Delivered on Lord's-Day Morning, February 13th, 1870, by
C. H. SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"His own iniquities shall take the wicked himself, and he shall be
holden with the cords of his sins."–Proverbs 5:22.
THE first sentence has reference to a net, in which birds or beasts are
taken. The ungodly man first of all finds sin to be a bait, and,
charmed by its apparent pleasantness he indulges in it, and then he
becomes entangled in its meshes so that he cannot escape. That which
first attracted the sinner, afterwards detains him. Evil habits are
soon formed, the soul readily becomes accustomed to evil, and then,
even if the man should have lingering thoughts of better things, and
form frail resolutions to amend, his iniquities hold him captive like a
bird in the fowler's snare. You have seen the foolish fly descend into
the sweet which is spread to destroy him, he sips, and sips again, and
by-and-by he plunges boldly in to feast himself greedily: when
satisfied, he attempts to fly, but the sweet holds him by the feet and
clogs his wings; he is a victim, and the more he struggles the more
surely is he held. Even so is it with the sins of ungodly men, they are
at first a tempting bait, and afterwards a snare. Having sinned, they
become so bewitched with sin, that the scriptural statement is no
exaggeration: "Can the Ethiopian change his skin, or the leopard his
spots? then may ye also do good, that are accustomed to do evil."
The first sentence of the text also may have reference to an arrest by
an officer of law. The transgressor's own sins shall take him, shall
seize him; they bear a warrant for arresting him, they shall judge him,
they shall even execute him. Sin, which at the first bringeth to man a
specious pleasure, ere long turneth into bitterness, remorse, and fear.
Sin is a dragon, with eyes like stars, but it carrieth a deadly sting
in its tail. The cup of sin, with rainbow bubbles on its brim, is black
with deep damnation in its dregs. O that men would consider this, and
turn from their delusions. To bring torment to the guilty, there is
little need that God should, literally in the world to come, pile up
Tophet with its wood and much smoke, nor even that the pit should be
digged for the ungodly in order to make them miserable; sin shall of
itself bring forth death. Leave a man to his own sins, and hell itself
surrounds him; only suffer a sinner to do what he wills, and to give
his lusts unbridled headway, and you have secured him boundless misery;
only allow the seething caldron of his corruptions to boil at its own
pleasure, and the man must inevitably become a vessel filled with
sorrow. Be assured that sin is the root of bitterness. Gild the pill as
you may, iniquity is death. Sweet is an unholy morsel in the mouth, but
it will be wormwood in the bowels. Let but man heartily believe this,
and surely he will not so readily be led astray. "Surely in vain is the
net spread in the sight of any bird," and shall man be more foolish
than the fowls of the air? will he wilfully pursue his own destruction?
will he wrong his own soul? Sin, then, becomes first a net to hold the
sinner by the force of custom and habit, and afterwards, a sheriffs
officer to arrest him, and to scourge him with its inevitable results.
The second sentence of our text speaks of the sinner being holden with
cords, and a parable may be readily fashioned out of the expression.
The lifelong occupation of the ungodly man is to twist ropes of sin.
All his sins are as so much twine and cord out of which ropes may be
made. His thoughts and his imaginations are so much raw material, and
while he thinks of evil, while he contrives transgression, while he
lusts after filthiness, while he follows after evil devices, while with
head, and hand, and heart he pursues eagerly after mischief, he is
still twisting evermore the cords of sin which are afterwards to bind
him. The binding meant is that of a culprit pinioned for execution.
