Compel Them to Come In
A Sermon
(No. 227)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, December 5th, 1858, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.
"Compel them to come in."–Luke 14:23.
I FEEL in such a haste to go out and obey this commandment this
morning, by compelling those to come in who are now tarrying in the
highways and hedges, that I cannot wait for an introduction, but must
at once set about my business.
Hear then, O ye that are strangers to the truth as it is in Jesus–hear
then the message that I have to bring you. Ye have fallen, fallen in
your father Adam; ye have fallen also in yourselves, by your daily sin
and your constant iniquity; you have provoked the anger of the Most
High; and as assuredly as you have sinned, so certainly must God punish
you if you persevere in your iniquity, for the Lord is a God of
justice, and will by no means spare the guilty. But have you not heard,
hath it not long been spoken in your ears, that God, in his infinite
mercy, has devised a way whereby, without any infringement upon his
honour, he can have mercy upon you, the guilty and the undeserving? To
you I speak; and my voice is unto you, O sons of men; Jesus Christ,
very God of very God, hath descended from heaven, and was made in the
likeness of sinful flesh. Begotten of the Holy Ghost, he was born of
the Virgin Mary; he lived in this world a life of exemplary holiness,
and of the deepest suffering, till at last he gave himself up to die
for our sins, "the just for the unjust, to bring us to God." And now
the plan of salvation is simply declared unto you–"Whosoever believeth
in the Lord Jesus Christ shall be saved." For you who have violated all
the precepts of God, and have disdained his mercy and dared his
vengeance, there is yet mercy proclaimed, for "whosoever calleth upon
the name of the Lord shall be saved." "For this is a faithful saying
and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world to
save sinners, of whom I am chief;" "whosoever cometh unto him he will
in no wise cast out, for he is able also to save unto the uttermost
them that come unto God by him, seeing he ever liveth to make
intercession for us." Now all that God asks of you–and this he gives
you–is that you will simply look at his bleeding dying son, and trust
your souls in the hands of him whose name alone can save from death and
hell. Is it not a marvelous thing, that the proclamation of this gospel
does not receive the unanimous consent of men? One would think that as
soon as ever this was preached, "That whosoever believeth shall have
eternal life," every one of you, "casting away every man his sins and
his iniquities," would lay hold on Jesus Christ, and look alone to his
cross. But alas! such is the desperate evil of our nature, such the
pernicious depravity of our character, that this message is despised,
the invitation to the gospel feast is rejected, and there are many of
you who are this day enemies of God by wicked works, enemies to the God
who preaches Christ to you to-day, enemies to him who sent his Son to
give his life a ransom for many. Strange I say it is that it should be
so, yet nevertheless it is the fact, and hence the necessity for the
command of the text,–"Compel them to come in."
Children of God, ye who have believed, I shall have little or nothing
to say to you this morning; I am going straight to my business–I am
going after those that will not come–those that are in the byways and
hedges, and God going with me, it is my duty now to fulfil this
command, "Compel them to come in."
First, I must, find you out; secondly, I will go to work to compel you
to come in.
I. First, I must FIND YOU OUT. If you read the verses that precede the
text, you will find an amplification of this command: "Go out quickly
into the streets and lanes of the city, and bring in hither the poor,
the maimed, the halt, and the blind;" and then, afterwards, "Go out
into the highways," bring in the vagrants, the highwaymen, "and into
the hedges," bring in those that have no resting-place for their heads,
and are lying under the hedges to rest, bring them in also, and "compel
them to come in." Yes, I see you this morning, you that are poor. I am
to compel you to come in. You are poor in circumstances, but this is no
barrier to the kingdom of heaven, for God hath not exempted from his
grace the man that shivers in rags, and who is destitute of bread. In
fact, if there be any distinction made, the distinction is on your
side, and for your benefit–"Unto you is the word of salvation sent";
"For the poor have the gospel preached unto them." But especially I
must speak to you who are poor, spiritually. You have no faith, you
have no virtue, you have no good work, you have no grace, and what is
poverty worse still, you have no hope. Ah, my Master has sent you a
gracious invitation. Come and welcome to the marriage feast of his
love. "Whosoever will, let him come and take of the waters of life
freely." Come, I must lay hold upon you, though you be defiled with
foulest filth, and though you have nought but rags upon your back,
though your own righteousness has become as filthy clouts, yet must I
lay hold upon you, and invite you first, and even compel you to come
in.
