A Sermon
(No. 53)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, November 11, 1855, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
At New Park Street Chapel, Southwark.
"He healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their wounds."–Psalm
147:3.
The next verse finely declares the power of God. "He telleth the number
of the stars; he calleth them by their names." Perhaps there is nothing
which gives us a nobler view of the greatness of God than a
contemplation of the starry heavens. When by night we lift up our eyes
and behold him who hath created all these things; when we remember that
he bringeth out their host by number, calleth them all by their names,
and that by the greatness of his power not one falleth, then indeed we
adore a mighty God, and our soul naturally falls prostrate in
reverential awe before the throne of him who leads the host of heaven,
and marshals the stars in their armies. But the Psalmist has here
placed another fact side by side with this wondrous act of God; he
declares that the same God who leadeth the stars, who telleth the
number of them, and calleth them by their names, healeth the broken in
heart and bindeth up their wounds. The next time you rise to some idea
of God, by viewing the starry floor of his magnificent temple above,
strive to compel your contemplation to this thought, that the same
mighty hand which rolls the stars along, puts liniments around the
wounded heart; that the same being who spoke worlds into existence, and
now impels those ponderous globes through their orbits, does in his
mercy cheer the wounded, and heal the broken in heart.
We will not delay you by a preface, but will come at once to the two
thoughts: first, here is a great ill–a broken heart; and secondly, a
great mercy–"he healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their
wounds."
Man is a double being: he is composed of body and soul, and each of the
portions of man may receive injury and hurt. The wounds of the body are
extremely painful, and if they amount to a breaking of the frame the
torture is singularly exquisite. Yet God has in his mercy provided
means whereby wounds may be healed and injuries repaired. The soldier
who retires from the battle-field, knows that he shall find a hand to
extricate the shot, and certain ointments and liniments to heal his
wounds. We very speedily care for bodily diseases; they are too painful
to let us slumber in silence: and they soon urge us to seek a physician
or a surgeon for our healing. Oh, if we were as much alive to the more
serious wounds of our inner man; if we were as deeply sensible of
spiritual injuries, how earnestly should we cry to "the Beloved
Physician," and how soon should we prove his power to save. Stabbed in
the most vital part by the hand of our original parent, and from head
to foot disabled by our own sin, we yet remain insensible as steel,
careless and unmoved, because, though our wounds are known they are not
felt. We should count that soldier foolish, who would be more anxious
to repair a broken helmet than an injured limb. Are not we even more to
be condemned, when we give precedence to the perishing fabric of the
body, and neglect the immortal soul? You, however, who have broken
hearts, can no longer be insensible; you have felt too acutely to
slumber in indifference. Your bleeding spirit cries for consolation:
may my glorious Master give me a word in season for you. We intend to
address you upon the important subject of broken hearts, and the great
healing provided for them.
I. Let us commence with THE GREAT ILL–a broken heart. What is it? We
reply, there are several forms of a broken heart. Some are what we
shall call naturally broken, and some are spiritually so. We will
occupy a moment by mentioning certain forms of this evil, naturally
considered; and verily our task would be a dreary one, if we were
called upon to witness one tithe of the misery endured by those who
suffer from a broken heart.
There have been hearts broken by desertion. A wife has been neglected
by her husband who was once the subject of her attachment, and whom
even now she tenderly loves. Scorned and despised by the man who once
lavished upon her every token of his affection, she has known what a
broken heart means. A friend is forsaken by one upon whom he leaned, to
whose very soul he was knit, so that their two hearts had grown into
one; and he feels that his heart is broken, for the other half of
himself is severed from him. When Ahithophel forsakes David, when the
kind friend unto whom we have always told our sorrows betrays our
confidence, the consequence may possibly be a broken heart. The
desertion of a man by his fellows, the ingratitude of children to their
parents, the unkindness of parents to their children, the betrayal of
secrets by a comrade, the changeableness and fickleness of friends,
with other modes of desertion which happen in this world, have brought
about broken hearts. We know not a more fruitful source of broken
hearts than disappointment in the objects of our affections–to find
that we have been deceived where we have placed our confidence. It is
not simply that we leaned upon a broken reed, and the reed has
snapped–that were bad enough–but in the fall we fell upon a thorn
which pierced our hearts to its center. Many have there been who have
gone to their graves, not smitten by disease, not slain by the sword,
but with a far direr wound that the sword could ever give, a more
desperate death than poison could ever cause. May you never know such
agony.
