Quiet Musing!
A SERMON DELIVERED BY THE REV. C. H. SPURGEON, AT THE METROPOLITAN
TABERNACLE, NEWINGTON.
"While I was musing the fire burned." Psalm 39:3.
OUR subject this evening will not stand in need of much preface. The
Psalm may teach us that there are times when solitude is better than
society and silence is wiser than speech. The company of sinners was a
grief to David's soul and because their converse was profane he chose,
rather, to fly away from their midst–or if they must still continue in
his presence, he determined that he would resolutely seal his lips.
Touchingly he says, "I was dumb with silence (that is, utterly dumb), I
held my peace, even from good." This painful necessity soon proved to
him a pleasing occasion. While he yielded himself up to the thoughts,
the reveries and the pensive workings of his own heart, a sacred fire
of devotion was kindled in his breast.
And, Brethren, whatever the circumstances of the Psalmist, you will all
see that the exercise was profitable. And however peculiar the
advantages of meditation at particular seasons, it may not be amiss for
us to make it a common habit. Inverting a popular proverb, "What was
one man's medicine may be food for others," there is much that is light
and frothy in our ordinary communion. And our communications, one with
another, soon grow frothy and insipid when we have no definite matter
in hand. Whether, therefore, to free ourselves from the stress of
business, or to escape from the temptations of idleness, let it be
thought worthy of note that "musing" has sweet charms and calm
reflection is capable of kindling a bright fire.
Our remarks will now run in two directions. First, we shall say
something in praise of musing. And then, secondly, we shall supply you
with some fuel to burn on the altar of your hearts.
I. First, then, LET US SAY SOMETHING IN PRAISE OF MUSING. We do not
muse much in these days of ours. We are too busy. We are hurrying here
and there, doing much and talking much, but thinking very little and
spending but very little time, indeed, in the modesty of retirement–
"The calm retreat, the silent shade," are things which we know very
little about. We would be better men if we were more alone. And I
suppose that we should do more good, after all, if with even less of
active effort we spent more time in waiting upon God and gathering
spiritual strength for labor in His service. Where lives there upon
earth, in these days, a man who spends hour after hour of the day in
meditation upon God? There may be such and if there is I wish that I
had their acquaintance.
Where will you find giants such as those who lived in the Puritanical
times, whose lips dropped pearls because they themselves had dived down
deep in the fathomless ocean of mercy by the sweet aid of meditation?
There may be such and I wish that it were our lot to sit under their
ministry. But I fear that the most of us are so little in
retirement–so seldom in communion with God in private and even when
there, the communion is for so short a time–that we are but tiny
dwarfs, and can never, while we live thus, attain to the stature of a
perfect man in Christ Jesus.
The world has put a little letter before the word "musing," and these
are the days, not for musing, but for amusing. People will go anywhere
for amusement. To muse is a strange thing to them and they think it
dull and wearisome. Our good sires loved the quiet hour and loved it so
well that they cherished those times which they could spend in musing
as the most happy because they were the most peaceful seasons of their
life. We drag such time off to execution in a moment and only ask men
to tell us how we may kill it.
Now there is much virtue in musing, especially if we muse upon the
best, the highest and the noblest of subjects. If we muse upon the
things of which we hear and read in sacred Scripture, we shall do
wisely. It is well to muse upon the things of God because we thus get
the real nutriment out of them. A man who hears many sermons is not
necessarily well-instructed in the faith. We may read so many religious
books that we overload our brains and they may be unable to work under
the weight of the great mass of paper and of printer's ink. The man who
reads but one book and that book his Bible, and then muses much upon
it, will be a better scholar in Christ's school than he who merely
reads hundreds of books and muses not at all.
And he, too, who gets but one sermon in a day, though it is an ill
habit to stay away from half our Sunday engagements and only go out
once, yet, he who hears but one sermon in a day, if he meditates much
upon it, will get far more out of it than he who hears two or three but
meditates not! The Truth of God is something like the cluster of the
vine–if you would have wine from it, you must bruise it–you must
press and squeeze it many times. The bruisers' feet must come down
joyfully upon the bunches or else the juice will not flow. And they
must leap and leap and leap again, and well tread the grapes, or else
much of the precious liquid will be wasted.