And now I see you again. You are not only poor, but you are maimed.
There was a time when you thought you could work out your own salvation
without God's help, when you could perform good works, attend to
ceremonies, and get to heaven by yourselves; but now you are maimed,
the sword of the law has cut off your hands, and now you can work no
longer; you say, with bitter sorrow–
"The best performance of my hands,
Dares not appear before thy throne."
You have lost all power now to obey the law; you feel that when you
would do good, evil is present with you. You are maimed; you have given
up, as a forlorn hope, all attempt to save yourself, because you are
maimed and your arms are gone. But you are worse off than that, for if
you could not work your way to heaven, yet you could walk your way
there along the road by faith; but you are maimed in the feet as well
as in the hands; you feel that you cannot believe, that you cannot
repent, that you cannot obey the stipulations of the gospel. You feel
that you are utterly undone, powerless in every respect to do anything
that can be pleasing to God. In fact, you are crying out–
"Oh, could I but believe,
Then all would easy be,
I would, but cannot, Lord relieve,
My help must come from thee."
To you am I sent also. Before you am I to lift up the blood-stained
banner of the cross, to you am I to preach this gospel, "Whoso calleth
upon the name of the Lord shall be saved;" and unto you am I to cry,
"Whosoever will, let him come and take of the water of life freely."
There is yet another class. You are halt. You are halting between two
opinions. You are sometimes seriously inclined, and at another time
worldly gaiety calls you away. What little progress you do make in
religion is but a limp. You have a little strength, but that is so
little that you make but painful progress. Ah, limping brother, to you
also is the word of this salvation sent. Though you halt between two
opinions, the Master sends me to you with this message: "How long halt
ye between two opinions? if God be God, serve him; if Baal be God,
serve him." Consider thy ways; set thine house in order, for thou shalt
die and not live. Because I will do this, prepare to meet thy God, O
Israel! Halt no longer, but decide for God and his truth.
And yet I see another class,–the blind. Yes, you that cannot see
yourselves, that think yourselves good when you are full of evil, that
put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter, darkness for light and light
for darkness; to you am I sent. You, blind souls that cannot see your
lost estate, that do not believe that sin is so exceedingly sinful as
it is, and who will not be persuaded to think that God is a just and
righteous God, to you am I sent. To you too that cannot see the
Saviour, that see no beauty in him that you should desire him; who see
no excellence in virtue, no glories in religion, no happiness in
serving God, no delight in being his children; to you, also, am I sent.
Ay, to whom am I not sent if I take my text? For it goes further than
this–it not only gives a particular description, so that each
individual case may be met, but afterwards it makes a general sweep,
and says, "Go into the highways and hedges." Here we bring in all ranks
and conditions of men–my lord upon his horse in the highway, and the
woman trudging about her business, the thief waylaying the
traveller–all these are in the highway, and they are all to be
compelled to come in, and there away in the hedges there lie some poor
souls whose refuges of lies are swept away, and who are seeking not to
find some little shelter for their weary heads, to you, also, are we
sent this morning. This is the universal command–compel them to come
in.
Now, I pause after having described the character, I pause to look at
the herculean labour that lies before me. Well did Melanchthon say,
"Old Adam was too strong for young Melanchthon." As well might a little
child seek to compel a Samson, as I seek to lead a sinner to the cross
of Christ. And yet my Master sends me about the errand. Lo, I see the
great mountain before me of human depravity and stolid indifference,
but by faith I cry, "Who art thou, O great mountain? before Zerubbabel
thou shalt become a plain." Does my Master say, compel them to come in?
Then, though the sinner be like Samson and I a child, I shall lead him
with a thread. If God saith do it, if I attempt it in faith it shall be
done; and if with a groaning, struggling, and weeping heart, I so seek
this day to compel sinners to come to Christ, the sweet compulsions of
the Holy Spirit shall go with every word, and some indeed shall be
compelled to come in.