We have also seen hearts broken by bereavement. We have known tender
wives who have laid their husbands in the tomb, and who have stood by
the grave-side until their very heart did break for solitary anguish.
We have seen parents bereaved of their beloved offspring one after
another; and when they have been called to hear the solemn words,"Earth
to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes," over the last of their
children, they have turned away from the grave, bidding adieu to joy,
longing for death, and abhorring life. To such the world becomes a
prison, cheerless, cold, unutterably miserable. The owl and bittern
seem alone to sympathize with them, an aught of joy in the wide world
appears to be but intended as a mockery to their misery. Divine grace,
however, can sustain them even here.
How frequently might this be supposed to occur to our brave countrymen
engaged in the present war. Do not they feel, and feel acutely, the
loss of their comrades? You will perhaps imagine that the slaughter and
death around them prevent the tender feelings of nature. You are enough
mistaken, if so you dream. The soldier's heart may never know fear, but
it has not forgotten sympathy. The fearful struggle around renders it
impossible to pay the usual court and homage at the gates of sorrow,
but there is more of real grief ofttimes in the hurried midnight
funeral than in the flaunting pageantry of your pompous processions.
Were it in our power to walk among the tents, we should find abundant
need to use the words of our text by way of cordial to many a warrior
who has seen all his chosen companions fall before the destroyer.
Oh, ye mourners! seek ye a balm for your wounds–let me proclaim it
unto you. Ye are not ignorant of it, I trust, but let me apply that in
which you already place your confidence. The God of heaven knows your
sorrows, repair you to his throne, and tell your simple tale of woe.
Then cast your burden on him, he will bear it–open your heart before
him, he will heal it. Think not that you are beyond hope. You would be
if there were no God of love and pity; but while Jehovah lives, the
mourner need not despair.
Penury has also contributed its share to the number of the army of
misery. Pinching want, a noble desire to walk erect, without the crutch
of charity, and inability to obtain employment, have at times driven
men to desperate measures. Many a goodly cedar hath withered for lack
of moisture, and so hath many a man pined away beneath the deprivations
of extreme poverty. Those who are blessed with sufficiency can scarcely
guess the pain endured by the sons of want, especially if they have
once been rich. Yet, oh! child of suffering, be thou patient, God has
not passed thee over in his providence. Feeder of sparrows, he will
also furnish you with what you need. Sit not down in despair; hope on,
hope ever. Take up arms against a sea of troubles, and your opposition
shall yet end your distresses. There is One who careth for you. One eye
is fixed on you, even in the home of your destitution, one heart beats
with pity for your woes, and a hand omnipotent shall yet stretch you
out the needed help. The darkest cloud shall yet scatter itself in its
season, the blackest gloom shall have its morning. He, if thou art one
of his family, with bands of grace will bind up thy wounds, and heal
thy broken heart.
Multiplied also are the cares where disappointment and defeat have
crushed the spirits. The soldier fighting for his country may see the
ranks broken, but he will not be broken in heart, so long as there
remains a single hope for victory. His comrade reels behind him, and he
himself is wounded, but with a shout he cries, "On! on!" and scales the
ramparts. Sword in hand, still he goes, carrying terror among the foe,
himself sustained by the prospect of victory. But let him once hear the
shout of defeat where he hoped for triumph; let him know that the
banner is stained in the earth, that the eagle has been snatched from
the standard; let him once hear it said, "They fly, they fly!" let him
see the officers and soldiers flying in confusion; let him be well
assured that the most heroic courage and the most desperate valor are
of no avail, then his heart bursteth under a sense of dishonor, and he
is almost content to die because the honor of his country has been
tarnished, and her glory has been stained in the dust. Of this, the
soldiers of Britain know but little–may they speedily carve out a
peace for us with their victorious swords! Truly, in the great conflict
of life we can bear any thing but defeat. Toils on toils would we
endure to climb a summit, but if we must die ere we reach it, that were
a brokenness of heart indeed. To accomplish the object on which we have
set our minds, we would spend our very heart's blood; but once let us
see that our life's purpose is not to be accomplished; let us, when we
hope to grasp the crown, see that it is withdrawn, or other hands have
seized it, then cometh brokenness of heart. But let us remember,
whether we have been broken in heart by penury or by defeat, that there
is a hand which "bindeth up the broken in heart, and healeth all their
wounds;" that even these natural breakings are regarded by Jehovah,
who, in the plenitude of his mercy, giveth a balm for every wound to
every one of his people. We need not ask, "Is there no balm in Gilead?
