always
coming to be united to the Church, but we want more; and we shall have
more, if we pray for more.
Make this afternoon a travailing time, and if we travail in birth God
will give us the spiritual seed. It is to the Holy Spirit we must look
for all true regeneration and conversion, therefore let us pray for the
descent of his influence, and depend upon his omnipotence and the great
work must and shall be done. Could I address you in the tones of an
angel, yet I could not have more to say than this, "Sinner, fly to
Christ. I am glad I am weak, for now the Master's power shall be the
better seen. Lord, do thou the sinner turn, and make him feel the
danger of his state, and find in Christ a ransom and a rescue, and to
thy name be glory.–Amen.