A Warning Against Hardness Of Heart
DELIVERED ON SUNDAY MORNING, MARCH 19, 1865,
BY C. H. SPURGEON, AT THE METROPOLITAN TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
"But exhort one another daily, while it is called 'Today,'lest any of
you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin." Hebrews 3:13.
THE children of Israel, in their coming out of Egypt and in their forty
years' sojourn in the wilderness, represented the visible Church of the
living God–not the secret and elect body of the redeemed–but the
professing company of the outward Church. They were very prone to the
great sin of unbelief. They believed in God after a fashion while they
saw His wonders, but the moment they were brought into straits or
difficulties, they at once began to doubt the power of Jehovah and to
cast off all reverence for His authority. Therefore they fell into
another sin which at last fastened on them so as to become a part of
their nature–they became stiff-necked, obstinate, rebellious, perverse
and hard of heart.
They would not learn, although their lesson-book had miracles for its
pictures. Their hearts became so hard that albeit they saw all the
great things which God did for them, they despised the pleasant land
and were ready at times for the sake of the flesh-pots of Egypt, to
wear again the yoke of Pharaoh and to die the inglorious death of
slaves. Such, too, are the great sins of the Christian Church–unbelief
the root–and obstinacy the fruit.
Brothers and Sisters, if we know our own hearts we must confess that
unbelief is a sin which does very easily beset us and that our
obstinacy may well provoke the Lord to anger. We rejoice in God while
the rocks run with rivers and while the daily manna drops about our
tents. But when the fiery serpent bites us, or the wells are bitter, or
our comforts are in any way interfered with, we begin to distrust and
to suspect the faithfulness of God. And as the result of this, there is
an obstinacy about us which often inclines us to stand out against the
plain precepts of God, because, in the judgment of our unbelief,
obedience might lead us into trouble and disobedience might make our
path smooth.
Oh that it were not so! It is sadly true that God's people are liable
to be overtaken by the worst of sins! Egypt itself did not produce
worse sins than those which provoked the Lord to anger in the camp of
Israel. And to this day the Church has some in it who defile her with
all the sins of the world. I do not mean to insinuate that the Church
of God is not infinitely to be preferred to the world in character–God
forbid that I should slander the fair bride of Christ–she is as much
superior to the world as the curtains of Solomon excel the
smoke-blacked tents of Kedar!
But who dares deny that there are specimens to be found of the worst of
sins occurring among the best of men? Just as in the most carefully
tended garden there will spring up here and there some of the most
noxious weeds–not that the weeds are permitted to smother the whole
garden and kill the flowers–but that their coming while men sleep is
an indication of what the soil is. And it is a plain manifestation that
although the garden is very different from the piece of waste ground on
the other side of the wall, yet it differs not in nature–but owes all
its superiority to the culture of the farmer! Even so, the saints owe
all their excellence above the very chief of sinners to the guardian
care and Omnipotent Grace of the great lover of souls.
It seems, dear Friends, that it is really necessary to warn God's
people, although they have received the new nature and are partakers of
the adoption, against being hardened in heart through the deceitfulness
of sin. But there is a machinery provided by which the saints may be
preserved from this great evil. "Exhort one another daily, lest any of
you be hardened through the deceitfulness of sin."
We will talk together thus this morning. First, we shall dwell for a
season upon the hardening effect of sin upon men, whether saints or
sinners. Then we shall show the peculiar power by which sin hardens,
namely, through its deceitfulness. Then we will consider the remedy
which we are to use with others–"Exhort one another daily." But what
if we should be diseased ourselves with this same hardness of heart?
Then it will be necessary for us to have a few words concerning what to
do for ourselves if we have to complain of a growing insensibility of
Spirit, as I am afraid some of us may most justly do.
I. First, then, dear Friends, THE HARDENING CHARACTER OF SIN. This is
matter of experience. The first sin which came into the world hardened
man's heart in a most terrific manner so that he dared to excuse
himself and even to charge God as being indirectly the author of his
sin, by giving him the woman! No sooner had Adam tasted of the
forbidden fruit than a stony hardness came upon his moral nature. The
heart of sensitive flesh was suddenly petrified and became hard,
unfeeling stone.