You must, by the feet of meditation, tread the clusters of Truth if you
would get the wine of consolation from them. Our bodies are not
supported by merely taking food into the mouth–the process which
really supplies the muscle and the nerve and the sinew and the bone is
the process of digestion. It is by digestion that the outward food
becomes assimilated with inner life. And so is it with our souls. They
are not nourished merely by what we hear by going here and there and
listening awhile to this and then to that and then to the other.
Hearing, leading, marking and learning all require inward digesting.
And the inward digesting of the Truth of God lies in the meditating
upon it. Ruminating creatures chew the cud and these have always been
considered clean animals. And so it is a mark of a true child of God
that he understands how to chew the cud of meditation. Why is it that
some people are always in a place of worship and yet they are not holy
though they make some slight advances in the Divine life? It is because
they neglect their closets. They love the wheat, but they do not grind
it. They would have the corn, but they will not go forth into the
fields to gather it.
The fruit hangs upon the tree, but they will not pluck it. The water
flows at their feet, but they will not stoop to drink it. They are
either too idle, or too busy–I will not say which–but often to be
busy is to be idle. And when some men think us idle, we are then best
at work. You who know anything of the Divine life know very well what I
mean by that. Meditation is not idleness and retirement is not
forsaking the good of the world. I suppose that Moses did as much for
Israel on the mountain's summit with uplifted hands as ever Joshua did
in the valley with his drawn sword. And Elijah upon the top of Carmel,
yes, even by the brook Cherith, or in the house of the widow of
Zarephath was as much serving Israel as when he smote the priests of
Baal and hewed them in pieces before the Lord. I commend meditation to
you, then, for fetching the nutriment out of the Truth of God.
Another note in the praise of this most blessed, but much-neglected
duty is that it fixes the Truth upon the memory. You complain of short
memories–you say that what you have heard you can scarcely remember to
another day. If your paint is thin and you can not make your picture
stand out in glowing colors, lay on many coats of your paint and so
will you do what you want. If your memory will not retain the Truth the
first time, then think it over and over and over again and so, by
having these several coats of paint, as it were, the whole matter shall
abide.
When the fly fisherman goes out to fish, it may be that in mid-stream
he sees a great fish and having cast his fly, the hook is soon fairly
in the fish's jaws. But what now? Why, he must let him run out the line
and then he must drag him back again! And after all that he never
thinks his fish safely his own till he gets him into the net. Well,
now, hearing sermons is, as it were, getting the hook into the fish's
mouth and meditation is the landing-net–it is this which gets the
thing to shore!
And what if I say that after that the same meditation becomes a fire of
coals upon which the fish is broiled and prepared for our spiritual
food? If you cannot hold a thing well, try and get many hooks to hold
it with and meditation will supply you, as it were, with a hundred
hands–every one of which you may grasp the Truth of God. I am sure,
dear Friends, that we give not earnest heed enough to these things, or
else we should not let them slip. There are many photographers who can
take a street view more rapidly than I can speak of it. They have but
just to lift up the cover and put it down again and the whole thing is
done.
But the same photographer, if he wishes for many things which are to
endure and last, he likes, if he has time, to have the object long
before the camera. And there it stands and fairly fixes itself upon the
plate. And surely, there may be some few men who can just hear a sermon
and retain the impression of it all their days. There are some who are
quick of understanding in the things of God and as with a flash they
get the Truth and never lose it. But the most of us need more than
this. If we would have the Truth photographed upon our hearts we must
keep it long before the spiritual lens or else it never will fix itself
there.
Complain not, then, of your memory! Complain of yourself if you are not
given to meditation. If your memory is frail let your closet rebuke you
because you have not been there more often. Whereas another man may do
with less meditation, if you say your memory is weak, the more reason
why you should be a longer time and more often with your God in secret.
All need this, but you need it more than others. See to it, then, that
you neglect not this duty. For getting the nourishment out of Truth and
moreover, for preserving, for salting down the Truth for future use,
employ much meditation. Meditation clips the wings of thoughts which
otherwise would fly away at the first clapping of the world's hands.
You shall thus keep your prey, as it were, surrounded and entangled in
a net or else it might escape you. Your meditation shall hold it fast
until you need it.