II. And now to the work –directly to the work. Unconverted,
unreconciled, unregenerate men and women, I am to COMPEL YOU TO COME
IN. Permit me first of all to accost you in the highways of sin and
tell you over again my errand. The King of heaven this morning sends a
gracious invitation to you. He says, "As I live, saith the Lord, I have
no pleasure in the death of him that dieth, but had rather that he
should turn unto me and live:" "Come now, and let us reason together,
saith the Lord, though your sins be as scarlet they shall be as wool;
though they be red like crimson they shall be whiter than snow." Dear
brother, it makes my heart rejoice to think that I should have such
good news to tell you, and yet I confess my soul is heavy because I see
you do not think it good news, but turn away from it, and do not give
it due regard. Permit me to tell you what the King has done for you. He
knew your guilt, he foresaw that you would ruin yourself. He knew that
his justice would demand your blood, and in order that this difficulty
might be escaped, that his justice might have its full due, and that
you might yet be saved, Jesus Christ hath died. Will you just for a
moment glance at this picture. You see that man there on his knees in
the garden of Gethsemane, sweating drops of blood. You see this next:
you see that miserable sufferer tied to a pillar and lashed with
terrible scourges, till the shoulder bones are seen like white islands
in the midst of a sea of blood. Again you see this third picture; it is
the same man hanging on the cross with hands extended, and with feet
nailed fast, dying, groaning, bleeding; methought the picture spoke and
said, "It is finished." Now all this hath Jesus Christ of Nazareth
done, in order that God might consistently with his justice pardon sin;
and the message to you this morning is this–"Believe on the Lord Jesus
Christ and thou shalt be saved." That is trust him, renounce thy works,
and thy ways, and set thine heart alone on this man, who gave himself
for sinners.
Well brother, I have told you the message, what sayest thou unto it? Do
you turn away? You tell me it is nothing to you; you cannot listen to
it; that you will hear me by-and-by; but you will go your way this day
and attend to your farm and merchandize. Stop brother, I was not told
merely to tell you and then go about my business. No; I am told to
compel you to come in; and permit me to observe to you before I further
go, that there is one thing I can say–and to which God is my witness
this morning, that I am in earnest with you in my desire that you
should comply with this command of God. You may despise your own
salvation, but I do not despise it; you may go away and forget what you
shall hear, but you will please to remember that the things I now say
cost me many a groan ere I came here to utter them. My inmost soul is
speaking out to you, my poor brother, when I beseech you by him that
liveth and was dead, and is alive for evermore, consider my master's
message which he bids me now address to you.
But do you spurn it? Do you still refuse it? Then I must change my tone
a minute. I will not merely tell you the message, and invite you as I
do with all earnestness, and sincere affection–I will go further.
Sinner, in God's name I command you to repent and believe. Do you ask
me whence my authority? I am an ambassador of heaven. My credentials,
some of them secret, and in my own heart; and others of them open
before you this day in the seals of my ministry, sitting and standing
in this hall, where God has given me many souls for my hire. As God the
everlasting one hath given me a commission to preach his gospel, I
command you to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ; not on my own
authority, but on the authority of him who said, "Go ye into all the
world and preach the gospel to every creature;" and then annexed this
solemn sanction, "He that believeth and is baptized shall be saved, but
he that believeth not shall be damned." Reject my message, and remember
"He that despised Moses's law, died without mercy under two or three
witnesses: of how much sorer punishment, suppose ye, shall he be
thought worthy, who hath trodden under foot the Son of God." An
ambassador is not to stand below the man with whom he deals, for we
stand higher. If the minister chooses to take his proper rank, girded
with the omnipotence of God, and anointed with his holy unction, he is
to command men, and speak with all authority compelling them to come
in: "command, exhort, rebuke with all long-suffering."
But do you turn away and say you will not be commanded? Then again will
I change my note. If that avails not, all other means shall be tried.
My brother, I come to you simple of speech, and I exhort you to flee to
Christ. O my brother, dost thou know what a loving Christ he is? Let me
tell thee from my own soul what I know of him. I, too, once despised
him. He knocked at the door of my heart and I refused to open it. He
came to me, times without number, morning by morning, and night by
night; he checked me in my conscience and spoke to me by his Spirit,
and when, at last, the thunders of the law prevailed in my conscience,
I thought that Christ was cruel and unkind. O I can never forgive
myself that I should have thought so ill of him. But what a loving
reception did I have when I went to him. I thought he would smite me,
but his hand was not clenched in anger but opened wide in mercy. I
thought full sure that his eyes would dart lightning-flashes of wrath
upon me; but, instead thereof, they were full of tears. He fell upon my
neck and kissed me; he took off my rags and did clothe me with his
righteousness, and caused my soul to sing aloud for joy; while in the
house of my heart and in the house of his church there was music and
dancing, because his son that he had lost was found, and he that was
dead was made alive. I exhort you, then, to look to Jesus Christ and to
be lightened. Sinner, you will never regret,–I will be bondsman for my
Master that you will never regret it,–you will have no sigh to go back
to your state of condemnation; you shall go out of Egypt and shall go
into the promised land and shall find it flowing with milk and honey.