is there no physician there?" There is a balm, there is a physician who
can heal all these natural wounds, who can give joy to the troubled
countenance, take the furrow from the brow, wipe the tear from the eye,
remove the agitation from the bosom, and calm the heart now swelling
with grief; for he "healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up their
wounds."
But all that we have mentioned of woe and sorrow which the natural
heart endures, is not sufficient to explain our text. The heart broken,
not by distress or disappointment, but on account of sin, is the heart
which God peculiarly delights to heal. All other sufferings may find a
fearful center in one breast, and yet the subject of them may be
unpardoned and unsaved; but if the heart be broken by the Holy Ghost
for sin, salvation will be its ultimate issue, and heaven its result.
At the time of regeneration, the soul is subject to an inward work,
causing at the time considerable suffering. This suffering does not
continue after the soul has learned the preciousness of a Saviour's
blood; but while it lasts it produces an effect which is never
forgotten in after life. Let none suppose that the pains we are about
to describe are the constant companions of an heir of heaven during his
entire existence. They are like the torture of a great drunkard at the
time of his reformation, rendered needful, not by the reformation, but
by his old habits. So this broken heart is felt at the time of that
change of which the Bible speaks, when it says: "Except a man be born
again, he can not see the kingdom of God." The fruit of the Spirit is
afterwards joy and peace; but for a season we must, if saved, endure
much mental agony.
Are any of you at the present moment disturbed in mind, and vexed in
spirit, because you have violated the commands of God? And are you
anxious to know whether these feelings are tokens of genuine brokenness
and contrition? Hear me, then, while I briefly furnish you with tests
whereby you may discern the truth and value of your repentance.
1. We can not conceive it possible that you are broken in heart if the
pleasures of the world are your delight. We may consent to call you
amiable, estimable, and honorable, even should you mix somewhat in the
amusements of life; but it would be a treason to your common sense to
tell you that such things are consistent with a broken heart. Will any
venture to assert that you gay reveler has a broken heart? Would he not
consider it an insult should you suggest it? Does the libidinous song
now defiling the ear proceed from the lips of a broken-hearted sinner?
Can the fountain, when filled with sorrow, send forth such streams as
these? No, my friends; the wanton, the libidinous, the rioting, and the
profane, are too wise to lay claim to the title of broken-hearted
persons, seeing that their claim would be palpably absurd. They scorn
the name, as mean and paltry, unworthy of a man who loves free living,
and counts religion cant.
But should there be one of you so entirely deceived by the evil spirit
as to think yourself a partaker in the promises, while you are living
in the lusts of the flesh, let me solemnly warn you of your error. He
who sincerely repents of sin will hate it, and find no pleasure in it;
and during the season when his heart is broken, he will loathe, even to
detestation, the very approach of evil. The song of mirth will then be
as a dirge in his ear. "As he that poureth vinegar upon niter, so is he
that singeth songs to a sad heart." If the man who makes merry with sin
be broken-hearted, he must be a prince of hypocrites, for he feigns to
be worse than he is. We know right well that the wounded spirit
requires other cordials than this world can afford. A soul disturbed by
guilt must be lulled to a peaceful rest by other music than carnal
pleasures can afford it. The tavern, the house of vice, and the society
of the profligate, are no more to be endured by a contrite soul than
the jostling of a crowd by a wounded man.