Yet further, meditation is of great value in opening up the Truth of
God and leading us into its secrets. There is some gold to be found on
the surface of this land of Ophir, the Book of God. There are some
precious jewels which may be discovered even by the wayfaring man–but
the mass of the gold is hidden in the heart of the earth. And he who
would be rich in these treasures must dig into Scripture as one who
seeks for choice pearls. You must go down into its depths and you must
rummage there until you get at last at the treasure.
Truth is sometimes like a flint, which, when it is struck the first
time yields not, and you may even strike it yet again and still it
yields not. But at last, one happy blow of the hammer shall make it fly
to shivers. Meditation may be compared for its potency to the great
battering ram which Sir Christopher Wren used when he built the present
St. Paul's Cathedral. Old St. Paul's, you remember, had been destroyed
by fire, but its walls were so extremely thick that it was found very
difficult to take the old walls away.
And they were so lofty that there was also great danger to the workmen.
Sir Christopher therefore invented a ram composed of a large piece of
timber and intended to be used in the same way as the Romans used their
rams of old. A number of men were set to work with this ram and of
course, being a new instrument to them, they did not like it and they
did not believe in it, either.
After hammering away some five or six hours and the wall showing no
sign, whatever, of anything like an impression, they complained to Sir
Christopher that he had given them a useless work to do. He set them at
it again and the ram fell heavily but not a stone seemed to stir. One
whole day they kept on thus, battering away at the walls. The architect
knew full well that although it might not be palpable to the laborers,
there must have been a degree of oscillation given to the whole
structure. And so it proved, for the next morning when they began the
work again, all of a sudden down tumbled the whole mass! Thus at length
the men were convinced that the work of the day before had not been
lost–it really had been telling when they could not chalk down the
progress.
You will find it the same with Gospel doctrine that you want to
understand but cannot. There is some difficulty you cannot surmount.
Meditation comes and gives one stroke after another with all the weight
of prayer and of thoughtful-ness, but it stirs not. But at last our
diligence is rewarded and we see the whole mass of masonry which reason
had piled together of fabulous traditions comes tumbling down. The
foundation is discovered and the Truth of God made clear to our
apprehension in a moment.
What? Do you think that the great thoughts of masterminds come in a
minute? People say, "Oh, what a genius!" Nonsense! The man had been
hard at work over that for years and years, and years–though perhaps
the thing came at last to him suddenly. It was not a whit less a result
of study–the success which crowns the patient brainwork of a
meditative mind. Never despair, dear Friends, of understanding the
Truth. If you will, in the name of Jesus, give your souls to the study
and come resolved to sit at Christ's feet as Mary did–to believe just
what He tells you, as He tells it to you though He may reveal dark
things and speak of them to you in parables–you shall be able to
comprehend with all saints what are the heights and depths, and you
shall yet know the love of Christ which passes knowledge.
Be not weary of well-thinking! Use much diligence in musing! Yield up
your heart to sacred meditation. Turn the matter over and over and over
again in your minds. You remember the story of the great philosopher
who had been attempting to discover how much alloy there was in the
king's crown but who could find no way of doing it. By day and by night
he pondered it. No, at night when he slept, his daydreams did but come
to him again! But all of a sudden, when he was in bed, he sprang up and
wrapped his garments about him and ran through the street, crying out,
"Inveni, Inveni," I have found it! I have found it!"
And one of these days, Christian, when you are puzzling over some
doctrine which you feel must be true but which you cannot grasp, you
will spring upon your feet when God the Holy Spirit has revealed the
Truth to you and you will cry, "I have found it! I have found it!" And
great will be your joy at the discovery! Cultivate much, then, the
habit of retirement and meditation because of the way in which it opens
up the Truth of God. Here, almost unwittingly, I have touched upon
another suggestion. This musing is a charmed exercise, for, mark you,
the joy which it brings.
There is a text in Scripture which speaks of the sinner as rolling sin
under his tongue as a sweet morsel, an allusion to the habit of the
man, who, when he gets a dainty thing, swallows it not at once but
rolls it under his tongue, trying to draw out more and more of its
sweetness. Well, now, this is what the Christian should do with
doctrinal Truth–he should roll it under his tongue! You will have far
more enjoyment while it is in your mouth than you will afterwards, so
keep it there! Meditate much upon it–roll it under your tongue again
and again and again–until you get more to find its savor.