The trials of Christian life you shall find heavy, but you will find
grace will make them light. And as for the joys and delights of being a
child of God, if I lie this day you shall charge me with it in days to
come. If you will taste and see that the Lord is good, I am not afraid
but that you shall find that he is not only good, but better than human
lips ever can describe.
I know not what arguments to use with you. I appeal to your own
self-interests. Oh my poor friend, would it not be better for you to be
reconciled to the God of heaven, than to be his enemy? What are you
getting by opposing God? Are you the happier for being his enemy?
Answer, pleasure-seeker; hast thou found delights in that cup? Answer
me, self-righteous man: hast thou found rest for the sole of thy foot
in all thy works? Oh thou that goest about to establish thine own
righteousness, I charge thee let conscience speak. Hast thou found it
to be a happy path? Ah, my friend, "Wherefore dost thou spend thy money
for that which is not bread, and thy labour for that which satisfieth
not; hearken diligently unto me, and eat ye that which is good, and let
your soul delight itself in fatness." I exhort you by everything that
is sacred and solemn, everything that is important and eternal, flee
for your lives, look not behind you, stay not in all the plain, stay
not until you have proved, and found an interest in the blood of Jesus
Christ, that blood which cleanseth us from all sin. Are you still cold
and indifferent? Will not the blind man permit me to lead him to the
feast? Will not my maimed brother put his hand upon my shoulder and
permit me to assist him to the banquet? Will not the poor man allow me
to walk side-by-side with him? Must I use some stronger words. Must I
use some other compulsion to compel you to come in? Sinners, this one
thing I am resolved upon this morning, if you be not saved ye shall be
without excuse. Ye, from the grey-headed down to the tender age of
childhood, if ye this day lay not hold on Christ, your blood shall be
on your own head. If there be power in man to bring his fellow, (as
there is when man is helped by the Holy Spirit) that power shall be
exercised this morning, God helping me. Come, I am not to be put off by
your rebuffs; if my exhortation fails, I must come to something else.
My brother, I entreat you, I entreat you stop and consider. Do you know
what it is you are rejecting this morning? You are rejecting Christ,
your only Saviour. "Other foundation can no man lay;" "there is none
other name given among men whereby we must be saved." My brother, I
cannot bear that ye should do this, for I remember what you are
forgetting: the day is coming when you will want a Saviour. It is not
long ere weary months shall have ended, and your strength begin to
decline; your pulse shall fail you, your strength shall depart, and you
and the grim monster–death, must face each other. What will you do in
the swellings of Jordan without a Saviour? Death-beds are stony things
without the Lord Jesus Christ. It is an awful thing to die anyhow; he
that hath the best hope, and the most triumphant faith, finds that
death is not a thing to laugh at. It is a terrible thing to pass from
the seen to the unseen, from the mortal to the immortal, from time to
eternity, and you will find it hard to go through the iron gates of
death without the sweet wings of angels to conduct you to the portals
of the skies. It will be a hard thing to die without Christ. I cannot
help thinking of you. I see you acting the suicide this morning, and I
picture myself standing at your bedside and hearing your cries, and
knowing that you are dying without hope. I cannot bear that. I think I
am standing by your coffin now, and looking into your clay-cold face,
and saying. "This man despised Christ and neglected the great
salvation." I think what bitter tears I shall weep then, if I think
that I have been unfaithful to you, and how those eyes fast closed in
death, shall seem to chide me and say, "Minister, I attended the music
hall, but you were not in earnest with me; you amused me, you preached
to me, but you did not plead with me. You did not know what Paul meant
when he said, As though God did beseech you by us we pray you in
Christ's stead, be ye reconciled to God.'"