2. Again, we will not for one moment allow that a self-righteous man
can have a broken heart. Ask him to pray, and he thanks God that he is
every way correct. What need has he to weep because of the iniquity of
his life? for he firmly believes himself to be well-deserving, and far
enough removed from guilt. He has attended his religious duties; he is
exceedingly strict in the form of his devotions; or if he cares not for
such things, he is, at any rate, quite as good as those who do. He was
never in bondage to any man, but can look to heaven without a tear for
his sin. Do not conceive that I am painting an imaginary case, for
there are unfortunately too many of these proud, self-exalting men.
Will they be angry with me when I tell them that they are no nearer
heaven than those whom we reproved a few moments ago? or will they not
be equally moved to wrath if I were so much as to hint that they need
to be broken in heart for their sin? Nevertheless, such is the case;
and Pharisees shall one day learn with terror, that self -righteousness
is hateful to God.
But what is a broken heart? I say, first, that a broken heart implies a
very deep and poignant sorrow on account of sin. A heart
broken–conceive of that. If you could look within and see every thing
going on in this great mystery called man, you would marvel at the
wonders thereof; but how much more astonished would you be to see its
heart not merely divided in twain, but split into atoms. You would
exclaim, "What misery must have done this! What a heavy blow must have
fallen here!" By nature the heart is of one solid piece, hard as a
nether millstone; but when God smites it, it is broken to pieces in
deep suffering. Some will understand me when I describe the state of
the man who is feeling a sorrow for sin. In the morning he bends his
knee in prayer, but he feels afraid to pray. He thinks it is blasphemy
for him to venture near God's throne; and when he does pray at all, he
rises with the thought: "God can not hear me, for he heareth not
sinners." He goes about his business, and is, perhaps, a little
diverted; but at every interval the same black thoughts roll upon him:
"Thou art condemned already." Mark his person and appearance. A
melancholy has rested upon him. At night he goes home, but there is
little enjoyment for him in the household. He may smile, but his smile
ill conceals the grief which lurks underneath. When again he bends the
knee, he fears the shadows of the night; he dreads to be on his bed,
lest it should be his tomb; and if he lies awake, he thinks of death,
the second death, damnation, and destruction; or if he dreams, he
dreams of demons, and flames of hell. He wakes again, and almost feels
the torture of which he dreamed. He wishes in the morning it were
evening, and at evening it were light. "I loathe my daily food," says
he: "I care for nothing; for I have not Christ. I have not mercy, I
have not peace." He has set off running on the road to heaven, and he
puts his fingers in his ears, and will hear of nothing else. Tell him
of a ball or concert!–it is nothing to him. He can enjoy nothing. You
might put him in a heaven, and it would be a hell to him. Not the
chants of the redeemed, not the hallelujahs of the glorified, not the
hymns of flaming cherubs, would charm woe out of this man, so long as
he is the subject of a broken heart. Now, I do not say that all must
have the same amount of suffering before they arrive at heaven. I am
speaking of some who have this especial misery of heart on account of
sin. They are utterly miserable. As Bunyan has said: "They are
considerably tumbled up and down in their souls." And conceive, that
"as the Lord their God liveth, there is but a step between themselves
and eternal death." Oh, blessings on the Lord forever! if any of you
are in that condition, here is the mercy! Though this wound be not
provided for in earthly pharmacy, though there be found no physician
who can heal it, yet "he healeth the broken in heart, and bindeth up
their wounds." It is a blessing to have a broken heart at all.
Again, when a man has a broken heart, he not only feels sorrow for sin,
but he feel himself utterly unable to get rid of it. He who believes
himself able to save himself has never known the meaning of a broken
heart. Those who imagine that reformation can atone for the past, or
secure righteousness for the future, are not yet savingly brought to
know themselves. No, my friends, we must be humbled in the dust, and
made to look for all in Christ, or else we shall be deceived after all.
But are you driven out of yourself; are you like the wounded soldier
crying for some one else to carry you to the hospital of mercy, and
longing for the aid of a mightier than yourself? then be of good cheer,
there shall be found a great deliverance for you. So long as you trust
in ceremonies, prayers, or good works, you shall not fine eternal
grace; but when stripped of all strength and power, you shall gain a
glorious salvation in the Lord Jesus. If morality can join the pieces
of a broken heart, the cement shall soon cease to bind, and the man
shall again be as vile as ever. We must have a new heart and a right
spirit, or vain will be all our hopes.
