Five Fears
A Sermon
(No. 148)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, August 23, 1857, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.
"Yet surely I know that it shall be well with them that fear God, which
fear before him."–Ecclesiastes 8:12.
I HAVE heard it sometimes said by wicked men, when they would arraign
the justice of the Most High, that it is unjust that God should condemn
men for the use of the powers which he himself has given them. This
most subtle evil has often grieved the hearts of those who are weak and
ignorant, and have not seen its untruthfulness–for to speak plainly of
it, it is a gross lie. God does not condemn men for the use of the
powers he has given them; he condemns them for the misuse of those
powers; not for employing them, but for employing them as they ought
not to employ them; not for thinking, not for speaking, not for doing,
but for thinking, speaking, and doing, contrary to his law God damneth
no man for the use of the powers which he hath given him, let that be
again repeated–but he doth condemn them for the abuse of those powers,
and for their impudence in daring to turn those powers, which he hath
given them, for his honor, against his service, and against his throne
Now, my friends, there is no power which God hath given us, which may
not be employed for God. I believe that David uttered a great truth, as
well as a great exhortation to himself, when he said, "Bless the Lord,
O my soul and all that is within me, bless his holy name." There is
nothing in man that God has not there, which may not be employed in
God's service. Some may ask me whether anger can be brought in. I
answer, yes. A good man may serve God by being angry against sin; and
to be angry against sin is a high and holy thing. You may ask me,
perhaps, whether ridicule can be employed. I answer, yes. I believe we
may even rightly employ it in the preaching of God's word. I know this,
I always intend to use it; and if by a laugh I can make men see the
folly of an error better than in any other way, they shall laugh, and
laugh here, too; for ridicule is to be used in God's service; and every
power that God hath implanted in man–I will make no exception,–may be
used for God's service, and for God's honor. What man hath gotten for
himself by the fall, cannot be employed to serve God with, we cannot
bring before God Adam's robbery, to be a sacrifice to the Almighty, nor
can our own carnal and sinful passions honor the Most High, but there
are natural powers which God hath conferred, and none of these are in
themselves sinful. I would have them, therefore, employed for the
Master. Yea, even those powers with which it seems impossible to
worship, such as the powers of assimilation, eating, and drinking, may
be brought to honor God; for what says the Apostle?–"whether ye eat or
drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God, giving thanks
unto God and the Father by Jesus Christ."
Now, you will notice that fear may be yoked into the service of God.
True fear, not fearing, but believing, saves the soul; not doubt, but
confidence, is the strength and the deliverance of the Christian.
Still, fear, as being one of those powers which God hath given us, is
not in itself sinful. Fear may be used for the most sinful purposes; at
the same time it may be so ennobled by grace, and so used for the
service of God, that it may become the very grandest part of man. In
fact, Scripture has honored fear, for the whole of piety is
comprehended in these words, "Fear God;" "the fear of the Lord;" "them
that fear Him." These phrases are employed to express true piety, and
the men who possess it. Fear, I have said, may ruin the soul, alas! it
has ruined multitudes. O Fear, thou art the rock upon which many a ship
hath been wrecked. Many a soul hath suffered spiritual destruction
through thee, but then it hath been not the fear of God, but the fear
of man. Many have rushed against the thick bosses of the Almighty's
buckler, and defied God, in order to escape the wrath of feeble man.
Many through fear of worldly loss have brought great guilt into their
consciences; some through fear of ridicule and laughter have not had
the boldness to follow the right, and so have gone astray and been
ruined. Yea, and where fear doth not work utter destruction it is
capable of doing much damage to the spirit. Fear hath paralysed the arm
of the most gigantic Christian, stopped him in his race, and impeded
him in his labors. Faith can do anything, but fear, sinful fear, can do
just nothing at all, but even prevent faith from performing its labors.