Iniquity pinions a man, disables him from delivering himself from its
power, enchains his soul, and inflicts a bondage on the spirit far
worse than chaining of the body. Sin cripples all desires after
holiness, damps every aspiration after goodness, and thus, fettering
the man hand and foot, delivers him over to the executioner, which
executioner shall be the wrath of God, but also sin itself, in the
natural consequences which in every case must flow from it. Samson
could burst asunder green withes and new ropes, but when at last his
darling sin had bound him to his Delilah, that bond he could not snap,
though it cost him his eyes. Make a man's will a prisoner, and he is a
captive indeed. Determined independence of spirit walks at freedom in a
tyrant's Bastille, and defies a despot's hosts; but a mind enslaved by
sin builds its own dungeon, forges its own fetters, and rivets on its
chains. It is slavery indeed when the iron enters into the soul. Who
would not scorn to make himself a slave to his baser passions? and yet
the mass of men are such–the cords of their sins bind them.
Thus, having introduced to you the truth which this verse teaches,
namely, the captivating, enslaving power of sin, I shall advance to our
first point of consideration. This is a solution to a great mystery;
but then, secondly, it is itself a greater mystery; and when we have
considered these two matters it will be time for us to note what is the
practical conclusion from this line of thought.
I. First, then, the doctrine of the text, that iniquity entraps the
wicked as in a net, and binds them as with cords is A SOLUTION OF A
GREAT MYSTERY.
When you and I first began to do good by telling out the gospel, we
labored under the delusion that as soon as our neighbors heard of the
blessed way of salvation they would joyfully receive it, and be saved
in crowds. We have long ago seen that pleasant delusion dispelled; we
find that our position is that of the serpent-charmer with the deaf
adder, charm we ever so wisely, men will not hear so as to receive the
truth. Like the ardent reformer, we have found out that old Adam is too
strong for young Melancthon. We now perceive that for a sinner to
receive the gospel involves a work of grace that shall change his heart
and renew his nature. Yet none the less is it a great mystery that it
should be so. It is one of the prodigies of the god of this world that
he makes men love sin, and abide in indifference as if they were fully
content to be lost. It is a marvel of marvels that man should be so
base as to reject Christ, and abide in wilful and wicked unbelief. I
will try and set forth this mystery, in the way in which, I dare say,
it has struck many an honest hearted worker for Jesus Christ.
Is it not a mysterious thing that men should be content to abide in a
state of imminent peril? Every unconverted man is already condemned.
Our Lord has said it: "He that believeth not is condemned already,
because he hath not believed on the Son of God." Every unregenerate man
is not only liable to the wrath of God in the future, but the wrath of
God abideth on him. It is on him now, it always will remain upon him;
as long as he is what he is, it abideth on him. And yet in this state
men do not start, they are not amazed or alarmed, they are not even
anxious. Sabbath after Sabbath they are reminded of their unhappy
position: it makes us unhappy to think they should be in such a state,
but they are strangely at ease. The sword of vengeance hangs over them
by a single hair, yet sit they at their banquets, and they laugh and
sport as though there were no God, no wrath to come, no certainty of
appearing before the judgment-seat of Christ. See a number of persons
in a train that has broken down. The guard has only to intimate that
another train is approaching, and that it may perhaps dash into the
carriages and mangle the passengers; he has only to give half a hint,
and see how the carriage doors fly open, how the travelers rush up the
embankment, each one so eager for his own preservation as to forget his
fellow's. Yet here are men and women by hundreds and thousands, with
the fast-rushing train of divine vengeance close behind them; they may
almost hear the sound of its thundering wheels, and, lo, they sit in
all quietness, exposed to present peril and in danger of a speedy and
overwhelming destruction. "Tis strange. tis passing strange, tis
wonderful." Here is a mystery indeed, that can only be understood in
the light of the fact that these foolish beings are taken by their
sing, and bound by the cords of their iniquities.