Need I give any other description of the character I desire to comfort.
I trust you are discovered. Oh! my poor brother, I grieve to see thee
in distress, but there is pardon through Jesus–there is forgiveness
even for thee. What though your sins lie like a millstone on your
shoulder, they shall not sink you down to hell. Arise! He, my gracious
Lord, calleth thee. Throw thyself at his feet, and lose thy griefs in
his loving and cheering words. Thou art saved if thou canst say,
"A guilty, weak, and helpless worm,
On Christ's kind arms I fall;
He is my strength and righteousness,
My Jesus, and my all."
II. We have spoken a long time on the great ill of a broken heart; our
second thought will be the GREAT MERCY–"He healeth the broken in
heart."
First, he only does it. Men may alleviate suffering, they may console
the afflicted and cheer the distressed; but they can not heal the
broken in heart, nor bind up their wounds. It is not human eloquence,
or mortal wisdom; it is not the oration of an Apollos, nor the wondrous
words of a prince of preachers; it is the "still small voice " of God
which alone confers the "peace which passeth all understanding." The
binding of the heart is a thing done immediately by God, ofttimes
without any instrumentality whatever; and when instrumentality is used,
it is always in such a way that the man does not extol the instrument,
but renders grateful homage to God. In breaking hearts, God uses man
continually; repeated fiery sermons, and terrible denunciations do
break men's hearts; but you will bear me witness when your hearts were
healed God only did it. You value the minister that broke you heart;
but it is not often that we ascribe the healing to any instrumentality
whatever. The act of justification is generally apart from all means:
God only does it. I know not the man who uttered the words that were
the means of relieving my heart: "Look unto me and be ye saved, all the
ends of the earth." I do not recollect what he said in the sermon, and
I am sure I do not care to know. I found Jesus there and then, and that
was enough for me. When you get your wounds healed, even under a
minister, it seems as if it were not the minister who spoke; you never
heard him speak like it in all you life before. You say, "I have often
heard him with pleasure, but he has outdone himself; before, he spoke
to my ear, but now, to my heart. We are some of us rejoicing in the
liberty of Christ, and walking in all the joy of the Spirit; but it is
to God we owe our deliverance, and we are grateful neither to man nor
book, so much as to the great Physician who has taken pity on us. O
that Jesus would walk through this Bethesda now. O, poor, sick dying
man! does guilt weigh heavy on thy soul, turn not to any helper, save
to him that sitteth on the throne.
Then he only can do it. I defy any of my brethren to bind up a broken
heart. I have often labored to do it, but could never effect it. I have
said a word to console the mourner, but I have felt that I have done
but little, or have perhaps put the wrong mixture in the cup. He only
can do it. Some of you seek mercy through baptism, or the Lord's
Supper, or regular attendance at the house of prayer. Some of you,
again, have certain forms and observances to which you attach saving
value. As the Lord liveth, none of these things bind up the broken in
heart apart from the Holy Spirit; they are empty wind and air; you may
have them and be lost. You can have no peace and comfort unless you
have immediate dealings with God, who alone, as the great Physician,
healeth the broken in heart. Ah! there are some of you who go to your
ministers with broken hearts, and say, "What shall I do?" I have heard
of a preacher who told his anxious hearer, "You are getting melancholy;
you had better go to such and such a place of amusement; you are
getting too dreary and melancholy by half." O, to think of a nurse in a
hospital administering poison, when she ought to be giving the true
medicine! If he deserves to be hung who mixes poison with his drugs,
how much more guilty is that man who tells a soul to seek for happiness
where there is none, who sends it to a carnal world for joy, when there
is none to be found except in God.
