A Troubled Prayer
A sermon
(No. 741)
Delivered by
C.H.SPURGEON,
At the Metropolitan Tabernacle, Newington
"Look upon my affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sins." Psalm
25:18.
IF this Psalm were, indeed, written by David at the time when his son
Absalom had raised the rebellion against him, we can readily understand
the distinction which he draws between his "affliction," and his
"pain." It is a great "affliction" to have a son become a rebel and
that subjects who owed so much to their monarch should become traitors
against his gentle government. "Pain" was the acute sensation which
David's own heart experienced as the result of such calamity. He knew–
"How sharper than a serpent's tooth it is To have a thankless child."
None of us can guess the "pain" which David must have felt from the
"affliction" of having such a son as Absalom, and the "pain" of mind,
again, which he felt in being betrayed by his familiar counselor,
Ahithophel, and in being forsaken by his subjects who in former days
had honored him and rejoiced in him. He asked the Lord, therefore, to
look not only upon the trouble, but also upon the misery which the
trouble caused him. "If needs be," says the Apostle, "we are in
heaviness through manifold temptations"–as if not only the temptations
were to be observed, but also the heaviness consequent thereof. So here
we may bring before God's notice not only our trial, but the inward
anguish which the trial occasions us.
I can understand, also, why David should add, "And forgive all my
sins," because he knew that the revolt of Absalom was mysteriously
connected with the Divine purpose as a chastisement for his sin with
Bathsheba. He recollected how Nathan had told him that he should have
war all the days of his life–and now he remembered it all–the
bitterness of gall sickened his soul as he remembered that sin which
had once been so sweet to his taste. He went back to the fatal day and
the tears stood in his eyes as he thought of all the filth and guilt of
his conduct–what a traitor he had been to Uriah–how he had dishonored
the name of God in the midst of the whole land!
Well might he have said, "Lord, when You look upon this well-deserved
affliction, and when You see the pain with which it brings my soul,
then, though it will bring my sin to Your mind as it does to mine, yet
let forgiveness blot it out. Yes, not for that sin only, but for all
others that have preceded or followed it grant me a gracious
pardon–forgive, I pray You, all my sins."
1. It is well for us, dear Friends, WHEN OUR PRAYERS ABOUT OUR SORROWS
ARE LINKED WITH PRAYERS ABOUT OUR SINS–WHEN, BEING UNDER GOD'S HAND,
OUR SOUL IS NOT WHOLLY TAKEN UP WITH OUR PAIN, BUT WE ALSO REMEMBER OUR
OFFENSES AGAINST GOD. I do not think it would have been worth one's
while to have preached from the text if it had only said, "Remember my
affliction and my pain." But when it is, "Look upon my affliction and
my pain; and forgive all my sins," the two things put together are very
instructive.
Let us seek to get some edifying counsel from them. Our sorrows are
profitable when they bring our sins to our minds. Some sorrows may do
this by giving us lime for thought. A sickbed has often been a place of
repentance. While the man was occupied with his daily work and the
active labor of his hands, or could be from morning till night at
business, sin escaped his notice. He was too busy to care about his
soul. He had too much to do with earth to remember Heaven. But now he
cannot think of business, or if he does he can get no profit or
satisfaction from all his thoughts–now he cannot go to his work but
must lie upon his bed until his health is recovered.
And oftentimes the quiet of the night, or the stillness of the day
which once was given up to toil and drudgery has been blessed of God to
work a solemn stillness in the soul in which the voice of God has been
heard, saying, "Turn unto Me! Turn unto Me! Why will you die?" Some of
you do not often hear God's voice. You are in the midst of the clitter-
clatter of this great city and the roar and din of it are so
perpetually ringing in your ears that the still small voice of your
heavenly Father you do not hear. And it may, perhaps, be a great mercy
to you if, in your own house, or in the ward of an hospital, you may be
compelled to hear Him say, "Turn unto Me! Turn unto Me! For I will have
mercy upon you!"
Other afflictions remind us of our sins because they are the direct
result of transgression. The profligate man, if God should bless those
scourges of the body which have even sprung from his own vices, may
find the disease to be a cure for the misdemeanors which produced it.