Fear hath made the Christian to sorrow, both by night and day, a
cankering fear lest his wants should not be provided for, and his
necessities supplied, has driven the Christian to unworthy thoughts;
and distrustful, doubting fear hath made him dishonor God, and
prevented his sucking the honey out of the promises. Fear hath kept
many a child of God from doing his duty, from making a bold profession;
hath brought bondage into his spirit. Fear misused, thou art the
Christian's greatest curse, and thou art the sinner's ruin. Thou art a
sly serpent, creeping amongst the thorns of sin, and when thou art
allowed to twist thyself around manhood, thou dost crush it in thy
folds, and poison it with thy venom. Nothing can be worse than this
sinful fear; it hath slaughtered its myriads and sent thousands to
hell. But yet it may seem a paradox; fear, when rightly employed, is
the very brightest state of Christianity, and is used to express all
piety, comprehended in one emotion. "The fear of God" is the constant
description which the Scripture gives of true religion.
And now, beloved, I shall want you this morning to have some little
patience with me whilst I try to go after certain fearing souls whose
fear is of the right kind, even a fear which gendereth salvation, but
who through it are now suffering some degree of torment, and are
wishing to be delivered from it. An old Puritan says, "Jesus Christ
would shake hands with a man that had the palsy." I must try and do the
same this morning. Some of you have the palsy of fear. I want to come
after you and say unto you, "Fear not;" to bid you to be of good cheer,
because God would comfort you. There are five different kinds of fear,
that persons are laboring under which I would now endeavor to address.
I. There is, first, THE FEAR CAUSED BY AN AWAKENING CONSCIENCE. This is
the lowest grade of godly fear; here all true piety takes its rise. By
nature, the sinner does not dread the wrath of God; he thinks sin a
little thing; he looks upon its pleasures, and forgets its penalty, he
dares the Almighty to the war, and lifts his puny arm against the
Eternal. No sooner, however, is he awakened by God's Spirit, than fear
takes possession of his heart, the arrows of the Almighty drink up his
spirit, the thunders of the law roll in his ears; he feels his life to
be uncertain, and his body frail, He dreads death, because he knows
that death would be to him the prelude of destruction; he dreads life,
for life itself is intolerable, when the wrath of God is poured out
into his soul. Many of you who are now before me have passed through
that dreadful ordeal of suffering under a sense of the wrath of God.
We, my brethren, shall never forget, to our dying day, that hour of
desperate grief when first we discovered our lost estate. By the
preaching of the Word, by the reading of the Scriptures, by prayer, or
by some Providence, we were led to look within; we discovered the evil
of our hearts, and we heard how terribly God would punish the
transgressor. Do you not remember how we started from our beds in the
morning, having slept uneasily, and bowed our knees in prayer, and
prayed until the hot sweat ran down our brow; but rose without a hope
that we had been heard? Do you not recollect how, in our business, we
were sometimes so absent in mind, that those who were round about us
thought that we must have been bereaved of our wits? Do you not well
recollect how the best dainties of our meals seemed to have the
bitterness of wormwood in them, and the sweetest draughts were mingled
with gall; how all day lone we sorrowed, and went to our bed at night
with another prayer, still as full of agony and still as hopeless; and
by night we could not sleep, but dreamed of the wrath to come, saw
dreams more horrible than we had dreamed before; each night and day the
wrath of God seemed to increase, and our pangs and agonies became more
terrible? Oh, we shall never forget it; those of us who have passed
through the same will never let that era be forgotten, for the time of
its beginning was the time of our conversion, and the time of its end
was the time of our salvation. Have I any here who are in this same
state this morning? I am coming after you, and in coming after you I
proclaim the words of my text, "Surely I know that it shall be well
with them that fear God, which fear before him." Sinner, it shall be
well with thee if thou art now made to fear the wrath of God on account
of thy sin; if God the Spirit hath poured forth the vials of Almighty
wrath into thy soul, so that thou art cast down and sore vexed. Think
not thou shalt be destroyed; it shall be well with thee. Let me comfort
thee now, whilst thou art suffering these things, remember that what
thou sufferest is that which all God's people have had to suffer in a
measure. Many poor hearts come to me when I am sitting to see the
anxious ones, and at other times, and they tell me they are in such
deep distress; surely never anyone felt as they feel. And when I begin
to unfold to them the experience of all saints, and tell them how it is
a well-trodden path which almost every traveler to heaven has had to
tread, they stand astonished, and think it cannot be so. I tell thee
sinner, that thy deepest woes have been felt by some one, even more
keenly than thou feelest them now. Thou sayest, "I sink in deep mire
where there is no standing." Why, man, there have been some that have
sunk far deeper than thou hast sunk. Thou art up to thy ancles; I have
known some to have been up to the loins, and there have been some that
have been covered over their very heads so that they could say, "All
thy waves and thy billows have gone over me." Your distresses are very
painful, but they are not singular, others have had to endure the same.