Scripture is often like a bone, but meditation is the hammer which
cracks it and then the soul gets the marrow and the fatness. The
beauties of Christ are not to be seen by the passerby who merely
glances at Him. There is something to arrest attention at a glance, it
is true, but he who would see the beauties of Jesus must look and look
and look again until his whole soul is enamored of the Savior. And as
he looks and is transformed into the Savior's image, he shall have such
enjoyment that this side of Heaven there is none other like it!
Communion comes after musing. "My meditation of Him shall be sweet,"
said the Psalmist, and so truly it is.
When I can walk with Him, as the old philosophers walked with Plato in
the groves of the Academe, then am I indeed made wise unto salvation!
And then, too, is my heart made glad. There is no riding in the
chariots of Amminadib except by being much with Christ. The spouse does
not say, "I stood under His shadow," no, but, "I sat under His shadow
with great delight." Sitting down is the posture of waiting in which we
ungird the loins of the mind and indulge the repose of meditation. Let
us sit down, then, beneath His shadow and we shall have great delight
in musing upon Christ.
But perhaps, after all, the best reason–at least the best to clench
all the other reasons I have given, why we should spend much time in
musing–is because musing, then, becomes easier to us. I never did
light an oven fire in my life, but I have heard that sometimes when a
baker goes to light a coal oven, if his fuel is a little damp, he gets
no blaze. But when the fire is once up then he may throw in what he
will and everything is speedily consumed by the vehement heat. So
sometimes you and I feel our hearts to be like cold ovens. And we try
to put some fresh Truth in but it will not burn. But, ah, when the
heart gets hot and the fire is roaring, then even such damp material as
I am able to give you on Sundays will burn right well and the feeble
words of a poor servant of God will make your hearts hot within you!
We can meditate better after we have addicted ourselves to a meditative
frame. When we have mused a little, then the fire begins to burn. And
you will perceive that as the fire burns meditation gets easier and
then the heart gets warm. And oh, what holy affections, what blessed
excitements those have who are much alone with Christ! Such a man never
has a cold heart or a slack hand who is much in meditation with his
Lord Jesus. His heart comes to be like a mass of molten lard and before
long he verifies the experience of the Psalmist and can make my text
his own!
"Then spoke I with my tongue." He cannot help it, for this lava will
soon be running over in burning hot words. And if this man should be a
preacher, he will preach with holy power! His heart being hot, his
words will burn their way into his hearers' hearts. Nor will it end
there–this hot heart will soon make a hot hand and the man who once
has his soul full of Christ will not have his hand empty for Christ.
Now he will work! Now he will preach for Christ! Now he will pray! Now
he will plead with sinners! Now he will be in earnest! Now he will
weep! Now he will agonize! Now he will wrestle with the angel and now
he will prevail!
As the fire burns his whole being gets into a glow. And the man, like a
pillar of fire, warms those who are round about him–burns his way to
the glory of success and gives his Master fresh renown! Commend me,
then, for all these reasons which we have given this blessed art of
holy musing.
II. And now we have to spend the few minutes which remain in PUTTING
SOME FUEL ON THE FIRE OF MEDITATION. The man who says that he has
nothing to think about can surely have no brains. And that professing
Christian who says he has nothing to muse upon must be a laughingstock
for devils. A Christian man without a subject for contemplation?
Impossible! Only give us the time and the opportunity and there are a
thousand topics which at once present themselves for our consideration.
Let me just suggest a few of these to the Christian. Your heart will
surely burn like an oven, my Christian Brothers and Sisters, if you
think, first, upon eternal love! What a topic to muse upon!–
"Sing we, then, eternal love,
Such as did the Father move,
When He saw the world undone,
Loved the world and gave His SON."
Think of that love without beginning and which, blessed be God, shall
never, never cease! Give the wings of your imagination full play and go
back to the time before all time–when there was no day but the Ancient
of Days–when ages had not begun to be, but God dwelt alone!
Remember, if you are one of His people, the Father loved you even then
and He continues still to love you and will love you when, like a
bubble, this earth has melted and like a gypsy's tent the universe has
been rolled up and put away! Why, as you think of this, surely you will
say with our songster–
"Loved of my God, for Him again
With love intense I'd burn–
Chosen of God before time began,
I'd choose Him in return."