Be it ever remembered that before very long these unconverted men and
women, many of whom are present this morning, will be in a stale whose
wretchedness it is not possible for language fully to express. Within
four-and-twenty hours their spirits may be summoned before the bar of
God; and, according to this book, which partially uplifts the veil of
the future, the very least punishment that can fall upon an unconverted
soul will cause it "weeping, and wailing, and gnashing of teeth." All
they had endured, of whom it is written, that they wept and gnashed
their teeth, was to be shut out into outer darkness, nothing more; no
stripes had then fallen, they had not yet been shut up in the
prison-house of hell, only the gate of heaven was shut, only the light
of glory was hid; and straightway there was weeping, and wailing, and
gnashing of teeth. What, then, will be the woe of the lost when
positive punishment is inflicted? As for what they will endure who have
beard the gospel, but have wilfully rejected it, we have some faint
notion from the Master's words: "It shall be more tolerable for Sodom
and Gomorrah in the day of judgment than for them." We know that it is
a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God, for "our God
is a consuming fire." From this platform there rings full often that
question, "How shall ye escape if ye neglect so great salvation?" And
yet for all this, men are willing to pass on through time into eternity
regardless of the escape which God provides, turning aside from the
only salvation which can rescue them from enduring "the blackness of
darkness for ever." O reason, art thou utterly fled? Is every sinner
altogether brutish? If we should meet with a man condemned to die, and
tell him that pardon was to be had, would he hear us with indifference?
Would he abide in the condemned cell and use no means for obtaining the
boon of life and liberty? Yes, there awaits the sinner a more awful
doom, and a more terrible sentence, and we are sent to publish a sure
pardon from the God of heaven; and yet thousands upon thousands give us
no deep heartfelt attention, but turn aside and perish in their sins. O
that my head were waters, and mine eyes a fountain of tears, that I
might weep for the folly of the race to which I belong, and mourn over
the destruction of my fellow men!
It often strikes us with wonder that men do not receive the gospel of
Jesus Christ, when we recollect that the gospel is so plain. If it were
a great mystery one might excuse the illiterate from attending to it.
If the plan of salvation could only be discovered by the attentive
perusal of a long series of volumes, and if it required a classical
training and a thorough education, why then the multitude of the poor
and needy, whose time is taken up with earning their bread, might have
same excuse; but there is under heaven no truth more plain than this,
"He that believeth on the Lord Jesus hath everlasting life;" "He that
believeth and is baptised, shall be saved." To believe–that is, simply
to trust Christ. How plain! There is no road, though it ran straight as
an arrow, that can be more plain than this. Legible only by the light
they give, but all so legible that be who runs may read, stand these
soul-quickening words, "Believe and live." Trust Christ and your sins
are forgiven; you are saved. This is so plain a precept, that I may
call it a very A B C for infants, yet men receive it not. Are they not
indeed holden by the cords of their sins when they refuse to obey?
Moreover, brethren, there is a wonderful attractiveness in the gospel.
If the gospel could possibly be a revelation of horrors piled on
horrors, if there were something in it utterly inconsistent with
reason, or something that shocked all the sensitive affections of our
better part, we might excuse mankind, but the gospel is just this: man
is lost, but God becomes man to save him, "The Son of Man is come to
seek and to save that which was lost." Out of infinite love to his
enemies the Son of God took upon himself human flesh, that he might
suffer in the room and stead of men what they ought to have suffered.
The doctrine of substitution, while it wondrously magnifies the grace
of God and satisfies the justice of God, methinks ought to strike you
all with love because of the disinterested affection which it reveals
on Jesus Christ's part. O King of Glory, dost thou bleed for me? O
Prince of Life, canst thou lie shrouded in the grave for me? Doth God
stoop from his glory to be spat upon by sinful lips? Doth he stoop from
the splendor of heaven to be "despised and rejected of men," that men
may be saved? Why, it ought to win every human ear, it ought to
entrance every human heart. Was ever love like this? Go ye to your
poets, and see if they have ever imagined anything nobler than the love
of Christ the Son of God for the dying sons of men! Go to your
philosophers, and see if in all their maxims they have ever taught a
diviner philosophy than that of Christ's life, or ever have imagined in
their pictures of what men ought to be, an heroic love like that which
Christ in very deed displayed! We lift before you no gory banner that
might sicken your hearts; we bring before you no rattling chains of a
tyrant's domination; but we lift up Jesus crucified, and "Love" is
written on the banner that is waved in the forefront of our hosts; we
bid you yield to the gentle sway of love, and not to the tyranny of
terror. Alas! men must be bound, indeed, and fettered fast by an
accursed love to sin, or else the divine attractions of a crucified
Redeemer would win their hearts.