Be comforted, it is not a desert island; others have been there too;
and if they have passed through this, and won the crown, thou shalt
pass through it, and inherit yet the glory of the believer on the
breast of Christ.
But I will tell thee something else to comfort thee; I will put this
question to thee–Wouldst thou wish to go back and become what thou
once wast? Thy sins are now so painful, that thou canst scarce eat, or
drink, or sleep. There was a time when thy sins never haunted thee,
when thou couldst drink and may with Satan and with sin as merrily as
anyone. Come, wouldst thou like to be as thou wast then? "No," I hear
thee say, "no; my Master, my God, grieve me more, if so it pleaseth
thee, but do not let me be hardened any more." Ask the poor strickened
conscience, in the first agonies and throes of his grief, whether he
would like to be a hardened sinner? "No," he says; and when he hears
the blasphemer swear against God, the tear is in his eye; he says,
"Lord, I thank thee for my miseries, if they deliver me from hardness
of heart. I can extol thee for my agonies, if they save me from such
dire presumption, such rebellion against thee." Well, then, be of good
cheer, your condition, you see, is not the worst of all; there is a
worse state yet. Oh, it thou hast come so far, hope thou in Christ,
thou shalt come further yet. But the great consolation is this, Jesus
Christ died for thee. If God the Holy Ghost hath shown thee that thou
art dead in sin, and if he hath revealed to thee the desperate
character of thine iniquity, and broken thee in pieces with penitence
on account of thy guilt–hear me, I speak not now at hap-hazard, I
speak with God's authority–Jesus Christ died for thee; yes, for thee,
thou vilest of the vile. I am no general redemptionist, I believe Jesus
Christ died for as many as will be saved; I do not believe he died in
vain for any man alive. I have always believed that Christ was punished
instead of men. Now, if he were punished in the stead of all men, I
could see no justice in God punishing men again after having punished
Christ for them. I hold and believe–and, I think, on Scriptural
authority, that Jesus Christ died for all those who believe or will
believe; and he was punished in the stead of all those who feel their
need of a Saviour, and lay hold on him. The rest reject him, despise
him, sin against God, and are punished for their sine. But those who
are redeemed, having been blood-bought, shall not be lost. Christ's
blood is too precious to have been shed for men who are damned. It is
too awful a thing to think of the Saviour standing in a sinner's stead,
and then that sinner after all having to bear his own iniquities; I can
never indulge a thought which appears to be so unrighteous to God, and
so unsafe to men. All that the Saviour bought he shall have, all that
his heavenly Father hath given him, he says, shall come unto him. Now
here is something solid for thee, poor soul. I ask again, dost thou
know and feel thyself to be lost and ruined? Then the Saviour bought
thee, and will have thee; then he was punished for thee and thou never
wilt be punished again; then he hung upon the cross for thee that thou
mightest not perish. For thee there is no hell, so far as thou art
concerned. The eternal lake is quenched; the dungeons of hell are
broken open, their bars are cut in sunder. Thou art free; no damnation
can ever seize thee, no devils can ever drag thee to the pit. Thou art
redeemed, and thou art saved. "What!" sayest thou, "I redeemed! Why,
sir, I am full of sin." It is the very reason why thou art redeemed.
"But I feel myself to be the guiltiest of all the human race." Yes, and
that is just the evidence that Christ died for thee. He says himself,
"I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." If you
have got abundance of good works, and think you can go to heaven by
them, you will perish; but if you know your guilt, and confess it–it
is not my affirmation, but the affirmation of the Scriptures–"This is
a faithful saying, and worthy of all acceptation, that Jesus Christ
came into the world to save sinners, of whom," says the Apostle, "I am
chief." Lay hold on that, poor soul: and then I repeat to thee the
text, "Yet surely I know that it shall be well with them that fear God,
which fear before him." It shall be well with thee yet, and black
though thou art, thou shalt one day sing among the bloodwashed ones in
glory everlasting. That is the first stage of fearing God; we shall now
proceed to another.