We ought to thank God that He will not let us sin without chastisement.
If any of you are sinning and find pleasure without penalty in the
self-indulgence, do not congratulate yourself upon the apparent
immunity with which you violate the laws of virtue–for that is the
badge of the reprobate.
To sin and never smart is the mark of those who will be damned. Their
smart, like their doom, being in reserve and stored up for sorer
judgment. But if any man among you here is now smarting for the sin he
has committed, I will not say, let him be hopeful, but I will say, let
him be thankful! Let him remember that evidently God has not quite
given him up–He has touched him with the rod, but He has not thrown
the reins upon his neck! He has put a curb in his mouth and He is
pulling him up sharply. God grant that it may be blessed to turn him
from his wild career.
The extravagant man who has spent his money and finds himself in rags
ought to look upon his sins through his rags. His present poverty may
well remind him of his previous prodigality. The man who has lost a
friend through ingratitude and now needs a friend but cannot find one,
may thank himself for it, and be reminded of his baseness by his
bankruptcy. There are many other sins, though we have not time to
mention them, which are evidently the fathers of sorrows. And when you
get the sorrowful offspring you should think of the guilty
parentage–and if you would be rid of the child, go to God and ask Him
to deliver you from the sin and divorce you from the transgression that
produced it.
Other sorrows, likewise, remind us of our sins because they bear their
likeness. It has been well remarked that oftentimes when God would
punish us He just leaves us to eat the fruit of our own ways. He has
nothing more to do than to let the seed which we have sown ripen, and
then allow us to eat it. How often in reading the Holy Scriptures may
you observe the quality of men's sins in the nature of their
punishment! Jacob deceived his father, and what then? Why, he was
always being deceived all his life long!
He was a great bargain-maker, so everybody cheated him, of course! He
would use his wily cleverness and as he would be clever and supplant,
he had to become a dupe and be supplanted. That was the misery of his
life because it was the besetting sin of his character. Now when a man
loses money, loses it continually–notwithstanding all the skill and
efforts he can employ–I would have him ask himself whether there may
not have been some sin in connection with his money which has brought
the punishment on him. He may have loved it too much! He may have
obtained it in an illegal way! He may not have used it when he had it
in a proper spirit–it may have been dangerous for it to remain with
him lest it should have corroded his heart by its own cankering.
The losses a man suffers in business, I doubt not in many cases, and I
am sure of it in some cases, ought to make him look earnestly at the
way in which they came upon him. When we have heard of some who have
gained wealth by one speculation and have lost it again by another
speculation, I think it ought to be made the subject of enquiry with
them how far their dealings were lawful, if indeed it were lawful for
them to have entered upon such traffic in any shape or form. The
question must be asked whether God may not have had a controversy with
them in their counting-house. Is this an obligation with money?
Surely it often is so with the rearing of your family. If your
affliction should come through your children turning out evil in life,
or through what is a far lighter affliction–though, perhaps, you may
not think it so–through your children dying in infancy, you may say to
yourselves, "How have I behaved towards those children?" Is my child
willful and disobedient? Then how about the training and the management
that I have observed? Is my child perverse, vicious, worldly? How about
my example as it was seen at the family hearth? May not my boy's sins
be only a reproduction of my own? Might not the fledglings that I have
hatched roost in my family, disturb my peace, and bring me sorrow? May
not my daughter's stubbornness of heart be only my own obduracy that
breaks out in the girl?
Might I not hear the voice of God saying to me, "See how you treated
Me, and is it not meet you should eat the fruit of your own ways? You
are a father, and how do you like to be thus treated–to be slighted in
your discipline, and your affections set at nothing?" So I might
continue, passing from our households to our respective positions in
society. We sometimes find ourselves unable to maintain our station.
With chagrin and mortification we have to take a lower place,
and may we not then ask, Did we acquit ourselves before God in all that
we might have done in our former standing? Did the rank we held elevate
us and puff us up with vanity?
At any rate, we may bring ourselves to great searching of heart. When
sorrow takes any particular shape it suggests its own particular
questions. The problem must be studied to get at the solution. With
regard to sickness, I am not certain whether the chastening hand of God
for sin ought not to be more immediately recognized than is now, for
the most part, common among us. In one sense God never punishes His
people for sin. There is nothing vindictive in the rod He uses, and
nothing expiatory in the sufferings they endure. God's redeemed people
were punished in Christ and it cannot be, therefore, that the penalty
of the Law is exacted on them a second time.