If you want meditation, dear Friends, here is an ocean to swim in! That
one doctrine of election, that precious Truth of predestinating love
and all the consequences which flow from it–why, here is a well–an
overflowing well which you can never drink dry. Take deep draughts of
it, then, and while you are musing you shall find that your heart is
warmed.
Then, next, there is dying love to think of. Oh, think of the Savior
descending from the starry heights of Glory and coming down to the
Virgin's womb, and then descending from that lowly manger of Bethlehem
even to the Cross and to the grave for you! He counted it not robbery
to be equal with God and yet for your sake He took upon Himself the
form of a servant and made Himself of no reputation, but became
obedient unto death, even the death of the Cross!
Many of the ancient saints were accustomed to spend hours in meditating
upon the wounds of Christ, and many of the martyrs were for days
engaged in solemn meditation upon those wounded hands and feet and that
pierced side. Oh, of all the volumes which were ever written, this
volume, printed in crimson upon the pure, lily-like flesh of Christ, is
the best to read! Talk you of pictures? Was there ever such a picture
as that which God drew with the pencil of eternal love, dipped into the
color of Almighty wrath on Calvary's summit?
Angels desired to see it, but there was a veil before the picture until
Jesus came and drew it up–then the spectacle was revealed–to be gazed
upon throughout eternity by adoring spirits, with fresh wonder and
admiration forevermore! You cannot exhaust this subject, but, O, let me
beseech you to give it the first and chief place in your meditation. "I
have set the Lord always before me," would be a good motto for the
Believer and well would it be for him to have the Cross painted upon
his very eyeballs so that everywhere he should be reminded of Christ
Crucified and so should be led always to say, "For me to live is
Christ." That topic never can be exhausted and there are kindred ones
connected with it–your justification, the work of the Spirit–and so
on.
Let me now hint at one or two other matters which I wish you should
solemnly brood over. You will do well, Christian, to meditate much upon
death. What? Man, did I see you turn away? A Christian afraid of death?
No, verily, for death is our Lord's doorkeeper. Life keeps the key and
says to us, "You shall not enter into your Father's mansions." But
Death comes and with his bony hand snatches the key out of the grasp of
the tyrant, Life, and puts it into the lock and opens the gate and lets
us in! Why, we say sometimes, "the last enemy which shall be destroyed
is death," but if he is "the last enemy," he is not altogether the less
a friend, for he is a friend, too, now that Christ has transformed him.
It is to be greatly wise, Christian, to think sometimes of the grave,
the mattock, and the shroud. The catacomb is no ill place for musing,
and a little cemetery, with its green knolls and its white memorial
stones will be a good place in which to study for the man who wishes to
muse upon life and immortality in the midst of death. The old
naturalists, who tell us a good many things which are not true, as well
as some which are, say that the birds of Norway always fly more swiftly
than any others because the summer days are so short and therefore they
have so much to do in such a little time.
I do not know anything about the birds of Norway, but this I do know,
that Christ's birds would surely fly more swiftly if they would only
meditate upon the fact that the day is so short and that the night is
so near at hand. Surely they would fly more swiftly and work more
earnestly if they only thought more of the nearness of eternity! And
then, Christian, if that does not make your heart burn, let me persuade
you to think of Heaven! O, carry your thoughts from this poor dunghill
world up to the golden streets and to the music-begetting harps! Up
yonder, I say, let your souls soar and dwell where your treasure
is–with Christ upon His Throne.
Listen how they sing tonight the eternal hallelujah louder than the
voice of many waters and yet sweet as harpers harping with their harps!
Listen how the music swells in a sea of Glory round about the Throne of
the eternal God! And you and I shall soon be there–leaving behind the
sweat of toil, the rags of poverty, the shame of persecution, the pangs
of sickness and the groans of death–of the death of sin. We shall soon
be immortal, celestial, immaculate, glorified with the Glory which
Christ had with His Father before the world was. Oh, your hearts will
surely glow if you can muse thus upon Heaven, if you can sing with me
tonight–
"My soul amid this stormy world Is like some fluttered dove, And fain
would be as swift of wing To flee to Him I love. My heart is with Him
on His Throne, And ill can brook delay, Each moment listening for the
voice, 'Rise up and come away! I would, my Lord and Savior, know That
which no measure knows, Would search the mystery of Your love, The
depth of all Your woes. I fain would strike my harp divine Before the
Father's Throne, There cast my crown of righteousness, And sing what
Grace has done. Ah, leave me not in this base world, A stranger still
to roam, Come, Lord and take me to Yourself, Come, Jesus, quickly
come!"