II. There are many who have believed, and are truly converted, who have
a fear which I may call THE FEAR OF ANXIETY. They are afraid that they
are not converted. They are converted, there is no doubt of it.
Sometimes they know they are so themselves, but, for the most part,
they are afraid. There are some people in the world who have a
preponderance of fear in their characters it seems as if their mind,
from its peculiar constitution, had a greater aptitude for the state of
fear than for any other state. Why, even in temporal matters they are
always fearing; and, when these poor souls get converted, they are
always afraid that they are not so. First, they will tell you they are
afraid they never repented enough; the work in their hearts, they say,
was not deep; it was just superficial surface-ploughing, and never
entered into their souls. Then they are quite sure they never came to
Christ aright, they think they came the wrong way. How that can be no
one knows, for they could not come at all except the Father drew them;
and the Father did not draw them the wrong way, Still they hold that
they did not come aright; then if that idea is knocked on the head,
they say they do not believe aright; but when that is got rid of, they
say, if they were converted they would not be the subject of so much
sin. They say they can trust Christ, but they are afraid they do not
trust him aright; and they always do, what you may, come back to the
old condition; they are always afraid. And now, what shall I say to
these good souls? Why, I will say this, "Surely I know that it shall be
well with them that fear God, which fear before him." Not only those
who believe, but those who fear, have got a promise, I would to God
that they had more faith; I would that they could lay hold on the
Saviour, and had more assurance, and even attain unto a perfect
confidence; but if they cannot shall I utter a word that would hurt
them? God forbid; "Surely it shall be with even with them that fear
God, with them that fear before him." There are some of these poor
creatures who are the holiest and most heavenly minded people in all
the world. I have seen men who, with poor, desponding spirits, have
exhibited the most lovely graces. There has not been the blushing
healthful beauty of the rose; but the lily hath its beauties, sickly
though it seemeth, and these, though they be faint and weak, have
eminently the graces of humility and meekness, of patience and
endurance, and they practice more of meditation, more of self
examination, more of repentance more of prayer, than any race of
Christians alive. God forbid that I should vex their spirits: there are
some of God's best children who always grow in the shade of fear, and
can scarcely attain to so much as to say, "I know whom I have
believed." Darkness suits them best, their eyes are weak, and much
sunlight seems to blind them, they love the shadows; and though they
thought they could sing, "I know my Saviour, I love him, and he loves
me;" they go back again, and begin to groan in themselves, "Do I love
the Lord; indeed, if it be so, why am I thus?"
Now, I am about to utter a great paradox–I believe that some of these
poor fearing people have got the greatest faith of anybody in the
world; I have sometimes thought that great tear, great anxiety, must
have great faith with it to keep the soul alive at all. See that man
drowning, there–there is another in the water too, I see. He in the
distance thinks he can swim: a plank is thrown to him; he believes
himself to be in no danger of sinking. Well he clutches the plank very
leisurely, and does not seem to grasp it firmly. But this poor creature
here, he knows he cannot swim, he feels that he must soon sink Now put
the means of escape near him, how desperately he clutches it; how he
seems as if he would drive his fingers through the plank! He clutches
it for life or death, that is his all, for he must perish if he is not
saved by that. Now, in this case, he that fears the most believes the
most; and I do think it is so sometimes with poor desponding spirits.
They have the greatest fear of hell, and the greatest fear of
themselves, and the greatest dread that they are not right. Oh, what a
faith they must have, when they are enabled to throw themselves on
Christ, and when they can but whisper to themselves "I think that he is
mine"–"Surely I know that it shall be well with them that fear God,
which fear-before him."
But I want to comfort these poor souls a little. I do not think a
minister does well in killing the lambs; for where would be the sheep
next year if he should do so? But at the same time it is his business
to make the lambs grow into sheep if he can. And you who are fearing, I
would not say a word to hurt you, but I would say a word to comfort you
if I could; I would remind you that you are not fit to judge of
yourself. You have been just now examining yourself, and you came to
the conclusion that you really are not a child of God. Now, you will
not be offended with me, but I would not give one single farthing for
your opinion of yourself. Why, I tell you, you have not any judgment.