Yet there is a sense in which the Church of God, under paternal
discipline, is continually exercised with chastisement. Do you remember
the Apostle's words about the Corinthian Church? They had fallen into a
very lax method of receiving the Lord's Supper. They brought, everyone,
his own bread and wine. Some of them were full, and others were hungry,
beside which, other breaches of Church order were rife among them. And
the Apostle says, "For this cause many are weak and sickly among you,
and many sleep."
Therefore I gather that sickness, at any rate, in the early Church, was
likely to be sent by God upon the members for ecclesiastical offenses.
I am not sure whether in like manner sacred corrections, though in a
way not so easily discoverable, may not still be in exercise among the
members of the Christian Church. I see that in ordinary Providence God
visits men, and as there is a special Providence for His people, surely
there is nothing harsh or unwarrantable in attributing a strong flood
of adversity, as well as a refreshing stream of prosperity, to the hand
of the Lord!
When a Christian, therefore, finds himself chastened in his body, he
should go to God with this question, "Show me why You contend with me.
Why do You lay Your rod upon me, my Father? You do not afflict
willingly, nor grieve the children of men. It is not from the heart, as
though You had ceased to love. It must be from Your unerring judgment
where in measure You do rebuke. Tell me, therefore, my Father, what is
the cause? If You see a reason, tell me what that reason is–
'The dearest idol I have known,
Whatever that idol is,
Help me to tear it from Your throne,
And worship only You.' "
Our sins, then, may sometimes be discovered by the very image of our
sorrows. What a great blessing it is to us when our sorrows remind us
of our sins by driving us out of an atmosphere of worldliness! There is
our nest, and a very pretty, round, snug nest it is. And we have been
very busy picking up all the softest feathers that we could find, and
all the prettiest bits of moss that earth could yield. And we have been
engaged night and day making that nest soft and warm. There we intended
to remain. We meant for ourselves a long indulgence, sheltered from
inclement winds, never to put our feet among the cold dewdrops, nor to
weary our pinions by mounting up into the clouds.
But suddenly a thorn came into our breast. We tried to remove it but
the more we struggled the more it chafed, and the more deeply the thorn
fixed itself into us. Then we just began to spread our wings and as we
mounted it would seem as though the atmosphere had changed, and our
souls had changed, too, with the mounting, and we began to sing the old
forgotten song–which in the nest we never should have sung–the song
of those who mount from earth and have communion with the skies.
Yes, when God is pleased to take away our health, our comfort, our
children, our friends, it very frequently happens that then we think of
Him! We turn from the creature with disgust. We leave the broken
cisterns because they hold no water and begin to look out for the
overflowing Fountain. And so our sorrows, driving us to God, make us,
in the light of His Countenance, to behold and to grieve over our sins.
This is a great blessing to us! Sometimes, again, our sorrows remind us
of our ingratitude. You are unwell–now you recollect how ungrateful
you were for your health. You are poor–"Ah," you think to yourselves,
"I used to grumble once over a good meal that I should be glad to have
now."
"Ah," you say, "those garments that I used to think so shabby–how much
I should prize their warmth now!" It is said that we never know the
value of mercies till we lose them. It is a great shame that such a
proverb should be true. We ought to be grateful to God without needing
the bitter teaching of adversity. Our sorrow thus administers a
rebuke– and kindles in us a remembrance of the goodness that we had
never welcomed with our praise till the shadows fell upon us–and the
night hid it from our view.
No crime among men is accounted more base than ingratitude, but few
sins we less bewail before God. Bunyan has well said that he who
forgets his friend is ungrateful to him, but he that forgets his Savior
is unmerciful to himself. And I remember some other author who says
that we are never surprised at the sunrise of our joys, as we are at
their sunset. On the contrary, when storms of sorrow burst upon us we
are sorely amazed, but when they pass away we take it as a matter of
course. You all know how sad a blemish it was upon the character of
Hezekiah that he rendered not again unto the Lord according to the
benefit done unto him, for his heart was lifted up in vainglory. The
provocation of a thankless heart to a merciful God is no light matter.