He no longer shrank from the thought of sin, but tried to hide himself
from the Presence of his best Friend. He felt his nakedness in some
degree but that which made him naked he did not lament or even confess
before his God. He would never have been content with an apron of fig
leaves if he had known the full measure of his degradation. His unborn
children in that dread hour participated in his fall and are now born
into the world with a stone in their hearts. Man's heart, naturally, is
like that of Leviathan, of which the Lord says, "It is as firm as a
stone, yes, hard as a piece of the nether millstone."
The lower stone of the two in the mill was always chosen on account of
its peculiar hardness. Still, hard as the heart is by nature, it may
grow harder by practice and by association with sin, even as Zechariah
writes of sinners in his day, "Yes, they made their hearts as an
adamant stone, lest they should hear the Law" (Zech. 7:12). There is no
doubt whatever that living among sinners has a hardening tendency upon
men. You cannot walk about in this great lazar-house without receiving
some contagion, though you were pure in heart. Unless you had the
absolute perfection and Godhead of Christ Jesus to protect you, the
Prince of this world would make you his prey. It were hard to dwell in
so foul a world as this without contracting some impurity.
Those black coals which fill this earthly cellar–if they will not burn
us–will at least blacken us. When so many fires of sin are pouring
forth their smoke, the whitest of linen cannot escape the falling ash.
If "the thought of foolishness is sin," and we have Divine authority
for so judging, then even to think of sin exercises a polluting
influence. Can I read a description of another man's sin without
getting my heart hardened? I question if reading the daily reports of
crime in the police news is not a very fertile cause of sin. Great
crimes usually produce their like in congenial winds and even in the
purest hearts their recital cannot but have an injurious effect.
The tree of knowledge of good and evil bears dangerous fruit–it were
well if we restrained our curiosity–and left foul deeds alone,
unknown, unread by us. What good can come from turning over the foul
dunghill of crime? Let those traverse our sewers whose business it is
to do so. Is it not better for the most of us to keep out of them?
Those who are called in Providence to deal daily with the coarser sins
had need to set a special watch over themselves lest they fall by
little and little. Let me here remark that the sins of God's people are
peculiarly operative in this manner.
If I see a drunk intoxicated, I am simply shocked at him–but I am not
likely to imitate his example. But if I see the same vice in a man whom
I respect and whose example has up to now been to me the guide of my
life, I may be greatly grieved at first, but the tendency of my mind
will be to make an excuse for him. And when one has succeeded in
framing a plausible excuse for the sin of another, it is very natural
to use it on one's own behalf.
Association with inconsistent Christians has been the downfall of many
young Believers. The devil delights to use God's own birds as a decoy
for his nets. "I could not have thought it," says the young Christian,
"that men whom I esteemed as saints would have acted so." "Well, well,"
is the next reflection, "if these are good men and go to Heaven and yet
act so badly, then I need not be so precise." And thus, by a course of
reasoning which sin makes as easy as casting up accounts by a ready
reckoner, we arrive at the conclusion that perhaps what we avoided as a
sin may have been no sin at all! And we therefore indulge in it without
stint and step by step come down to the level of this evil generation.
He who handles edged tools, is apt to cut his fingers and none the less
so because the knife is made of the best steel. Let us walk warily
among men like a man with naked feet when going over thorny ground,
lest our hurt be grievous. I am fearful that even preaching against sin
may have an injurious effect upon the preacher. I frankly confess, my
Brethren, that there is a tendency with those of us who have to speak
upon these themes to treat them professionally, rather than to make
application of them to ourselves. And thus we lose our dread of evil in
some degree–just as young doctors soon lose their tender nervousness
in the operating room.
We are compelled in our office to see ten thousand things which at
first are heart breakers to us. In our young ministry, when we meet
with hypocrisy and inconsistency, we are ready to lie down and die. but
the tendency in after years is to take these terrible evils as matters
of course. Worldliness, covetousness and carnality shock us most at the
outset of our work–is not this a sad sign that even God's ministers
may feel the hardening effect of sin? I daily feel that the atmosphere
of earth has as much a tendency to harden my heart as to harden plaster
which is newly spread upon the wall. And unless I am baptized anew with
the Spirit of God and constantly stand at the foot of the
Cross–reading the curse of sin in the crimson hieroglyphics of my
Savior's dying agonies–I shall become as steeled and insensible as the
mass of professors already are.