I entreat you let this message enter your heart for another reason. I
picture myself standing at the bar of God. As the Lord liveth, the day
of judgment is coming. You believe that? You are not an infidel; your
conscience would not permit you to doubt the Scripture. Perhaps you may
have pretended to do so, but you cannot. You feel there must be a day
when God shall judge the world in righteousness. I see you standing in
the midst of that throng, and the eye of God is fixed on you. It seems
to you that he is not looking anywhere else, but only upon you, and he
summons you before him; and he reads your sins, and he cries, "Depart
ye cursed into everlasting fire in hell!" My hearer, I cannot bear to
think of you in that position; it seems as if every hair on my head
must stand on end to think of any hearer of mine being damned. Will you
picture yourselves in that position? The word has gone forth, "Depart,
ye cursed." Do you see the pit as it opens to swallow you up? Do you
listen to the shrieks and the yells of those who have preceded you to
that eternal lake of torment? Instead of picturing the scene, I turn to
you with the words of the inspired prophet, and I say, "Who among us
shall dwell with the devouring fire? Who among us shall dwell with
everlasting burnings?" Oh! my brother, I cannot let you put away
religion thus; no, I think of what is to come after death. I should be
destitute of all humanity if I should see a person about to poison
himself, and did not dash away the cup; or if I saw another about to
plunge from London Bridge, if I did not assist in preventing him from
doing so; and I should be worse than a fiend if I did not now, with all
love, and kindness, and earnestness, beseech you to "lay hold on
eternal life," "to labour not for the meat that perisheth, but for the
meat that endureth unto everlasting life."
Some hyper-calvinist would tell me I am wrong in so doing. I cannot
help it. I must do it. As I must stand before my Judge at last, I feel
that I shall not make full proof of my ministry unless I entreat with
many tears that ye would be saved, that ye would look unto Jesus Christ
and receive his glorious salvation. But does not this avail? are all
our entreaties lost upon you; do you turn a deaf ear? Then again I
change my note. Sinner, I have pleaded with you as a man pleadeth with
his friend, and were it for my own life I could not speak more
earnestly this morning than I do speak concerning yours. I did feel
earnest about my own soul, but not a whit more than I do about the
souls of my congregation this morning; and therefore, if ye put away
these entreaties I have something else:–I must threaten you. You shall
not always have such warnings as these. A day is coming, when hushed
shall be the voice of every gospel minister, at least for you; for your
ear shall be cold in death. It shall not be any more threatening; it
shall be the fulfillment of the threatening. There shall be no promise,
no proclamations of pardon and of mercy; no peace-speaking blood, but
you shall be in the land where the Sabbath is all swallowed up in
everlasting nights of misery, and where the preachings of the gospel
are forbidden because they would be unavailing. I charge you then,
listen to this voice that now addresses your conscience; for if not,
God shall speak to you in his wrath, and say unto you in his hot
displeasure, "I called and ye refused; I stretched out my hand and no
man regarded; therefore will I mock at your calamity; I will laugh when
your fear cometh." Sinner, I threaten you again. Remember, it is but a
short time you may have to hear these warnings. You imagine that your
life will be long, but do you know how short it is? Have you ever tried
to think how frail you are? Did you ever see a body when it has been
cut in pieces by the anatomist? Did you ever see such a marvelous thing
as the human frame?
"Strange, a harp of a thousand strings,
Should keep in tune so long."
Let but one of those cords be twisted, let but a mouthful of food go in
the wrong direction, and you may die. The slightest chance, as we have
it, may send you swift to death, when God wills it. Strong men have
been killed by the smallest and slightest accident, and so may you. In
the chapel, in the house of God, men have dropped down dead. How often
do we hear of men falling in our streets–rolling out of time into
eternity, by some sudden stroke. And are you sure that heart of your's
is quite sound? Is the blood circulating with all accuracy? Are you
quite sure of that? And if it be so, how long shall it be? O, perhaps
there are some of you here that shall never see Christmas-day; it may
be the mandate has gone forth already, "Set thine house in order, for
thou shalt die and not live." Out of this vast congregation, I might
with accuracy tell how many will be dead in a year; but certain it is
that the whole of us shall never meet together again in any one
assembly. Some out of this vast crowd, perhaps some two or three, shall
depart ere the new year shall be ushered in. I remind you, then, my
brother, that either the gate of salvation may be shut, or else you may
be out of the place where the gate of mercy stands. Come, then, let the
threatening have power with you. I do not threaten because I would
alarm without cause, but in hopes that a brother's threatening may
drive you to the place where God hath prepared the feast of the gospel.