As the guilt is heavy, let our repentance be sincere.
Sometimes, again, sorrow reminds us of the sin of need of sympathy with
those in like sorrow. "Ah," says one, "I used to laugh at Mrs.
So-and-So for being nervous. Now that I feel the torture, myself, I am
sorry that I was ever hard upon her." "Ah," says another, "I used to
think of such-and-such a person that he must be a fool to be always in
so gloomy a state of mind! But now I cannot help sinking into the same
desponding frames, and oh, I would to God that I had been more kind to
him!"
Yes, we would feel more for the prisoner if we knew more about the
prison! We would feel more for the poor if we understood more of the
pangs of need. Our sorrows may often help to remind us of our harshness
towards some of the best of God's afflicted ones. And I think, also,
that affliction may be sent to admonish us of our neglect of Divine
teaching. "Why that rod?" "Why that whip and that bridle?" Because I
have been like the horse and the mule which have no understanding! Had
I listened to the voice of God that I heard from the pulpit. Or had I
hearkened to the counsels given to me in the pages of Scripture. Or if
I had even noticed the dictates of my own conscience–yes, had I been
more jealous of the motions of the Holy Spirit in my soul–I might
never have entailed all this trouble upon me.
You know the old fable we used to read in our school books about the
boy in the apple tree who would not come down when the good man with
soft words admonished him. Then the man took to throwing turfs at him,
but still he would not heed. And at length the man betook himself to
stones and compelled him to come down. Oh, when God betakes Himself to
stones, and we get cut with them, we might well say to ourselves, "Ah,
light afflictions, you would not do! We laughed at the kind words, and
even the turfs which struck our conscience without wounding our flesh
would not do! And now He has come to blows with us!
God is always loath to use the rod. He is an unwise father who never
chastens, but a much worse father he who chastens for nothing. God will
chasten His people, but it takes Him a long time to bring Himself to
use the rod. He does not wish to strike His children. He delights in
their happiness and not in their sorrow. And when at last He does come
to it, it is–if I may use such an expression in reference to
Him–because our ill manners force Him to it. O Christian, in these
your sorrows, be humble before the Lord your God. But still use Job's
enquiry, "Show me why You contend with me."
I wish that some here, who have not the fear of God before their eyes,
would look at it in this light. If you are inclined to pray about your
troubles, take your sins into consideration, too. If you feel that you
must go to God under the particular trial which is vexing you at
present, go to Him about your besetting sins as well. Make the two into
one bundle and go to Him, and say, "Look upon my affliction and my
pain; and forgive all my sins."
This, then, is our first remark. It is fit that our sorrows should
bring our sins to remembrance.
II. Secondly, IT IS WELL WHEN WE ARE AS EARNEST ABOUT OUR SINS AS WE
ARE ABOUT OUR SORROWS. This is the mark of a genuine penitent. I think
you will have noticed in the late "Report" of the chaplain of Newgate
the remark that many of the prisoners will pretend very great
repentance when the chaplain is talking to them about spiritual things.
But the chaplain can very readily discover those who are not truly
penitent by their constantly trying to bring him round to tell them
something about their punishment.
Before the trial they frequently ask for information as to what term of
imprisonment–how many months or years they are likely to get. Then,
when they are undergoing punishment they frequently try to get some
trifling favor through the means of the chaplain, showing that they
think more of the punishment than of the theft. They are like the
unhappy wretch in the condemned cell who often repents of the gallows
that is to end his career, but does not repent of the murder that cut
short his victim's life. There are many such.
So, if I go to God and only ask to have my sorrows taken away from me,
what is that? I am no true penitent! I am like the child who cries
bitterly because he smarts, but when the smart is over, he goes back to
the offense again. If we were true children of God and had a truly
repentant spirit, we should feel the rod to be less than nothing
compared with
the sin. We should say, "Lord, strike me! If You have but forgiven me I
can bear the strokes! Strike, Lord, strike as hard as You will, for my
sin is forgiven."
A good child will say, "My Father, you have forgiven me the offense.