Consider, my friends, you who love the souls of your fellow men, how
marvellous it is that men should not receive the gospel when the
commandment of the gospel is not burdensome! Methinks if it had been
written that no man should enter heaven except by the way of martyrdom,
it had been wisdom for every one of us to give our bodies to be burned,
or to be stretched upon the rack; yea, if there had been no path to
escape from the wrath of God, but to be flayed alive with Bartholomew,
enduring present but exquisite torture, it would have been but a cheap
price for an escape from wrath, and an entrance into heaven. But I find
in God's word prescribed as the way of salvation, no such physical
agonies. No austerities are commanded; not even the milder law which
governed the Pharisee when he "fasted thrice in the week." Only this is
written–"Believe in the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved;"
and the precept of the Christian's life is, "Love thy God with all thy
heart, and thy neighbor as thyself." Most pleasant duties these of
love! What more sweet? What more delightful than to permit the soul to
flow out in streams of affection? The ways of true religion are not
irksome, her ways are pleasantness, and all her paths are peace. What,
heaven given for believing? What, heaven's gate opened only for
knocking, and boons all priceless bestowed for nothing but the asking?
Yet they will not ask, they will not knock. Alas, my God, what
creatures are men! Alas, O sin, what monsters hast thou made mankind,
that they will forget their own interests, and wrong their own souls!
Further, it is clear that men must be fast held by the bondage of their
sins when we recollect that, according to the confession of the most of
them, the pleasures of sin are by no means great. I have heard them say
themselves that they have been satiated after a short season of
indulgence We know how true the word is, "Who hath woe? who hath
redness of eyes? They that tarry long at the wine; they that go to seek
mixed wine." No form of sin has ever been discovered yet that has
yielded satisfaction. You shall look at those who have had all that
heart could wish, and have without restraint indulged their passions,
and you shall find them to be in their latter end amongst the most
wretched rather than the most satisfied of mankind. Yet for these
pleasures–I think I degrade the word when I call them pleasures–for
these pleasures they are willing to pawn their souls and risk
everlasting woe; and all this while, be it remembered, to add to the
wonder, there are pleasures to be found in godliness; they do not deny
this, they cannot without belying their own observation. We who are at
least as honest as they are, bear our testimony that we never knew what
true happiness was till we gave our hearts to Christ; but since then
our peace has been like a river. We have had our afflictions, we have
suffered grievous bodily pain, we have endured mental depression, we
have been heavily burdened, we have borne many trials; but we can say–
"We would not change our blest estate
For all the world calls good or great."
"Happy are the people whose God is the Lord!" We can set our seal to
this experimentally. See ye then, my brethren, these poor souls will
prefer the pleasures that mock them to the pleasures that alone can
satisfy. If we had to die like dogs, it would be worth while to be a
Christian. If there were no hereafter, and our only consideration were
who should enjoy this life the best, it would be the wisest thing to be
a servant of God and a soldier of the cross. I say not it would ensure
our being rich, I say not it would ensure our being respected, I say
not it would ensure our walking smoothly and free from outward trouble;
but I do say that because of "the secret something which sweetens all,"
because of the profound serenity which true religion brings, the
Christian life out-masters every other, and there is none to be
compared therewith. But think ye for awhile what the ungodly man's life
is! I can only compare it to that famous diabolical invention of the
Inquisition of ancient times. They had as a fatal punishment for
heretics, what they called the "Virgin's Kiss." There stood in a long
corridor the image of the Virgin. She outstretched her arms to receive
her heretic child; she looked fair, and her dress was adorned with gold
and tinsel, but as soon as the poor victim came into her arms the
machinery within began to work, and the arms closed and pressed the
wretch closer and closer to her bosom, which was set with knives, and
daggers, and lancets, and razors, and everything that could cut and
tear him, till he was ground to pieces in the horrible embrace; and
such is the ungodly man's life. It standeth like a fair virgin, and
with witching smile it seems to say, "Come to my bosom, no place so
warm and blissful as this;" and then anon it begins to fold its arms of
habit about the sinner, and he sins again and again, brings misery into
his body, perhaps, if he fall into some form of sin, stings his soul,
makes his thoughts a case of knives to torture him, and grinds him to
powder beneath the force of his own iniquities. Men perceive this, and
dare not deny it; and yet into this virgin's bosom they still thrust
themselves, and reap the deep damnation that iniquity must everywhere
involve. Alas, alas, my God!