Then again, God only may do it. Suppose we could heal your broken
heart, it would be good for nothing. I do beseech the Lord that I may
never get a broken heart healed, except it is by God. A truly-convinced
sinner will always rather keep his heart broken than have it healed
wrongly. I ask you, who are suffering, whether you would not rather
keep your broken heart as it is, than allow a bad physician to cure it
for you, and so deceive you, and send you to hell at last? I know your
cry is, "Lord, let me know the worst of my case; use the lancet; do not
be afraid of hurting me; let me feel it all; cut the proud-flesh away
rather than let it remain." But there are not a few who get their
wounds glossed over by some pretended good works or duties. O, my
hearer, let no man deceive you! Be not content with a name to live
while you are really dead. Bad money may pass on earth, but genuine
gold alone will be received in heaven. Can you abide the fire?
In vain your presumption when God shall come to examine you; you will
not pass muster unless you have had a real healing from his hand. It is
easy enough to get religious notions and fancy yourself safe, but a
real saving work is the work of God, and God alone. Seek not to the
priest; he may console, but it is by deluding you. Seek not to your own
self; for you may soothe yourself into the sleep of perdition. See that
thine heart be washed in the blood of Jesus; be careful that the Holy
Spirit has his temple in it; and may God, of his great and sovereign
grace, look to thee that thou deceivest not thyself.
But next, God will do it. That is a sweet thought. "He healeth the
broken in heart;" he WILL do it. Nobody else can; nobody else may; but
he WILL. Is thy heart broken? He WILL heal it; he is sure to heal it;
for it is written–and it can never be altered, for what was true three
thousand years ago, is true now–"he healeth the broken in heart." Did
Saul of Tarsus rejoice after three days of blindness? Yes, and you
shall be delivered also. O, it is a theme for eternal gratitude, that
the same God who in his loftiness and omnipotence stooped down in olden
times to soothe, cherish, relieve, and bless the mourner, is even now
taking his journeys of mercy among the penitent sons of men. O, I
beseech him to come where thou art sitting, and put his hand inside thy
soul, and if he finds there a broken heart to bind it up. Poor sinner,
breathe thy wish to him; let thy sigh come before him, for "he healeth
the broken in heart." There thou liest wounded on the plain. "Is there
no physician?" thou criest; "is there none?" Around thee lie thy
fellow-sufferers, but they are helpless as thyself. Thy mournful cry
cometh back without an answer, and space alone hears thy groan. Ah! the
battle-field of sin has one kind visitor; it is not abandoned to the
vultures of remorse and despair. I hear footsteps approaching; they are
the gentle footsteps of Jehovah. In his hands there are no thunders, in
his eyes no anger, on his lips no threatening. See how he bows himself
over the mangled heart! Hear how he speaks! "Come, now, and let us
reason together," saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they
shall be as white as snow; though they be red like crimson, they shall
be as wool." And if the patient dreads to look in the face of the
mighty being who addresses him, the same loving mouth whispers, "I,
even I, am he that blotteth out thy transgressions, for my names sake."
See how he washes every wound with sacred water from the side of Jesus;
mark how he spreads the ointment of forgiving grace, and binds around
each wound the fair white linen, which is the righteousness of saints.
Doth the mourner faint under the operation? he puts a cordial to his
lips, exclaiming, "I have loved thee with an everlasting love." Yes, it
is true–most true–neither dream nor fiction, "HE HEALETH THE BROKEN
IN HEART, AND BINDETH UP THEIR WOUNDS."
How condescending is the Lord of heaven, thus to visit poor forlorn
man. The queen has kindly visited the hospitals of our soldiers to
cheer, by her royal words, her loyal defenders, by this she has done
herself honor, and her soldiers love her for it. But when the God of
the whole earth, the infinite Creator, stoops to become a servant to
his own creatures, can you conceive the majestic condescension which
bows itself in mercy over the miserable heart, and with loving finger
closes the gaping wounds of the spirit. Oh, sin-sick sinner! the King
of heaven will not despise thee, but thou too shalt find him thy
Comforter, who healeth all thy diseases. Mark, moreover, how tenderly
he does it. You remember that passage in the Psalms: "Loving kindness
and tender mercies." God's mercies are "tender mercies;" when he
undertakes to bind up the broken in heart, he always uses the softest
liniment. He is not like your army surgeon, who hurries along and says
"A leg off here, an arm off there;" but he comes gently and
sympathizingly. He does not use roughness with us; but with downy
fingers he putteth the wound together, and layeth the plaster on; yea,
he doth it in such a soft and winning way, that we are full of wonder
to think he could be so kind to such unworthy ones.