And now, must I turn hopelessly away? Have I exhausted all that I can
say? No, I will come to you again. Tell me what it is, my brother, that
keeps you from Christ. I hear one say, "Oh, sir, it is because I feel
myself too guilty." That cannot be, my friend, that cannot be. "But,
sir, I am the chief of sinners." Friend, you are not. The chief of
sinners died and went to heaven many years ago; his name was Saul of
Tarsus, afterwards called Paul the apostle. He was the chief of
sinners, I know he spoke the truth. "No," but you say still, "I am too
vile." You cannot be viler than the chief of sinners. You must, at
least, be second worst. Even supposing you are the worst now alive, you
are second worst, for he was chief. But suppose you are the worst, is
not that the very reason why you should come to Christ. The worse a man
is, the more reason he should go to the hospital or physician. The more
poor you are, the more reason you should accept the charity of another.
Now, Christ does not want any merits of your's. He gives freely. The
worse you are, the more welcome you are. But let me ask you a question:
Do you think you will ever get better by stopping away from Christ? If
so, you know very little as yet of the way of salvation at all. No,
sir, the longer you stay, the worse you will grow; your hope will grow
weaker, your despair will become stronger; the nail with which Satan
has fastened you down will be more firmly clenched, and you will be
less hopeful than ever. Come, I beseech you, recollect there is nothing
to be gained by delay, but by delay everything may be lost. "But,"
cries another, "I feel I cannot believe." No, my friend, and you never
will believe if you look first at your believing. Remember, I am not
come to invite you to faith, but am come to invite you to Christ. But
you say, "What is the difference?" Why, just this, if you first of all
say, "I want to believe a thing," you never do it. But your first
inquiry must be, "What is this thing that I am to believe?" Then will
faith come as the consequence of that search. Our first business has
not to do with faith, but with Christ. Come, I beseech you, on
Calvary's mount, and see the cross. Behold the Son of God, he who made
the heavens and the earth, dying for your sins. Look to him, is there
not power in him to save? Look at his face so full of pity. Is there
not love in his heart to prove him willing to save? Sure sinner, the
sight of Christ will help thee to believe. Do not believe first, and
then go to Christ, or else thy faith will be a worthless thing; go to
Christ without any faith, and cast thyself upon him, sink or swim. But
I hear another cry, "Oh sir, you do not know how often I have been
invited, how long I have rejected the Lord." I do not know, and I do
not want to know; all I know is that my Master has sent me, to compel
you to come in; so come along with you now. You may have rejected a
thousand invitations; don't make this the thousandth-and-one. You have
been up to the house of God, and you have only been gospel hardened.
But do I not see a tear in your eye; come, my brother, don't be
hardened by this morning's sermon. O, Spirit of the living God, come
and melt this heart for it has never been melted, and compel him to
come in! I cannot let you go on such idle excuses as that; if you have
lived so many years slighting Christ, there are so many reasons why now
you should not slight him. But did I hear you whisper that this was not
a convenient time? Then what must I say to you? When will that
convenient time come? Shall it come when you are in hell? Will that
time be convenient? Shall it come when you are on your dying bed, and
the death throttle is in your throat–shall it come then? Or when the
burning sweat is scalding your brow; and then again, when the cold
clammy sweat is there, shall those be convenient times? When pains are
racking you, and you are on the borders of the tomb? No, sir, this
morning is the convenient time. May God make it so. Remember, I have no
authority to ask you to come to Christ to-morrow. The Master has given
you no invitation to come to him next Tuesday. The invitation is,
"To-day if ye will hear his voice, harden not your hearts as in the
provocation," for the Spirit saith "to-day." "Come now and let us
reason together;" why should you put it off? It may be the last warning
you shall ever have. Put it off, and you may never weep again in
chapel. You may never have so earnest a discourse addressed to you. You
may not be pleaded with as I would plead with you now. You may go away,
and God may say, "He is given unto idols, let him alone." He shall
throw the reins upon your neck; and then, mark–your course is sure,
but it is sure damnation and swift destruction.