I cannot enter at length into the whole matter, but let me trace the
gradual process of hardening of heart which may take place in a measure
in a true Christian–but in its full extent in the mere professor whose
religion lacks the inward vital principle. You must understand that the
hardening of a tender conscience is a gradual process, something like
the covering of a pond with ice on a frosty night. At first you can
scarcely see that freezing is going on at all. There are certain signs
which a thoroughly practiced eye may be able to detect as prognostics
of ice, but the most of us would see nothing. By and by, there is ice,
but it would scarcely support a pin. If you should place a needle upon
it ever so gently, it would fall through.
In due time you perceive a thin coating which might sustain a pebble
and before long a child trips merrily over it and if old Winter holds
his court long enough, it may be that a loaded wagon may be driven over
the frozen lake, or a whole army may march without fear across the
stream. There may be no rapid congelation at any one moment and yet the
freezing is complete enough in the end. Apostates and great backsliders
do not reach their worst at one bound. The descent to Hell is sometimes
a precipice–but far oftener a smooth and gentle slope. It were hard to
find out in the worst of men exactly when they were utterly given up to
judicial blindness. It is often a long and laborious process by which
conscience is completely seared.
This dreadful work usually begins thus–the man's first carefulness and
tenderness departs. When you were first converted you felt afraid to
put one foot down before another for fear you should go astray. You
scarcely ever ventured from your house without an anxiety to be kept by
the Grace of God. You used to pray in the morning with great ardor and
earnestness that not a thought might be awry, not one single word
amiss. And, when business was over at night you felt uneasy lest in
anything, however trivial, you might have injured your profession and
grieved the Spirit of God.
Well do I recollect when I was the subject of excessive
tenderness–some people called it "morbid sensibility." How I shuddered
and shivered at the very thought of sin which then appeared exceedingly
sinful. I would to God I could always feel as I then did! O Believer,
your new-born character was then white as the lily and the smallest
grain of dust would show upon it! Your life was bright and shining and
the least speck could be discovered and you, yourself, were like the
sensitive plant–the slightest touch of sin sent a thrill of horror
through every fiber of your soul. But it is not so now, at least not to
the same admirable degree.
It may be you can hear talk to which formerly you would have closed
your ears. You can tolerate sins which once you would have shunned as
though they were deadly serpents. Your walk is somewhat careless
now–great sins you avoid right heedfully–but secret sin gives you
little or no concern. The departure of that blessed sensibility of soul
which marks the new birth is one very serious mark of declension. It
may not seem a great evil to have less abhorrence of evil, but this
truly is the egg from which the worst mischief may come. Hear me
attentively, O my Brothers and Sisters to whom this message is
directed–as I rebuke you in the words of the Savior in the
Revelation–"Nevertheless, I have something against you, because you
have left your first love."
The next distressing sign of growing hardness is increasing neglect or
laxity of private devotion without any corresponding shock of the
spiritual sensibilities on account of it. The daily prayer will become
shorter and shorter, if not irregular. Occasionally the period allotted
to the reading of the Word will be given to business or worldly
pleasure and perhaps frequently forgotten and neglected. It may perhaps
have happened at the first that on some occasion we could not
conveniently read the Scriptures according to our desire and our
prayers were necessarily shortened. But then we sought to make up for
the loss at the first opportunity and we felt like men who, having been
cut short at their meals, must eat the more freely next time.
But now I am afraid these things become common with some professors and
they scarcely care to invent an excuse for their slackness in Divine
things. O what poor pleas do some men offer for deserting their
closets! How unjustly may unread Bibles accuse those pretenders to
Divine Grace who treat them so ill! Alas, Brothers and Sisters, we may
look each other in the face and few of us can plead, "Guiltless."
Divine Spirit, help us to awake out of sleep and to shake off this
deadly lethargy!