And now, once more, this terrible mystery, which is only solved by
men's being held by their sins, has this added to it, that all the
while in the case of most of you now present, all that I have said is
believed, and a great deal of it is felt. I mean this: if I were
talking with persons who did not believe they had a soul, or believe in
the judgment to come, or believe in the penalty of sin, or believe in
the reward of righteousness, I should see some reason why they rejected
the great salvation; but the most of you who attend this house of
prayer–I think I might say all–have scarcely ever had a doubt about
these things. You would be very much horrified if any one would
insinuate that you did not believe the Bible to be the word of God. You
have a little Pharisaism in your soul, that you think you are not as
scoffers are, nor infidels. I own you are not, but I grieve to say I
think you are more inconsistent than they. If these things be a
fiction, well, sirs, your course is rational; but if these things be
realities, what shall I say for you when I plead with God on your
behalf? What excuse can I make for you? If you profess to believe these
things, act as though you believe them; if you do not, practically act
so. Why do you profess to own them as the truth? The case is worse, for
you not only believe these thing's to be true, but some of you have
felt their power. You have gone home from this place, and you could not
help it, you have sought your chamber and bowed your knee in prayer;
such prayer as it was, for, alas! your goodness has been like the
morning cloud and the early dew. I know some of you who have had to
break off some of your sins, for your conscience would not let you rest
in them. Yet you are unbelievers still, still you are undecided, still
you are unsaved, and at this moment, if your soul were required of you,
nothing would be in prospect but a fearful looking for of judgment and
of fiery indignation. O my hearer, you whose conscience has been at
times awakened, in whom the arrows of the great King have found a
lodging place, in whom they are rankling still, yield, I pray thee,
yield to the divine thrusts, and give up thy contrite spirit to thy
Redeemer's hands. But if thou do not, what shall I say to thee? The
kingdom of God has been thrust from you by yourselves. Be sure of this,
it has come near you, and in coming near it has involved solemn
responsibilities which I pray you may not have to feel the weight of in
the world to come.
Here, then, stands the riddle, that man is so set against God and his
Christ that he never will accept eternal salvation until the Holy
Spirit, by a supernatural work, overcomes his will and turns the
current of his affections; and why is this? The answer lies in the
text, because his own iniquities have taken him, and he is holden with
the cords of his sin. For this reason he will not come unto Christ that
he may have life; for this reason he cannot come, except the Father
which hath sent Christ draw him.
II. But now, secondly, I pass on to observe that though this is the
solution of one mystery, IT IS IN ITSELF A GREATER MYSTERY.
It is a terrible mystery that man should be so great a fool, so mad a
creature as to be held by cords apparently so feeble as the cords of
his own sins. To be bound by reason is honorable; to be hold by
compulsion, if you cannot resist it, is at least not discreditable; but
to be held simply by sin, by sin and nothing else, is a bondage which
is disgraceful to the human name. It lowers man to the last degree, to
think that be should want no fetter to hold him but the fetter of his
own evil lusts and desires. Let us just think of one or two cords, and
you will see this.