It is not long ago you were a base, presumptuous sinner, and then you
thought yourself all right. I did not believe you then. Well, then you
began to reform yourself. You practiced many good works, and thought,
surely you were mending your pace to heaven then. Then I knew you were
wrong. Now you are becoming a true believer in Christ, but you are very
fearful, and you say you are not safe. I know you are; you are not fit
to judge. I should not like to see you elevated to the bench; you would
scarcely know how to deal with other men, for you would not know how to
deal with yourself; and who is he that can deal with himself? We
sometimes think ourselves proud, and we are never more humble than when
we feel that we are proud. At other times, we think ourselves to be
wonderfully humble, and we are never more proud than then. We sometimes
say within ourselves, "Now I think I am overcoming my corruptions;"
that is just the time when they are about to attack us most severely.
At another time we are crying, "Surely I shall be cut off," that is
just the period when sin is being routed, because we are hating it the
most and crying out the most against it. We are not qualified to fudge
ourselves, our poor scales are so out of order, that they will never
tell the truth. Now, then, just give up your own judgment, except thus
far. Can you say that you "are a poor sinner and nothing at all, and
that Jesus Christ is your all in all?" Then be comforted. You have no
right to be anxious; you have no reason to be so. You could not say
that if you had not been converted. You must have been quickened by
grace, or else you would not be anxious at all; and you must have
faith, or else you would not be able even to lay hold of Christ so much
as to know your own nothingness and his all sufficiency. Poor soul! be
comforted.
But shall I tell thee one thing? Dost thou know the greatest of God's
people are often in the same condition as thou art now? "No, no," says
the fearful soul, "I do not believe that, I believe that when persons
are converted they never have any fear," and they look at the minister,
and they say, "Oh, but if I could be but like that minister; I know he
never has doubts and fears. Oh, if I could be like old deacon
So-and-so–such a holy man how he prays! Oh, if I could feel like Mr.
So-and-so, who calls to visit me, and talks to me so sweetly. They
never doubt." Ah, that is because you do not know. Those whom you think
to be the strongest, and are so in public, have their times of the
greatest weakness, when they can scarcely know their own names in
spiritual things. If one may speak for the rest, those of us who enjoy
the greatest portions of assurance have times when we would give all
the world to know ourselves to be possessors of grace; when we would be
ready to sacrifice our lives if we might but have the shadow of a hope
that we were in the love of Jesus Christ our Lord. Now, little one, if
the giants go there, what wonder if the dwarfs must? What if God's
favourite and chosen ones, what if his valiant men, the body guard of
Christ, those men whose swords are on their thighs, and who stand up
for the truth and are its champions–if they sometimes are weak, what
wonder if thou shouldest be weak? What if the heirs of salvation and
the soldiers of the cross sometimes feel their knees feeble and their
hands hang down and their hearts faint, what wonder if thou, who art
less than the least of all saints shouldst sometimes be in trouble too?
Oh, be of good cheer; fear will never kill anybody. "Doubts and fears,"
said an old preacher, once, "are like the toothache nothing more
painful, but never fatal." They will often grieve us, but they will
never kill us, they distress us much but they will never burn the soul.
Fears even do good at times. Let me not however, praise them too much.
I heard a preacher say, the other day, that fear was a good
housekeeper. I said, "So I have heard, but I do not believe it. She
never will keep a cupboard full; she is a good doorkeeper; she can keep
beggars and thieves away; she is a good housedog to guard us and
protect us in the night, and warn us of dangers, lest we fall into
them." The fear of anxiety then, is a good fear. Take this
promise–"Surely I know that it shall be well with them that fear God,
which fear before him."
III. And now, my brethren, in the next place there is A FEAR WHICH
WORKS CAUTION. When we get a little further advanced in the Christian
life, our present state is not so much a matter of anxiety as our
future state. We believe that we shall never totally fall from grace.
We hold it as a cardinal doctrine of our religion that by no means will
God ever leave his people or suffer them to perish. But we often think
within ourselves, I am afraid lest I should bring dishonor on the cause
of Christ; I am afraid lest, in some moment of temptation, I shall be
left to go astray; I am afraid lest I should lose that hallowed peace
and that delightful joy which it has been my privilege to enjoy, and
shall yet go back into the world. God grant I may not prove to be a
hypocrite, after all! Now, I have hundreds of persons just now in this
place, who are feeling like this, and I will tell you one ill effect of
this fear. These persons say, "I dare not join the church, because I am
afraid I shall fall." A friend mentions to them that they hold it to be
their duty, if they have believed, to make a profession of their faith
in baptism. They say, "Well, I believe it to be my duty to partake of
the two institutions of our Saviour; I ought to be buried with him in
baptism unto death; I ought also, I know, to hold fellowship with him
in the Lord's supper, but I dare not join the church; for suppose I
should bring dishonor upon the cause, suppose I should disgrace the
church, what a sad thing it would be!" That fear is good, in itself.