And now again, is it all in vain? Will you not now come to Christ? Then
what more can I do? I have but one more resort, and that shall be
tried. I can be permitted to weep for you; I can be allowed to pray for
you. You shall scorn the address if you like; you shall laugh at the
preacher; you shall call him fanatic if you will; he will not chide
you, he will bring no accusation against you to the great Judge. Your
offence, so far as he is concerned, is forgiven before it is committed;
but you will remember that the message that you are rejecting this
morning is a message from one who loves you, and it is given to you
also by the lips of one who loves you. You will recollect that you may
play your soul away with the devil, that you may listlessly think it a
matter of no importance; but there lives at least one who is in earnest
about your soul, and one who before he came here wrestled with his God
for strength to preach to you, and who when he has gone from this place
will not forget his hearers of this morning. I say again, when words
fail us we can give tears–for words and tears are the arms with which
gospel ministers compel men to come in. You do not know, and I suppose
could not believe, how anxious a man whom God has called to the
ministry feels about his congregation, and especially about some of
them. I heard but the other day of a young man who attended here a long
time, and his father's hope was that he would be brought to Christ. He
became acquainted, however, with an infidel; and now he neglects his
business, and lives in a daily course of sin. I saw his father's poor
wan face; I did not ask him to tell me the story himself, for I felt it
was raking up a trouble and opening a sore; I fear, sometimes, that
good man's grey hairs may be brought with sorrow to the grave. Young
men, you do not pray for yourselves, but your mothers wrestle for you.
You will not think of your own souls, but your fathers anxiety is
exercised for you. I have been at prayer meetings, when I have heard
children of God pray there, and they could not have prayed with more
earnestness and more intensity of anguish if they had been each of them
seeking their own soul's salvation. And is it not strange that we
should be ready to move heaven and earth for your salvation, and that
still you should have no thought for yourselves, no regard to eternal
things?
Now I turn for one moment to some here. There are some of you here
members of Christian churches, who make a profession of religion, but
unless I be mistaken in you–and I shall be happy if I am–your
profession is a lie. You do not live up to it, you dishonour it; you
can live in the perpetual practice of absenting yourselves from God's
house, if not in sins worse than that. Now I ask such of you who do not
adorn the doctrine of God your Saviour, do you imagine that you can
call me your pastor, and yet that my soul cannot tremble over you and
in secret weep for you? Again, I say it may be but little concern to
you how you defile the garments of your Christianity, but it is a great
concern to God's hidden ones, who sigh and cry, and groan for the
iniquities of the professors of Zion.
Now does anything else remain to the minister besides weeping and
prayer? Yes, there is one thing else. God has given to his servants not
the power of regeneration, but he has given them something akin to it.
It is impossible for any man to regenerate his neighbour; and yet how
are men born to God? Does not the apostle say of such an one that he
was begotten by him in his bonds. Now the minister has a power given
him of God, to be considered both the father and the mother of those
born to God, for the apostle said he travailed in birth for souls till
Christ was formed in them. What can we do then? We can now appeal to
the Spirit. I know I have preached the gospel, that I have preached it
earnestly; I challenge my Master to honour his own promise. He has said
it shall not return unto me void, and it shall not. It is in his hands,
not mine. I cannot compel you, but thou O Spirit of God who hast the
key of the heart, thou canst compel. Did you ever notice in that
chapter of the Revelation, where it says, "Behold I stand at the door
and knock," a few verses before, the same person is described, as he
who hath the key of David. So that if knocking will not avail, he has
the key and can and will come in. Now if the knocking of an earnest
minister prevail not with you this morning, there remains still that
secret opening of the heart by the Spirit, so that you shall be
compelled.
I thought it my duty to labour with you as though I must do it; now I
throw it into my Master's hands. It cannot be his will that we should
travail in birth, and yet not bring forth spiritual children. It is
with him; he is master of the heart, and the day shall declare it, that
some of you constrained by sovereign grace have become the willing
captives of the all-conquering Jesus, and have bowed your hearts to him
through the sermon of this morning.
[Mr. Spurgeon concluded with a very interesting anecdote, but as its
insertion would make the sermon too long for a penny number, the
publishers have decided to print it as one of the "New Park Street
Tracts."]