Another symptom of increasing callousness of heart is the fact that
hidings of the Savior's face do not cause that acute and poignant
sorrow which they produced in former times. Ah, my soul recollects when
she walked in the full blaze of Jesus' love–when the very thought of
His turning His face away seemed like the chill blast of winter nipping
the summer flowers of my soul. Then I sang–
"Your shining face can cheer, This dungeon where I dwell 'Tis Paradise
if You are here, If You depart, 'tis Hell."
I have sometimes walked in darkness and have seen no light. And I
confess deep shame and profound sorrow that I have occasionally been
half indifferent whether Jesus shone forth or not.
The spouse who fondly loves her husband longs for his return if he is
absent. A long protracted separation from her mate is a semi-death to
her spirit–and so with souls who love the Savior much. They must see
His face–they cannot bear that He should be away upon the mountains of
Bether and no more hold communion with them. A child that is full of
love to its parent cannot endure a frown. An angry pat is heavy–a
stroke cuts to the very heart. A reproaching look, a glance of rebuke,
an uplifted finger will be grievous to good and loving children who
fear to offend their tender father and are only happy in his smile.
Oh, Beloved, it was so once with you! A text of Scripture, a threat, a
touch of the rod of affliction and you went to your Father's feet,
crying, "Show me why You contend with me." Is it so now? Are you
content to follow Jesus afar off? Content to be a wanderer from your
Father's house? Can you contemplate suspended communion with Christ
without alarm? Can you bear to have your Beloved walking contrary to
you because you walk contrary to Him? Have your sins separated you and
your God, and is your heart at rest? O my beloved Brothers and Sisters,
let me affectionately and even tearfully warn you–it is a grievous
token of hardness of heart when we can live contentedly without the
present enjoyment of the Savior's face!
Still further, when the soul is hardened to this extent, it is probable
that sin will no longer cause such grief as it once did. Brother, you
remember how you humbled yourself before God with many fears when in
your former days you felt that you had made a slip in your
conversation? You could not sleep that night. Even that precious
promise, which you tried to lay hold of, could hardly quiet your
agitated mind. You bemoaned yourself most piteously, crying out upon
your bed, "I have dishonored the Lord that bought me! I have been false
to my profession and my love to Jesus!"
Your spirit had no rest even the next day, nor could time assuage your
bitterness of grief. It was only when the Savior had, by His sweet
consolations and the application of His precious blood, effectually
purged your conscience that your soul at last had rest. My Brother, it
may be you have lately sinned far worse than you did then, but you do
not smart half so severely. Your life is not so pure as it once was,
but still your heart is quite as peaceful, for an evil spirit whispers,
"Peace, peace," where there is no peace.
Dr. Preston tells us of a professor who on one occasion was found
drunk. And when much depressed on account of his folly, the devil said
to him by way of temptation, "Do it again, do it again," for said he,
"the grief you feel about it now, you will never feel any more if you
commit the sin again." Dr. Preston says that the man yielded to the
temptation and from that time he never did feel the slightest regret at
his drunkenness and lived and died a confirmed sot, though formerly he
had been a very high professor. Take special heed of the second sin if
you have already fallen into the first, for that second fall may most
effectually prevent your repenting and returning to the right way–the
habit will take you as in an iron net and hold you fast to be dragged
down with other hypocrites like you to the lowest depths of Hell.
It is a sad sign of coming declension, no, of decline already come,
when we can talk of sin lightly, make excuses for it, or make jokes
about it–when we can see it in others without sorrow–and in ourselves
without the greatest shame. The next stop in this ladder, down, down,
down to destruction is that sin, thus causing less grief, is indulged
in more freely. The man had fallen the first time–the second time he
deliberately lies down. The first time he was overtaken in a fault–
the second time he overtakes the fault and runs after the sin. The
first time he was a victim–the second time he is most willingly given
up to it.
The first time he drank the cup by mistake, or by a kind of
compulsion–but the second time he comes to the feast like that of
Ahasuerus, where none compel and yet he rejoices to be a ringleader in
rioting. First he sipped, but now, like the ox, he drinks by the
bucketful. At first he carried only a spark in his bosom, but now he
bears a whole brazier of burning coals and cries that it is sport. The
man may not be ripe enough yet for outward sins under the immediate eye
of the world–the probability is that he keeps his iniquities private.
He eats the bread of sin in secret. He drinks, but no one calls him a
drunk because it is done at home.