One reason why men receive not Christ and are not saved, is because
they are hampered by the sin of forgetting God. Think of that for a
minute. Men forget God altogether. The commission of many a sin has
been prevented by the presence of a child. In the presence of a fellow
creature, ordinarily a man will feel himself under some degree of
restraint. Yet that eye which never sleeps, the eye of the eternal God,
exercises no restraint on the most of men. If there were a child in
that chamber thou wouldst respect it-but God being there thou canst sin
with impunity. If thy mother or thy father were there thou wouldst not
dare offend, but God who made thee and whose will can crush thee, thy
lawful sovereign, thou takest no more account of him than though he
were a dog, yea, not so much as that. Oh, strange thing that men should
thus act! And yet with many it is not because of the difficulty of
thinking of God. Men of study, for instance, if they are considering
the works of God, must be led up to thoughts of God. Galen was
converted from being an atheist while in the process of dissecting the
human body; he could not but see the finger of God in the nerves and
sinews, and all the rest of the wonderful embroidery of the human
frame. There is not an emmet or an infusorial animalcule beneath the
microscope but what as plainly as tongue can speak, saith, "Mortal,
think of God who made thee and me." Some men travel daily over scenes
that naturally suggest the Creator; they go down to the sea in ships,
and do business on great waters, where they must see the works of the
Lord, and yet they even manage to become the most boisterous
blasphemers against the sacred majesty of the Most High, in his very
temple where everything speaks of his glory. But you will tell me
perhaps, some of you, that you are not engaged in such pursuits. I
reply, I know it. Many of you have to labor with your hands for your
daily bread, in occupations requiring but little mental exercise. So
much the more guilty then are you that when your mind is not
necessarily taken up with other things, you still divert it from all
thoughts of God. The working man often find is it very possible to
spend his leisure hours in politics, and to amuse his working hours by
meditating upon schemes more or less rational concerning the government
of his country, and will he dare to tell me therefore that he could not
during that time think of God? There is an aversion to God in your
heart, my brother, or else it would not be that from Monday morning to
Saturday night you forget him altogether. Even when sitting here you
find it by no means a pleasant thing to be reminded of your God, and
yet if I brought up the recollection of your mother, perhaps in heaven,
the topic would not be displeasing to you. What owe you to your mother
compared with what you owe to your God? If I spoke to you of some dear
friend who has assisted you in times of distress, you would be pleased
that I had touched upon such a chord; and may I not talk with you
concerning your God, and ask you why do you forget him? Have you good
thoughts for all but the best? Have you kind thoughts of gratitude for
every friend but the best friend that man can have? My God! my God! why
do men treat thee thus? Brightest, fairest, best, kindest, and most
tender, and yet forgotten by the objects of thy care!
If men were far away from God, and it were a topic abstruse and
altogether beyond reach, something might be said. But imagine a fish
that despised the ocean and yet lived in it, a man who should be
unconscious of the air he breathes! "In him we live and move and have
our being; we are also his offspring." He sends the frost, and he will
send the spring; he sends the seed-time and the harvest, and every
shower that drops with plenty comes from him, and every wind that blows
with health speeds forth from his mouth. Wherefore then is he to be
forgotten when everything reminds you of him? This is a sin, a cruel
sin, a cursed sin, a sin indeed that binds men hard and fast, that they
will not come to Christ that they may have life; but it is strange, it
is beyond all miracles a miracle, that such a folly as this should hold
men from coming to Christ.
Another sin binds all unregenerate hearts; it is the sin of not loving
the Christ of God. I am not about to charge any person here with such
sins as adultery, or theft, or blasphemy, but I will venture to say
that this is a sin masterly and gigantic, which towers as high as any
other–the sin of not loving the Christ of God. Think a minute. Here is
one who came into the world out of pure love, for no motive but mercy,
with nothing to gain, but though he was rich, yet for our sakes he
became poor; why then is he not loved? The other day there rode through
these streets a true hero, a brave bold man who set his country free,
and I do remember how I heard your shouts in yonder street, and you
thronged to look into the lion-like face of Italy's liberator. I blame
you not, I longed to do the same myself, he well deserved your shouts
and your loudest praises. But what had he done compared with what the
Christ of God has done in actually laying down his life to redeem men
from bondage, yielding up himself to the accursed death of the cross
that man might be saved through him? Where are your acclamations, sirs,
for this greater Hero? Where are the laurels that you cast at his feet?