Ah, well, if I must be chastened, I will cheerfully bear it, for my
sorrow is not that I smart, but that my sin should have caused you to
be angry, and to make me smart." This, then, is the mark of a genuine
penitent–that he is as earnest about his sins as he is about his
sorrows. Your trials have never worked in you what they were meant for
until it is so. God sends your trial to make you see yourself– your
weaknesses, your folly, your sinfulness, your distance from Him. And
when those sins, those sweet sins of yours become bitter–when your
soul nauseates and loathes them–then, probably, your affliction will
be taken from you.
But if you still yield to your sins with your left hand and would
gladly lay hold of God's mercy with your right, there is need that the
rod be laid on your back again, and again, and again–for you have not
yet feared the rod nor Him that has appointed it! Let any of you who
are in trouble here, mend your prayer tonight. If you have been saying,
"Lord, take away the sickness from my dear child," you should say,
"Lord if it is Your will, heal my child, but forgive my sin."
Or if any of you are very poor tonight, or if you are not well and you
have a sense of sin, I pray you, I entreat you, as you kneel by your
bedside–which I trust you all will–while you ask God to restore your
health, or to remove your poverty, be quite as earnest about the
forgiveness of your sins, or else it will betoken two things–that you
are not a genuine penitent, and that, therefore, the affliction has not
worked in you its great design.
III. But, thirdly, IT IS WELL TO TAKE BOTH SORROW AND SIN TO THE SAME
PLACE. It was to God that David took his sorrow. It was to God that
David took his sin. Observe, then, we must take our sorrows to God. Ah,
my dear Sister over yonder, where do you take your sorrows? Why, to
your next door neighbor, to Mrs. This, and to Mrs. That! We are very,
very fond of pouring out our tales of woe into the ear of some earthly
friend. That may be a slight relief if discreetly done, but I think the
verses of the hymn is not wrong which says–
"Have you no words? Ah, think again Words flow apace when you complain,
And fill your fellow creature's ear With the sad tale of all your care.
Were half the breath thus vainly spent To Hea ven in supplication sent,
Our cheerful song would oftener be 'Hear what the Lord has done for
me.'"
Some children run and tell Mother, or tell Father. Do you the same! Go
and tell your Father–you can tell your brethren afterwards if you
will–but you had better let your Father know first. I think we should
often hesitate to mention our troubles lest we should depress our
fellow creatures. I am sure we should hesitate to mention them to men
if we made it a rule first to bring them before our God. Your little
sorrows you may take to God, for He counts the hairs of your head! Your
great sorrows you may take to God, for He holds the world in the hollow
of His hand! Go to Him, whatever your present trouble may be, and you
shall find Him willing and able to relieve you!
But we must also take our sins to God. Possibly this is a more
difficult point. The sinner thinks that he must fight this battle for
himself, wrestle with his own evil temper himself, and he himself must
enter into conflict with his lusts and his besetting sins. But when he
comes into the fight he soon meets with defeat, and then he is ready to
give it all up. Take your sins to God, my Brothers and Sisters. Take
them to the Cross that the blood may fall upon them to purge away their
guilt and take away their power. Your sins must all be slain.
There is only one place where they can be slaughtered–the altar where
your Savior died. If you would flog your sins, flog them with the whip
that tore your Savior's shoulders. If you would nail your sins fast,
drive the same nails through them which fastened your Lord to the
Cross. I mean let your faith in the great Surety, and your love to Him
who suffered so much for you, be the power with which you do conflict
with evil. It is said of the saints in Heaven, "They overcame through
the blood of the Lamb." That is how you must overcome! Go to Jesus with
your sins!
No one else can help you. You are powerless without Him. You may
confess all your sins to Him with a view of leaving them all with Him.
He receives sinners! He receives their sins, too, when they are brought
to Him in penitence. God has made to meet upon Him the iniquity of all
His people, and you may take your sins and leave them in the hands of
Jesus, who will counter-plead them with His merits and put them away in
His mercy. And so shall you come away rejoicing!
And, as we have remarked that we are not to take up the battle with our
sorrows alone, nor with our sins alone, we may further say that the
most sorrowful and the most sinful are welcome to the Lord Jesus.