But do you think that you would not bring disgrace on Christ's cause as
it is? You are always at the place of worship; you are never away. You
were always looked upon as being one of the church, though you have not
made a profession. Now, if you were to sin, would it not dishonor the
church even now? You know your relatives and friends esteem you to be a
Christian. You would scarce dishonor the church more if you were
actually to join it; for you really are united with it. If you would be
consistent, you must never go to the chapel any more. Just stop away;
give up your seat; turn right down irreligious, and then you cannot
dishonor the church. Do one or the other, but never think you will be
saving Christ's church by dishonoring God, as you really are doing now.
And then I will ask you this question, Where do you think a man is
safest–in the paths of obedience, or in the paths of disobedience? Now
you know you are disobedient; you are quite sure of that. Do you think
you are safer where your wayward will leads you, or where God's Spirit
points the way? And remember this, if you cannot trust God to keep you
standing, you must have a poor faith indeed. If you cannot just risk
that and be united with the church, and hope that Christ will keep you,
then I fear you will have some terrible fall. If you do not join the
church, you will bring far more disgrace upon it by being outside it,
than you would have done if you had been united with it and had been
kept. Ah, friends, I believe that union with the Christian church is
often a means under God, of preserving men from sin; for then they
think there is a bond upon them, and a sacred claim, and many of them
are more careful what they do. And I trust there would be the same
check upon you.
But now, I daresay that the poor creature who has been uttering this,
thinks I am about to condemn her; and the poor man who has been talking
so thinks I would cut him off and say he is no child of God. God
forbid! My text belongs to him. You are afraid you will fall into
sin–"Surely I know that it shall be well with them that fear God,
which fear before him." If you should tell me you were not afraid of
falling, I would not have you in the church for the world; you would be
no Christian. All Christians, when they are in a right state, are
afraid of falling into sin. Holy fear is the proper condition of a
child of God. Even the most confident will not go into presumption. He
that knows his love to the Saviour, and his Saviour's rove to him, is
yet afraid lest he should dishonor him. If there be a man who has an
assurance of such a kind, as to put fear out of the question, so that
he is never afraid of sinning, I will tell him he has a satanic
assurance, an assurance which came from Satan and not from God for the
more assured we are of our own conversion, the more careful we shall be
lest we should offend God, and the more fearful lest by word or look,
or deed, we should grieve God's Holy Spirit. I love your fear, and love
you too for it, you are my brother and sister in Jesus, if you can
truly say that you fear lest you should sin. Seek then, my friends, to
grow in this fear of caution, obtain more and more of it; and whilst
thou dost not distrust the Saviour, learn to distrust thyself more and
more every day.
IV. I shall not detain you many more minutes; I have only to notice in
the next mace the fear which I may call THE FEAR OF JEALOUSY. Strong
love will usually promote jealousy. "Love is as strong as death;" then
comes the next, "Jealousy is cruel as the grave." We cannot love
strongly without feeling some jealousy–I mean, not jealousy against
the object of our love; for, "perfect love casteth out fear"–but
jealousy against ourselves. "Oh what jealousy," says the Apostle,
addressing the Corinthians, "what revenge," did grace work in you when
you were first converted. The true believer, when he gets his Saviour
in full possession, and in blissful communion, is so jealous lest any
rival should intrude in his heart; be is afraid lest his dearest friend
should get more of his heart than the Saviour has. He is afraid of his
wealth; he trembles at his health, at his fame, at everything that is
dear to him, lest it should engross his heart. Oh, how often does he
pray, "My Lord, let me not be of a divided spirit; cast down each
idol–self-will, self-righteousness." And I tell you the more he loves,
the more he will fear lest he should provoke his Saviour by bringing a
rival into his heart, and setting up an Antichrist in his spirit; so
that fear just goes in proportion to love; and the bright love is
congenial, and must walk side by side with the deepest jealousy and the
profoundest fear. Seek, my brethren to know the meaning of communion,
and you must know, then, the meaning of fear; for fear and communion
must, to a great degree go together.