He commits lust, but no one charges him with it because he carefully
conceals his tracks and indulges himself only when he is out of sight
of his fellows. He robs in business, but no one can detect it. Perhaps
even the ledger does not show it–there is a particular way of making
ends meet in dishonesty by which a tradesman may be a gross thief and
continue to be so and yet by putting a gloss on matters, can maintain
his repute and be considered honest. Into such a state of heart I fear
that even some of God's children may for a time, be suffered to
fall–but the far greater probability is that those who descend so low
are hypocrites and know not the Grace of God in truth. I pray God we
may never prove by experience how nearly an heir of Heaven may become
like a child of wrath.
After this there is still a greater hardening of heart–the man comes
to dislike rebukes. He has sinned so long and yet he has been held in
such respect in the Christian Church that if you give half a hint about
his sin, he looks at you with a sharp look as if you were insulting
him. He is not to be talked to or spoken with–he has been taken for a
flaming professor so many years that he is not to be suspected now. You
may rebuke the sins of the congregation and he will be gratified if you
do not make too particular an application. You may declaim against his
sin in public, but woe unto the friend who shall be daring enough to
give a private admonition.
The more a man loves his sin and needs rebuke the more heartily will he
hate the person who, with the best of motives, lays it at his door!
Mark this word–if this hardening work goes on, the day comes at last
to such a man that the Word of God loses all effect upon him–whether
he reads it or hears it, it ceases to be an accusing voice any longer.
He rather finds a song of lullaby in it, and rocked in the cradle of
his sin he sleeps on to his own eternal ruin. You say, "Can a child of
God come as far as this?" I believe not, my Brothers and Sisters, but I
am speaking now of professors at large. These professors have, at last,
learned to sleep over the mouth of Hell and dream of Heaven while
damnation is denounced upon them.
I fear that some here are as easy under the thunders of God's Law as
the blacksmith's dog under the sound of his master's hammer with the
sparks flying about him. Some of you have heard the Gospel so long and
have made a profession of being saved so long, that being still
unconverted there is now little hope for you! The Gospel has no power
over you– you know it so well and love it so little. If your character
could be photographed, you would not acknowledge it. If we preach
against hypocrisy, hypocrites say, "Admirable! Admirable!" If we deal
out threats against secret sin, secret sinners feel a little twinge,
but forget it all and say–"An excellent discourse."
They have hardened their neck against God's Word! They have made their
brows like flints and their hearts adamant stones and now they might
just as well stay away from the House of God as not! There is but
little hope that the Word will ever be blest to them–their soul has
become hardened through the deceitfulness of sin. And yet would I have
them keep from the means of Grace? No, for with God nothing is
impossible! The Sovereign Grace of God may yet step in and He who has
power to heal may yet in the mighty majesty of His love speak to the
heart of stone and make it gush forth with rivers of repentance like
the rock in the wilderness of old!
II. We come, in the second place, to notice THE PECULIAR POWER WHICH
LIES IN SIN TO HARDEN THE
HEART. It is the deceitfulness of sin. The heart is deceitful and sin
is deceitful. And when these two deceitful ones lay their heads
together to make up a case there is no wonder if man, like a silly
dove, is taken in their net! One of the first ways in which sin
deceives the professor is by saving, "You see no hurt has come of it.
The thing is hid–nobody has mentioned it to the Church officers. It is
not known among the members. In fact, nobody has heard of it–you may
as well enjoy yourself as not. You are not doing any mischief–if there
is anything wrong it is confined to yourself."
"Really," says Sin, "I cannot see that you are any the worse. You
preached quite well last Sunday. You prayed quite well at the Prayer
Meeting and as far as the family altar is concerned, there was not much
difference there. Evidently sin has not hurt you–do it again! Do it
again!" You must not forget that the immediate results of sin are not
always apparent in this world, and that if hardness of heart is not
apparent it is all the more real–for if a man could perceive the
hardness or his own heart it would be pretty good evidence that it was
somewhat softened.
Then Sin will whisper next, "This would be sin in other people, but it
is not in you. You see you were placed in a peculiar position. There is
indulgence for you which could not be accorded to other men–you are
young," says Sin, "nobody could accuse you if you did go a little
rashly to work–if you were an older professor it would be very wrong."