Is it nothing to you, is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by, is it
nothing to you that Jesus should die? Such a character, so
inexpressibly lovely, and yet despised! Such a salvation, so
inexpressibly precious, and yet rejected! Oh, mystery of iniquity!
indeed, the depths of sin are almost as fathomless as the depths of
God, and the transgressions of the wicked all but as infinite in infamy
as God is infinite in love.
I might also speak of sins against the Holy Ghost that men commit, in
that they live and even die without reverential thoughts of him or care
about him; but I shall speak of one sin, and that is the mystery that
men should be held by the sin of neglecting their souls. You meet with
a person who neglects his body, you call him fool, if, knowing that
there is a disease, he will not seek a remedy. If, suffering, from some
fatal malady, he never attempts to find a cure, you think the man is
fit only for a lunatic asylum. But a person who neglects his soul, be
is but one of so numerous a class, that we overlook the madness. Your
body will soon die, it is but as it were the garment of yourself and
will be worn out; but you yourself are better than your body as a man
is better than the dress he wears. Why spend you then all thoughts
about this present life and give none to the life to come?
It has long been a mystery who was the man in the iron mask. We believe
that the mystery was solved some years ago, by the conjecture that he
was the twin brother of Louis XIV., King of France, who, fearful lest
he might have his throne disturbed by his twin brother, whose features
were extremely like his own, encased his face in a mask of iron and
shut him up in the Bastille for life. Your body and your soul are twin
brothers. Your body, as though it were jealous of your soul, encases it
as in an iron mask of spiritual ignorance, lest its true lineaments,
its immortal lineage should be discovered, and shuts it up within the
Bastille of sin, lest getting liberty and discovering its royalty, it
should win the mastery over the baser nature. But what a wretch was
that Louis XIV., to do such a thing to his own brother! How brutal, how
worse than the beasts that perish! But, sir, what art thou if thou
doest thus to thine own soul, merely that thy body may be satisfied,
and thy earthly nature may have a present gratification? O sirs, be not
so unkind, so cruel to yourselves. But yet this sin of living for the
mouth and living for the eye, this sin of living for what ye shall eat
and what ye shall drink, and wherewithal ye shall be clothed, this sin
of living by the clock within the narrow limits of the time that ticks
by the pendulum, this sin of living as if this earth were all and there
were nought beyond–this is the sin that holds this City of London, and
holds the world, and binds it like a martyr to the stake to perish,
unless it be set free.
Generally, however, there also lies some distinct form of actual sin at
the bottom of most men's impenitence. I will not attempt to make a
guess, my dear hearer, as to what it may be that keeps thee from
Christ, but without difficulty I could, I think, state what these sins
generally are. Some men would fain be saved, but they would not like to
tale up the cross and be despised as Christians. Some would fain follow
Christ, but they will not give up their self-righteous pride; they want
to have a part of the glory of salvation. Some men have a temper, which
they do not intend to try to restrain. Others have a secret sin, too
sweet for them to give it up; it is like a right arm, and they cannot
come to the cutting of it off. Some enjoy company which is attractive,
but destructive, and from that company they cannot fly. Men one way or
another are held fast like birds with birdlime, till the fowler comes
and takes them to their destruction. O that they were wise, for then
they might be awakened out of this folly! But this still remaineth the
mystery of mysteries, that those sins absurd and deadly, bind men as
with cords, and hold them fast like a bull in a net.
THE CONCLUSION OF THE WHOLE MATTER IS THIS, a message sinner to thee,
and saint, to thee.