V. And now I will conclude by just mentioning that fear which is felt
WHEN WE HAVE HAD DIVINE MANIFESTATIONS. Did you never, in the silence
of the night, look up and view the stars, feeding, like sheep, on the
azure pastures of the sky? Have you never thought of those great
worlds, far, far away, divided from us by almost illimitable leagues of
space? Did you never, whilst musing on the starry heavens, lose
yourself in thoughts of God; and have you never felt, at such a time,
that you could say with Jacob, "How dreadful is this place! This is
none other than the house of God, and the very gate of heaven." Have
you never seen the craggy hills lift their summits to the skies? Have
you never marked the tempests sailing o'er them, and seen the
thunder-cloud burst upon the mountain, and heard the heavens shake
beneath the tramp of the Most High, and seen the skies all glaring red
with fire, when God hath sent his thunder-bolts abroad; and have you
not trembled that God was there, and in other and happier seasons have
you not in your chamber been so wrapt in devotion, have you not so
manifestly known the presence of God that you were filled with
trembling? Fear took hold upon you and made all your bones to shake,
not because you dreaded God, but because you then saw some of his
greatness. It is said of Moses, that when he saw the burning bush he
feared to look upon God. God is so great a Being, that the rightly
constituted mind must always fear when it approaches into his presence.
The Eastern subject, when he came before his king, regarded him as a
being so infinitely superior to himself, that even in the vestibule he
began to shake, and as he neared the throne he began to totter and his
cheek was blanched with fear. Like Esther, he would faint when he came
before the king, so glorious was his majesty. And if it be so with
earthly monarchs, how fearful must it be to come into the presence
chamber of the King of kings, and to feel one's self near him! Why, I
believe that even in heaven we shall have this kind of fear. Certainly
the angels have it. They dare not look on God. They veil their faces
with their wings, and whilst they cry aloud, Holy, holy, holy, Lord God
of Hosts yet they dare not view him. The very sight of him might
destroy them, and they tremble at his presence. Now this kind of fear,
if you have ever felt it, if it has been produced in your heart by
contemplation of God, is a high and hallowed thing, and to you this
promise is addressed–"Surely I know that it shall be well with them
that fear God, which fear before him."
And now, might I go round again this morning–I cannot do it
personally, yet by my voice–to the poor trembling soul who is overcome
with sin. Poor man, where art thou? Hath the devil got hold of thee,
and have thy sins covered thee up, so that thou canst not see the face
of the sun, and behold the light of mercy? Listen to me; you may never
hope till you have left off hoping in yourself. You have never any
right to believe, till you have nothing to believe in yourself. Until
you have lost all, you have no right to take anything. But now, if you
have lost all your own good works and righteousness, if you feel that
there is no reason why you should be saved, that is the very reason why
you should be. My Master bids me tell the naked to come to his heavenly
wardrobe, and take his royal garment for their clothing. He bids me
tell the hungry to haste away to his heavenly granaries, and feed upon
the old corn of the kingdom to their very full. He bids me tell the
thirsty that the river of life is broad and deep, and flows freely to
all those who thirst after it. Now, sinner, if thou art sick of sin,
and grieved at heart where thou standest, follow me in spirit in these
words: "O Lord, I know my guilt, and I confess my misery. If thou
dampest me to all eternity, thou wilt be just; but, O Lord, have mercy
upon me, according to thy promise, which thou hast made in Christ
Jesus, unto those who confess their faults." If that came from your
heart, go out of that door, and sing all the way home, for you are a
pardoned sinner. You shall never see death–the second death, the death
of the soul. Go home to your chamber! let your heart burst itself in
tears of thankfulness. Go, and there prostrate yourself, and bless God
that he has enabled you to see that only Jesus can do a helpless sinner
good. And then, "go your way; eat your bread with joy, and drink your
wine with a merry heart. Let your head lack no oil, and your face no
ointment; for God hath accepted you; and you have a right to be happy.
Live cheerfully and joyfully all the days of your life, hereafter and
for ever."