Then if it is an old man who is to be deceived, Sin will cry, "You must
take care of yourself! You need more indulgence than others." If a man
is in private life, Sin will then suggest, "It does not matter in
you–it would be wrong in a deacon, or any other Church officer–but
nobody knows it in your case."
If it is some person in high repute, then Sin whispers, "Your character
is so well established it will bear it." There is a way in which you
can look at things and see them as they are not. Sin knows how to use
the distorting glass so that a man will turn round on this side and
condemn his fellow for a sin and call him some terrible name–and then
he will turn to the other side and commit the same sin himself! And,
like the adulterous woman in the Proverbs, he will wipe his mouth and
say, "I have done no wickedness."
Sin, if it cannot deceive in this way, will beguile its victim by
insinuating, "Now this is a dangerous thing for others to do. But in
your case, you have so much prudence and have acquired so much
experience that you can stop when you reach a certain point. I know,"
says Sin, "young So-and-So was ruined by frequenting such-and-such
places, but you may go in and out of the same doors because you have so
much discretion. It would be dangerous to expose your son to such a
temptation, and of course you would not like the Church to know that
you go there. But really, you are a person so well established and you
know the world so thoroughly, that you may do without the slightest
hurt what others may not even dream of."
It is a great and grievous lie, as we ought to know, that sin can ever
be touched without injury, but yet this suffices for many–"I will go
to the verge of the precipice. I will look down. I will get the
delicious feeling of the sublimity of danger and then will go back. I
will mix with bad company sufficiently to know its evils. I would not
go over the line for all the world–I shall be sure to stop just on
this side of it." Such boasters remind one of that simple story of the
lady who wanted a coachman. When three applied, she had them in one by
one. "Well," she said to the first, "How near can you drive to danger?"
"Madam," said he, "I believe I could drive within a foot without fear."
"You will not do for me" she said.
To the second she said, "How near could you drive to danger?" "Within a
hair's breadth, Madam," said he, "and yet, you would be perfectly
safe." "You will not suit me," she said. The third came in and when
asked the same question "How near could you drive to danger?" he said,
"Please Ma'am, I never tried. I always drive as far off as ever I can."
Such should the Christian act. Some, through the deceitfulness of sin,
are always testing how near they can go to the edge so as not to fall
over. How near they can sail to the rock and not dash upon it. How much
sin they can indulge in and yet remain respected Church members. Shame
on us, that any of us should be guilty of such tampering with that
accursed thing which slew the Lord of Glory!
Again, sin will sometimes have the impudence to say, "It is very easy
to repent of it. If you have once plunged into the mire, you can at any
time see the evil of it and you have only to repent and straightway
there is forgiveness." This vile traitor is even dastardly enough to
take the Doctrines of Grace and turn them into a reason for sin. The
old serpent hisses out, as none but the devil dares do, "God will not
cast you off! He never casts away His people. He can soon visit you in
mercy and lift you up to the highest state of spirituality! Though you
may have fallen into the lowest condition of degradation, you run no
risks as others would for the eternal purpose of God is engaged to keep
you from final perdition and therefore you may drink the deadly thing
and it shall not hurt you. You may tread upon serpents and they shall
not bite you."
"Their damnation is just," says the Apostle, of those who use the
Doctrines of Grace as an argument for licentiousness. The child of God
scorns the thought of making the love of God a reason for sin! When a
little boy was tempted to steal from an orchard, the others said to
him, "You my safely do it. Your father is so fond of you that he will
not beat you." "No, no," said the little fellow, "that is the very
reason why I would not go a thieving, for I should grieve my fa- ther
who is so kind and so good to me." Yet the deceitfulness of sin is such
that it will turn the strongest motive for holiness into an argument
for rebellion against God!
My dear Friends, I feel the weight of this subject pressing down on my
own heart. And for that very reason I cannot bring out these Truths of
God as I would desire, so as to make them flash into your faces. But I
do feel that it must be true of some of you who make a profession of
religion, that sin, through its deceitfulness, is tampering with your
spirits, trying to make you traitors to God–seeking, if it possibly
can–to pervert your mind from hatred of sin and from true love to
Jesus, Christ.