Why is His chariot so long in coming? Why does He tarry? Come quickly,
come, Lord Jesus, come! Lash the white horse and bid him come as soon
as may be, that Death may meet me and that I may meet my God!
And if that stirs you not, Christians, there is one other subject
necessary for you to muse upon. Sometimes, Christians, think of Hell.
No, start not, I pray you, for you will never have to feel it and
therefore you need not shrink from thinking of it. Think of that Hell
from which you have escaped and it will surely fire you with gratitude.
Think of that place of doom into which multitudes are going every day
and if this brings not the tears to your eyes and makes not your heart
palpitate with zeal, I know not what will!
Consider that now, while I have been speaking, a soul has passed into
eternity and oh, since we have been here how many spirits have taken
the last dreadful plunge into the lake which burns with fire and
brimstone–lost, lost–lost beyond my call and beyond your prayers! No
sermons can save them now! No tears can bring them to repentance now!
They are gone, gone! Yes, and there are others who are going–who walk
the streets of this great London! What multitudes do we meet who will
forever have to magnify the awful justice of that God whom they have
slighted, and of that Savior whom they have rejected!
And will not this make you bestir yourselves? O my Brethren, if we can
think of Hell and yet be idle. If we can meditate upon the wrath to
come and yet be prayerless, then surely feeling has been given to
beasts and we are turned to stone. What? Believe in judgment and in
eternal wrath and yet not weep for sinners? Believe in Hell and yet not
weep for sinners? Surely, we may expect to be turned, like Lot's wife,
into pillars of salt if we thus show signs of looking back with
careless and wicked eyes on burning Sodom, instead of fleeing from it
and urging others to escape from the wrath to come!
Christians, I have given you topics enough to meditate upon. May I
fondly hope that some of you will try during the next week to scrape up
some fragments of time to be alone? I should not have a cold-hearted
congregation–I should not have need to stir you up to liberality in
giving, or in earnestness, or in service, if you would but muse
much–for well am I persuaded that while you are musing the fire will
burn.
But I address myself now–stealing a minute of your time which might,
perhaps, be worse spent than here–though I go beyond the allotted
hour, I address myself to those who are not yet converted to God. I
could have hope for you, my dear Hearer, I could have good hope for you
if I knew that you were given to musing. And if you are so given, may I
suggest a few topics which are most likely to be useful to you? Muse, I
pray you, unregenerate man and woman, upon your present state. "Dead in
trespasses and sins," as you now are, the wrath of God abides on you!
Heirs of wrath even as others, afar off, without God, without hope and
without Christ in the world, I pray you remind yourselves of the hole
of the pit where you now are and out of which you have never yet been
dug.
Perhaps I have thought more about your soul than you have ever thought
about it in your life! I pray you now let your own thoughtfulness begin
to exercise itself–examine yourself–see what your state is. And when
you have thought that over, I pray you consider what your end must be
if you continue what you are. If you are resolved to perish, at least
look your doom in the face. If you mean to make your bed in Hell, I
pray you look at it and see the dreadful coverlet of flame in which you
shall be wrapped forever! If you have made a league with Hell, I pray
you see where that league will take you!
Count the cost, I beseech you, for every wise man should do it. Can you
dwell with the devouring flames? Can you? Can you dwell with
everlasting burnings? I know you cannot–for while I do but even use
the word–my bones seem to tremble and rottenness takes hold upon my
heart. And how will you endure it when God comes forth to tear you in
pieces and there shall be none to deliver? Oh, what will you do in that
day of your visitation? What will you do when the sharp and furbished
sword is drawn from its scabbard–when God comes forth dressed as a man
of war–to take vengeance upon your iniquities?