The most sorrowful may come! I mean those in despair. Those who are at
their wits end. Those poor souls, who, through superabundant
difficulty, are ready to do the most unreasonable things–ready, it may
even be, to give way to that wicked, Satanic temptation of rushing from
this present life into a world unknown by their own hands! Go,
sorrowful one, go now to Jesus, whose tender heart will feel for you!
Has your friend forsaken you? Have your lover and your acquaintance
become your enemies? Seek no human sympathy just now, but first and
foremost, in a flood of tears, reveal your case to the great invisible
Helper.
Kneel down and tell Him all that racks your spirit and fills your
tortured mind, and plead the promise that He will be with you, and you
shall find Him true though all else be false. And, as the most
sorrowful, so the most sinful are welcome to Christ–the sinful
certainly, but the most sinful especially. If your sin has become so
outrageous that it were wrong for me to mention it here. If it has
become so tremendous in its power, that, like the chain and ball at the
convict's foot, you cannot escape from it, yet still come with all your
sins to Jesus! You vilest sinner out of Hell! You who are nearest to
the gates of perdition! You who have had fellowship with devils till
you have become almost a devil yourself! You who have lain steeped in
the scarlet of sin till it has ingrained and entered into the very warp
and woof of your being! You who are all over black within and
without–go to the Savior, and take these words in your mouth–"Look
upon my affliction and my pain, and forgive all my sins."
And suppose the two conditions should have met in your heart–that you
are at the same time the most sorrowful and the most sinful? Still go!
The gates of Mercy are very wide! When Christ opened the Holy of Holies
He did not make a little slit, but the veil of the temple was rent in
two from the top to the bottom so that the biggest sinner that ever
lived might come through it to the blood-sprinkled Mercy Seat. Oh, the
amazing mercy of God! "As high as the heavens are above the earth, so
high are His ways above our ways, and His thoughts above our thoughts."
Sin is, after all, a thing of the creature, but mercy is an attribute
of the Creator, and the Creator's attribute swallows up the creature's
fault. Thus says the Lord, "I will take away their iniquities and cast
them into the depths of the sea." The most sorrowful and the most
sinful may go!
And let us add that God can, with equal ease, remove our sorrows and
our sins. It is wonderful how difficulties fly when Omnipotence
encounters them! The sick man who has been given up by the physician
has often recovered. And it has been, perhaps, his mercy that the
physician gave him up, for where man has come to an ending, God has
come to a beginning. The old proverb says that, "Man's extremity is
God's opportunity," and most certainly that is true. God has but to
will it and fevers fly and diseases disappear. As the soldier goes at
the captain's bidding, so does God say to Death, "Go," and he goes, or
"Come," and he comes. Thus is it in our circumstances. How very often a
day which opened as black as gathering clouds could make it has ended
with a bright sunset! How frequently the beggar has found himself
lifted up from the dunghill and made to sit among princes!
I should not wonder but what some of you, in looking back and
remembering the circumstances you are now in, are quite surprised to
find yourselves where you are. This very morning I was talking with a
gentleman who said to me, "I cannot bear waste in my household, and one
reason is this–if ever there was a poor wretch who could live on hard
fare once, and envy the very dogs a piece of bread, I am just that
one–but God has been pleased to prosper me, and I often look back upon
that season of poverty and of need, and thank Him for having helped me
through it."
Well, you see, dear Friends, that God can turn the wheel and make the
bottom spoke to be the uppermost one, and He can do it all in a few
days. Come, then, though sin and sorrow rest like a double burden upon
our body and soul–let us go to Him and say, "Look upon my affliction
and my pain; and forgive all my sins."
IV. Perhaps our last observation is more strictly to the text than
anything else. It is that WE ARE TO GO TO GOD WITH SORROWS AND WITH
SINS IN THE RIGHT SPIRIT. You notice that all that David asks about his
sorrow is, "Look upon my afflictions and my pain." But the next
petition is more express, definite, decided, plain–"Forgive all my
sins."
Some people would have put it, "Remove my affliction and my pain, and
look at my sins." But David does not say so. He says, "Lord, as for my
affliction and my pain, I do not say much about that–Lord look at it.