III. I pass on, however, to hint at THE REMEDY WHICH IS PROVIDED IN THE
TEXT FOR US TO USE WITH OTHERS. "Exhort one another," and we are told
when to do it–"daily," and when to begin to do it–"while it is called
today." Doubtless many professors would be saved from gross sins if
mutual exhortation were more commonly practiced in the Churches of God
in the power of the Holy Spirit.
This duty belongs primarily to the pastor and to Church officers. We
are set in the Church to see after the good of the people and it is our
business both in public and in private, as far as we have opportunity,
to exhort daily. And especially where we see any coldness creeping over
men. Where there begins to be a decline in the ways of God, it is our
duty to be most earnest in exhortation. The duty belongs to you all,
too, "Exhort one another daily." Parents should be careful concerning
their children in this matter. You act not the part of a true father
unless you see to it your son is in church membership.
Upon the slightest inconsistency your children should receive a gentle
word of rebuke from you. You matrons in Israel–you are not true
mothers of the Church unless you look after the young sisters to keep
them out of sin. Sunday school teachers, this is peculiarly your work
with regard to your own classes. In this Church so many have been
brought out of the school into the Church, that I may insist the more
earnestly upon this duty. Watch over your children, not only that they
may be converted, but that after being converted they may be as watered
gardens–no plants withering– but all the Graces of the Spirit coming
to perfection through your care.
Here is work for the elders among us. You whose grey heads betoken
years of experience and whose years of experience ought to have given
you wisdom and knowledge, you may use the superiority which age affords
you to offer a word of exhortation, lovingly and tenderly, to the
young. You can speak as those of us who are younger cannot speak–for
you can tell what you have tasted and have handled. Perhaps you can
even tell where you have smarted by reason of your own faults and
follies. All of you, without exception, whether you are rich or poor,
see to each others' souls! Say not, "Am I my brother's keeper?" but
seek your brother's good for edification.
I do hope there will be a larger degree of sociality among the members
of this Church than ever, although up to now I have had no cause of
complaint. Some churches never can practice mutual exhortation because
the members do not know each other. The members are lumps of ice
floating about–huge blocks of ice without connection with one another.
It ought not to be so–the very fact of Church membership, drinking of
the same cup, eating of the same bread, it seems to me, entitles every
man to admonish and to be admonished. No, it makes it the imperative
duty of every such person to see that he cares for the soul of his
fellow.
I would not abolish social distinctions, God forbid! They must ever
exist, I believe, at least till the Lord comes. But in the Church of
God, membership and brotherhood should, at least when you come together
here, override all social distinctions. And as in Cromwell's army, the
private might often be heard around the campfire talking to the major
and the captain taking it upon himself to rebuke the colonel–so should
it be among us. We should feel that we are one in Christ Jesus–that
while we regard distinctions among men in civil life, yet in spiritual
things we so care for each other's good and so desire the edification
of the entire body of Christ that we watch over one another carefully
and prayerfully–and exhort one another daily.
In such a Church as this there is peculiar need of it. What can we, a
handful of Church officers, do among three thousand of you? If you do
not exercise oversight over one another, what can be done? I thank God
the duty is not altogether neglected, but I would stimulate you to a
greater diligence in the exercise of it. You know of someone, perhaps,
who is backsliding–do not tell anybody else–go privately to him. You
know of a Sister whose spiritual life is in a decline. Do not talk to
your neighbors, or even, at first, communicate with us about it–labor
to get your own heart right and then seek to restore such an one in the
spirit of meekness, remembering yourself lest you also be tempted.
If we do not do this, we shall as a Church suffer great dishonor. It is
unavoidable in so many but that we should be troubled with some
hypocrites. How can our Church be kept right, instrumentally, except by
much watchfulness? We do not wish to be dishonored. We do not desire by
great falls to grieve the name of Christ. Then let us watch over one
another. It is so pleasant and so blessed to restore a Brother from the
error of his ways that I can offer you no greater reward than these
two– to screen the name of Christ from shame–and to have the pleasure
of saving a soul from death and covering a multitude of sins.