Sinner, to thee. Thou art held fast by thy sins, and I fear me much
thou wilt be held so till thou perish, perish everlastingly. Man, does
not this concern you? I lay last night by the hour together on my bed
awake, tossing with a burden on my heart, and I tell thee that only
burden that I had was thy soul. I cannot endure it, man, that thou
shouldst be cast into the "lake that burneth with fire and brimstone."
I believe that book as thou dost; believing it, I am alarmed at the
prospect which awaits the unconverted. The more I look into the subject
of the world to come, the more I am impressed that all those who would
lessen our ideas of the judgment that God will bring upon the wicked,
are waging war against God and against virtue and the best interests of
men. "It is a fearful thing to fall into the hands of the living God."
Do not try it, my friend, I pray thee do not try it. Run not this risk,
this certainty of endless misery, I beseech thee, dare it not! What
sayest thou, "What then should I do?" I venture to reply in the words
of one of old, "Break off thy sins by righteousness, for it is time to
seek the Lord." But thou repliest, "How can I break them off? they are
like cords and bonds." Ah, soul, here is another part of thy misery,
that thou hast destroyed thyself, but thou canst not save thyself; thou
hast woven the net, thou hast made it fast and firm, but thou canst not
tear it in pieces. Bat there is One who can, there is One upon whom the
Spirit of the Lord descended that he might loose the prisoner. There is
a heart that feels for thee in heaven, and there is One mighty to save,
who can rescue thee. Breathe that prayer, "O set me free, thou
Liberator of captive souls;" breathe the prayer now, and believe that
he can deliver thee, and thou shalt yet, captive as thou art, go free,
and this shall be thy ransom price, his precious blood; and this shall
be the privilege of thy ransomed life, to love and praise him who hath
redeemed thee from going down into the pit.
But I said the conclusion of the whole matter had something to do with
the child of God. It has this to do with him. Dear brother and sister
in Christ, by the love you bear to your fellow sinners, never help to
make the bonds of their sins stronger than they are–you will do so if
you are inconsistent. They will say, "Why, such a one professes to be a
saved man, and yet see how he lives!" Will you make excuses for
sinners? It was said of Judah, by the prophet, that she had become a
comfort to Sodom and Gomorrah. O never do this; never let the ungodly
have to say, "There is nothing in it; it is all a lie; it is all a mere
pretense; we may as well continue in sin, for see how these Christians
act!" No, brethren, they have bonds enough without your tightening them
or adding to them.
In the next place, never cease to warn sinners. Do not stand by and see
them die without lifting up a warning note. A house on fire, and you
see it as you go to your morning's labor, and yet never lift up the cry
of "Fire!" a man perishing, and yet no tears for him! Can it be so? At
the foot of Mr. Richard Knill's likeness I notice these words,
"Brethren, the heathen are perishing, will you let them perish?" I
would like to have each of you apply to your own conscience the
question, "Sinners are perishing, will you let them perish without
giving them at least, a warning of what the result of sin must be?" My
brethren, I earnestly entreat you who know the gospel to tell it out to
others. It is God's way of cutting the bonds which confine men's souls;
be instant, in season and out of season, in publishing the good news of
liberty to the captives through the redeeming Christ.
And lastly, as you and I cannot set these captives free, let us look to
him who can. O let our prayers go up and let our tears drop down for
sinners. Let it come to an agony, for I am persuaded we shall never get
much from God by way of conversion till we feel we must have it, until
our soul breaketh for the longing that it hath for the salvation of
souls: when your cry is like that of Rachel, "Give me children or I die
I" you shall not long be spiritually barren. When you must have
converts, or your heart will break, God will hear you and send you an
answer. The Lord bless you! May none of you be held by the cords of
your sins, but may ye be bound with cords to the horns of God's altar
as a happy and willing sacrifice to him that loved you. The Lord bless
you for Jesus' sake.
PORTION OF SCRIPTURE READ BEFORE SERMON–Proverbs 3.
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A Generous Proposal