I pray you, then, muse upon these things and perhaps the fire may burn,
perhaps the heart may melt, perhaps tears of penitence may come
streaming down from both your eyes in rivers. But if you will not think
of this, at least let me give you a better and a sweeter topic to muse
upon. Think of my Lord and Master Jesus Christ–
"Is it nothing to you, all you that pass by, Is it nothing to you that
Jesus should die?" I pray you sit down at the foot of His Cross and
answer these questions. Did He die for you, or not? Remember, my
Hearers, Christ did not die for everyone. Some of you will have no lot
and no part in His blood. If you die without faith in Him, that blood
will never cleanse you–that precious blood is not an Atonement for
your sins.
Do not suppose that Christ came into the world to save damned souls.
No, those whom He came to save He will save and every vessel of mercy
bought with His blood shall glitter upon the tables of Heaven–not one
of His precious sheep shall be cast out. The question is–Is that blood
shed for you? And you may know whether it is or not by this–Are you
willing to trust Him? If you trust Him, this is the mark of redemption,
this is the blood mark upon the purchased sheep. Can you, as you sit
there, think upon this–that He died for sinners, the Just for the
unjust–that He might bring them to God and that He died for those who
hated Him?
I think I see Him now. There on the Cross He hangs and suffers for
those who cursed Him. He bleeds for those who hounded Him through the
streets. He bows His head upon His bosom in an extremity of anguish for
the very men who put the vinegar and the gall into His mouth. "Of whom
I am chief," says Paul, when he spoke of sinners for whom Jesus died.
Sinner, you can not have sinned so foully as Paul did and if you rest
on the blood of Christ you shall be saved! Some men tell me that they
do not know how to get faith. Faith is the gift of God, but then faith
usually comes by meditating much upon Christ. "Faith comes by hearing
and hearing by the Word of God." As it comes in this way, hearing
begets meditation. And while we are meditating upon the great and
marvelous story of the condescension and the suffering of Jesus,
something seems to say within us, "Yes, it is true, I will believe it,"
and faith is thus worked in us before we are aware of it and we cast
ourselves upon Jesus Christ.
And then, Sinner, if this topic will not suit you, let me remind you
that there shall come a day when you will have to muse without any
hope. Abraham said to Dives, "Son, remember." Son, remember, you may
forget today. You have, perhaps, forgotten until now and you will
forget when you leave this Tabernacle what I have said to you, or what
God has said–but you will never be able to forget when once you have
come into Hell-fire. Then it will be, "Son, remember," and you will
remember your mother's tears and your father's prayers! You will
remember your privileges. The invitations and the wooings of love which
you had will all rise up before you anew and you will see how guilty
you have been.
"Son, remember," and then all your sins will rise again before you–the
nights, the days, the words, the thoughts, the deeds–will all start up
and people Hell with multitudes of worse than Fiends to plague and
torment you forever. "Son, remember," and then you will remember the
Christ who was preached to you, the stirrings of conscience which you
once had and how you sinned against it all and choked the good seed.
"Son, remember," and then you will be made to remember all that is yet
to come! You will remember God's threats concerning the wrath which
never can be appeased, the fire which never shall be quenched, and the
worm which shall never die. O I pray you, instead of remembering then,
remember now! O that I could plead with you!
I stand here so far away from you–would that I could come and take you
by the hand and say, "Why will you perish? Men and women, why will you
die?" O you who are strangers to my Lord and Master, do you find any
pleasure in your sins? Are the ways of the world, after all, so fair
and so pleasant as you once thought them to be? Is there not an
emptiness? Do you not find "an aching void" in all your pleasures? Tell
me now, will you be able to die quietly as you now are? Can you put
your head down upon your death pillow softly and in peace? Can you
think of meeting God and hearing the thunders of the last tremendous
day and beholding the wonders of the resurrection–can you think of
these things with anything like composure? You cannot! I know you
cannot!
O, then–
"Come, trembling souls and flee away To Christ and heal your wounds!
This is the glorious Gospel day In which free Grace abounds!"
May the Spirit of God now sweetly bring you to the Savior. Poor Dove,
poor Dove, the hawk is after you and you can not fight him, nor can you
escape him. Hearken to One who loves you! There is a cleft in yonder
Rock to hide yourself in and then the hawk would lose his prey. Soul,
the wounds of Jesus are the clefts in the Rock! Flee there and the
fowler, Satan, shall seek, but shall never be able to reach you, for
there is salvation in Him who died that we might live. Save us now, for
His name's sake. Amen.