IV. Lastly, SUPPOSE THIS TO BE THE CASE WITH ANY ONE OF US, WHAT THEN?
We cannot very well, as a rule, ask a Brother to exhort us when we feel
conscious of insensibility, although it were well if some dear friend
could be trusted to give us, every now and then, a solemn admonition.
Some of us are in such a position that we are not very likely to be
exhorted–we are keepers of the vineyard and have none who would take
upon themselves to admonish us.
Our enemies, however, very ably supply the lack–for they often tell us
very profitable, but very unpleasant truths which do us a deal of good
and they are never restrained by any fear of hurting our feelings. We
have great reason to thank God for some men's enmity–it is the only
way in which they could serve us. Failing this–and private Christians
miss this bitter medicine–what is to be done? Suppose we have begun to
falter? What is to be done? Shall I say, "Suppose?" Come, pass the
question round, dear Friends. Is it not true with too many of us that
we are growing careless and insensible?
Do I not hear some honest hearts cry, "There is no supposition in the
case, we have already gone back"? Public services to some of you have
grown dull compared with what they used to be and yet the preacher is
the same! Prayer Meetings you scarcely attend, or if you are there,
your hearts are not on fire with vehement longings after your God.
Private prayer drags heavily. Bible reading is almost given up.
Communion with Christ is becoming a thing of the past. Holy joys and
Divine ecstasies are things which you have read of and heard about–but
do not yourselves enjoy! May it not be so with you!
I feel, sometimes as if were I cut in my heart with a sword, I would
bless the sword, so long as I could but smart and bleed under it. Oh it
is a horrible thing, an accursed thing, to abide in a state of
insensibility! Oh, for heartbreaks! To have a heart broken thoroughly
would be a blessing! Yes, to be driven to despair might be an enviable
thing rather than not to feel at all! I will not, therefore, say,
"Suppose," but I will say it is so with a great many! Then what had we
better do? My Brethren, let us labor to feel what an evil thing this
is–little love to our own dying Savior–little joy in our precious
Jesus! Little fellowship with our spiritual and well-beloved Husband,
our Lord, our covenant Head.
Be ashamed and be confounded for your own ways, O house of Israel!
Cover your faces, Brothers and Sisters, and let boasting be put away.
Put on sackcloth! Heap ashes on your heads! Hold a true Lent in your
souls, while you sorrow over your hardness of heart. Do not stop at
sorrow! Remember where you first received salvation. Go at once to the
Cross. There, and there only, can you got your spirit quickened. There
hangs the Savior! There was life in Him ten or twenty years ago, when
you first looked. There is life in Him still!
If your experience should seem to you to have been a delusion and your
faith to have been presumption, Christ is a Savior still! He came into
the world to save sinners–and if you are not a saint–you are a
sinner! Go to Him as such. Let us, my Brethren, begin again! Let us go
to the starting point. Let us lay again the fundamentals. Let us sing–
"Just as I am, without one plea, But that Your blood was shed for me,
And that You bid me come to You, O Lamb of God, I come!"
No matter how hard, how insensible, how dead we may have become–let us
go again in all the rags and poverty and defilement of our natural
condition and throw ourselves flat on our faces before His mighty
Cross!
"With all my sin and all my hardness of heart," let the Believer say,
"I do believe that Jesus died for me." Let him clasp that Cross! Let
him look into those listless eyes! Let him bathe in that fountain
filled with blood–this will bring back to him his first love! This
will restore the ancient holiness of his faith and the former
tenderness of his soul! To you who think that you never were converted
and probably never were–who have grown very hard and fear you never
could by any possibility melt in repentance–I give this exhortation,
and O, may the Holy Spirit enable you to obey it:
Come to Jesus you vilest of men! Laboring ones, heavy laden ones, come
to Jesus! Black, foul, filthy, hard-hearted ones, come to Jesus! He is
able to save unto the uttermost them that come unto God by Him. We are
not in Hell yet! The iron door has not grated on its hinges! The dread
bolt has not yet slid into its socket! There is hope–for there is
life. There is hope–for there is a promise! There is hope for there
hangs the Savior–there is hope for me, for you, for both of us–if we
go humbly to the Mercy Seat and take Christ to be our All in All! God
help us to do it for Jesus' sake. Amen.