Then he does it securely, so that the wound can not open again. If he
puts on his plaster, it is heaven's court-plaster, and it never fails.
If he heals, he heals effectually. No man who is once saved of God
shall ever be lost. If we receive mercy by faith, we shall never lose
it. When God heals once, he heals forever. Although some who teach
false doctrine do assert that children of God may be lost, they have no
warrant in Scripture, nor in experience, for we know that he keepeth
the saints. He who is once forgiven, can not be punished. He who is
once regenerated, can not perish. He who is once healed, shall never
find his soul sick unto death. Blessings on his name, some of us have
felt his skill, and known his mighty power; and were our hearts broken
now, we would not stop a moment, but go at once to his feet, and we
would cry, "O thou that bindest the broken in heart, bind ours; thou
that healest wounds, heal ours, we beseech thee."
And now, my hearers and readers, a parting word with you. Are you
careless and ungodly? Permit your friend to speak with you. Is it true
that after death there is a judgment? Do you believe that when you die,
you will be called to stand before the bar of God? Do you know that
there is a hell of eternal flame appointed for the wicked? Yes–you
know and believe all this–and yet you are going down to hell
thoughtless and unconcerned–you are living in constant and fearful
jeopardy of your lives–without a friend on the other side the grave.
Ah, how changed will your note be soon! You have turned away from
rebuke, you have laughed at warning, but laughter will then give place
to sighs, and your singing to yells of agony. Bethink thee, oh my
brother man, ere thou dost again peril thy life. What wilt thou do if
thy soul is required of thee? Canst thou endure the terrors of the
Almighty? Canst thou dwell in everlasting burnings? Were thy bones of
iron, and thy ribs of brass, the sight of the coming judgment would
make thee tremble; forbear then to mock at religion, cease to blaspheme
you Maker, for remember, you will soon meet him face to face, and how
will you then account for your insults heaped upon his patient person?
May the Lord yet humble thee before him.
But I am seeking the distressed one, and I am impatient to be the means
of his comfort. It may be my words are now sounding in the ear of my
weary wounded fellow-countrymen. You have been long time tossing on the
bed of languishing, and the time for thought had been blessed to your
soul by God. You are now feeling the guilt of your life, and are
lamenting the sins of your conduct. You fear there is no hope of
pardon, no prospect of forgiveness, and you tremble lest death should
lead your guilty soul unforgiven before its Maker. Hear, then, the word
of God. Thy pains for sins are God's work in thy soul. He woundeth thee
that thou mayest seek him. He would not have showed thee thy sin if he
did not intend to pardon. Thou art now a sinner, and Jesus came to save
sinners, therefore he came to save thee; yea, he is saving thee now.
These strivings of soul are the work of his mercy; there is love in
every blow, and grace in every stripe. Believe, O troubled one, that he
is able to save thee unto the uttermost, and thou shalt not believe in
vain. Now, in the silence of your agony, look unto him who by his
stripes healeth thee. Jesus Christ has suffered the penalty of thy
sins, and has endured the wrath of God on thy behalf. See you, yonder
crucified Man on Calvary, and mark thee that those drops of blood are
falling for thee, those nailed hands are pierced for thee, and that
opened side contains a heart within it, full of love to thee.
"None but Jesus! none but Jesus
Can do helpless sinners good!"
It is simple reliance on him which saves. The negro said, "Massa, I
fall flat on de promise;" so if you fall flat on the promise of Jesus,
you shall not find him fail you; he will bind up your heart, and make
an end to the days of your mourning. We shall meet in heaven one day,
to sing hallelujah to the condescending Lord; till then, may the God of
all grace be our helper. Amen.
"The mighty God will not despise
The contrite heart for sacrifice;
The deep-fetched sigh, the secret groan,
Rises accepted to the throne.
He meets, with tokens of his grace,
The trembling lip, the blushing face;
His bowels yearn when sinners pray;
And mercy bears their sins away.
When filled with grief, o'erwhelmed with shame;
He, pitying, heals their broken frame;
He hears their sad complaints, and spies
His image in their weeping eyes."