I will leave that to You. I should be glad to have it removed. Do as
You will. Look at it. Consider it. But as for my sins, Lord, I know
what
I want there–I must have them forgiven. I cannot bear them." A
Christian counts sorrow lighter in the scale than sin. He can bear that
his troubles should continue, but he cannot endure the burden of his
guilt, or the weight of his transgressions.
Here are two guests come to my door. Both of them ask to have a lodging
with me. The one is called Affliction. He has a very grave voice, and a
very heavy hand, and he looks at me with fierce eyes. The other is
called Sin, and he is very soft-spoken, and very fair, and his words
are softer than butter. Let me scan their faces. Let me examine them as
to their character. I must not be deceived by appearances. I will ask
my two friends who would lodge with me to open their hands. When my
friend Affliction, with some little difficulty, opens his hand, I find
that, rough as it is, he carries a jewel inside it, and that he meant
to leave that jewel at my house.
But as for my soft-spoken friend, Sin–when I force him to show me what
that is which he hides in his sleeve–I find that it is a dagger with
which he would have stabbed me. What shall I do, then, if I am wise?
Why, I should be very glad if they would both be good enough to go and
stop somewhere else, but if I must entertain one of the two, I would
shut my door in the face of smooth-spoken Sin and say to the rougher
and uglier visitor, Affliction, "Come and stop with me, for maybe God
has sent you as a messenger of mercy to my soul." "Look upon my
affliction and my pain; and forgive all my sin." We must be more
express and explicit about sin than we are about trouble. Take the two
expressions together. Use them and whether you blend, or contrast them,
either or both will prove to be full of instruction.
Before I close my sermon and dismiss this assembly, it may be necessary
to notice some among you who have no affliction or pain. In too many
instances I am afraid you have sin, so the latter part of the text will
well suit your case. But oh, if you have not any affliction or pain,
nor yet any cause of fear because your sins are forgiven, let me then
suggest to you that you should be exceedingly happy! Your cup should
overflow with joy.
I do not think, Brothers and Sisters, that you and I rejoice enough.
When engaged this morning, seeing enquirers coming in one after
another, I thought within myself, "I have known the time, when I first
began to preach the Gospel, that one soul God had given me as a fruit
of my ministry made me so happy that I was ready to leap out of the
body. Truly it is a happy thing to be the means of bringing one soul to
Christ." The poet says that–
"A thing of beauty is a joy forever." But a thing of Divine Grace is
much more truly so, for the things of beauty here on earth may be
consumed–but a work of Grace is everlasting! To be the means of saving
one soul ought to set a silver bell ringing in your hearts that will
never stop!
You will say, "I am very poor, and very sick, but I have not lived for
nothing, there will be one gem in the Redeemer's crown that came there
through my instrumentality. There will be one voice in the orchestra of
the skies, which, humanly speaking, would not have been there if the
Lord had not enabled me, by His Grace, to be the means of bringing that
soul to Christ." This ought to make us joyful! But then I thought, here
have I been seeing thirty today, and most of them owed their conversion
to the preaching of the Gospel here, and I have seen, perhaps, in my
little lifetime, several thousands of souls and know of many others
whom I never saw, who have been brought to Christ through our
instrumentality.
What? And down-hearted, and sometimes wretched, and distracted with
care after this? I thought to myself, what a fool I am! And I suspect
that if you and I, or any of us, were to consider the goodness of God
to us, the fact that our names are written in Heaven, that Christ is
ours, that Heaven is ours, that we are the children of God, and that we
are justified by faith–we should say, "Why, why am I moaning and
groaning about these light afflictions, which are but for a moment, and
which will work out for me a far more exceedingly and eternal weight of
glory? Come, my Soul, take down the harp and let your fingers roam
among its strings. Say with old Herbert–
"My God, my God, My music should find You And everything shall have its
attribute to sing."
So, if we cannot go to God, asking Him to look on our affliction, let
us ask Him to look upon our joy and to help us to increase it, and to
grow in it, and then to keep us from sin in the future and to lead us
in the paths of duty and of blessed service, to the honor of His name
and the comfort of our own souls. May the Lord give you, in parting,
His own blessing.
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A Sermon to Open Neglecters and Nominal Followers of Religion
A Sermon