Spiritual Resurrection
A Sermon
(No. 127)
Delivered on Sabbath Morning, April 12, 1857, by the
REV. C.H. SPURGEON
at the Music Hall, Royal Surrey Gardens.
"And you hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and
sins."–Ephesians 2:1.
IT MIGHT NATURALLY be expected that I should have selected the topic of
the resurrection on what is usually called the Easter Sabbath. I shall
not do so; for although I have read portions which refer to that
glorious subject, I have had pressed on my mind a subject which is not
the resurrection of Christ, but which is in some measure connected with
it–the resurrection of lost and ruined men by the Spirit of God in
this life.
The apostle is here speaking, you will observe, of the church at
Ephesus, and, indeed, of all those who were chosen in Christ Jesus,
accepted in him, and redeemed with his blood; and he says of them, "You
hath he quickened, who were dead in trespasses and sins."
What a solemn sight is presented to us by a dead body! When last
evening trying to realize the thought, it utterly overcame me. The
thought is overwhelming, that soon this body of mine must be a carnival
for worms; that in and out of these places, where my eyes are
glistening, foul things, the offspring of loathsomeness, shall crawl;
that this body must be stretched in still, cold, abject, passive,
death, must then become a noxious, nauseous thing, cast out even by
those that loved me, who will say, "Bury my dead out of my sight."
Perhaps you can scarcely, in the moment I can afford you, appropriate
the idea to yourselves. Does it not seem a strange thing, that you, who
have walked to this place this morning, shall be carried to your
graves; that the eyes with which you now behold me shall soon be glazed
in everlasting darkness; that the tongues, which just now moved in
song, shall soon be silent lumps of clay; and that your strong and
stalwart frame, now standing to this place, will be unable to move a
muscle, and become a loathsome thing, the brother of the worm and the
sister of corruption? You can scarcely get hold of the idea; death doth
such awful work with us, it is such a Vandal with this mortal fabric,
it so rendeth to pieces this fair thing that God hath builded up, that
we can scarcely bear to contemplate his works of ruin.
Now, endeavour, as well as you can, to get the idea of a dead corpse,
and when you have so done, please to understand, that that is the
metaphor employed in my text, to set forth the condition of your soul
by nature. Just as the body is dead, incapable, unable, unfeeling, and
soon about to become corrupt and putrid, so are we if we be unquickened
by divine grace; dead in trespasses and sins, having within us death,
which is capable of developing itself in worse and worse stages of sin
and wickedness, until all of us here, left by God's grace, should
become loathsome beings; loathsome through sin and wickedness, even as
the corpse through natural decay. Understand, that the doctrine of the
Holy Scripture is, that man by nature, since the fall, is dead; he is a
corrupt and ruined thing; in a spiritual sense, utterly and entirely
dead. And if any of us shall come to spiritual life, it must be by the
quickening of God's Spirit, vouchsafed to us sovereignly through the
good will of God the Father, not for any merits of our own, but
entirely of his own abounding and infinite grace.
Now, this morning, I trust I shall not be tedious; I shall endeavour to
make the subject as interesting as possible, and also endeavour to be
brief. The general doctrine of this morning is, that every man that is
born into the world is dead spiritually, and that spiritual life must
be given by the Holy Spirit, and can be obtained from no other source.
That general doctrine, I shall illustrate in rather a singular way. You
remember that our Saviour raised three dead persons; I do not find that
during his lifetime he caused more than three resurrections. The first
was the young maiden, the daughter of Jairus, who, when she lay on her
bed dead, rose up to life at the single utterance of Christ, "Talitha
cumi!" The second was the case of the widow's son, who was on his bier,
about to be carried to his tomb; and Jesus raised him up to life by
saying, "Young man, I say unto thee, arise." The third, and most
memorable case, was that of Lazarus, who was not on his bed, nor on his
bier, but in his tomb, ay, and corrupt too; but notwithstanding that,
the Lord Jesus Christ, by the voice of his omnipotence, crying,
"Lazarus, come forth," brought him out of the tomb.
I shall use these three facts as illustrations of the different states
of men, though they be all thoroughly dead; secondly, as illustrations
of the different means of grace used for raising them, though, after
all, the same great agency is employed; and, in the third place, as
illustrations of the after experience of quickened men; for though that
to a great degree is the same, yet there are some points of difference.
I. I shall begin by noticing, then, first of all, THE CONDITION OF MEN
BY NATURE. Men by nature are all dead. There is Jairus's daughter; she
lies on her bed; she seems as if she were alive; her mother has scarce
ceased to kiss her brow, her hand is still in her father's loving
grasp, and he can scarcely think that she is dead; but dead she is, as
thoroughly dead as she ever can be. Next comes the case of the young
man brought out of his grave; he is more than dead, he has begun to be
corrupt, the signs of decay are upon his face, and they are carrying
him to his tomb; yet though there are more manifestations of death
about him, he is no more dead than the other. He is just as dead; they
are both dead, and death really knows of no degrees. The third case
goes further still in the manifestation of death; for it is the case of
which Martha, using strong words, said, "Lord, by this time he
stinketh; for he hath been dead four days." And yet, mark you, the
daughter of Jairus was as dead as Lazarus; though the manifestation of
death was not so complete in her case. All were dead alike. I have in
my congregation some blessed beings, fair to look upon; fair, I mean,
in their character, as well as their outward appearance; they have
about them everything that is good and lovely; but mark this, if they
are unregenerate they are dead still. That girl, dead in the room, upon
her bed, had little about her that could show her death. Not yet had
the loving finger closed the eyelid; there seemed to be a light still
lingering in her eye; like a lily just nipped off; she was as fair as
life itself. The worm had not yet begun to gnaw her cheek, the flush
had not yet faded from her face; she seemed well-night alive. And so it
is with some I have here. Ye have all that heart could wish for, except
the one thing needful; ye have all things save love to the Saviour. Ye
are not yet united to him by a living faith. Ah! then, I grieve to say
it, ye are dead! ye are dead! As much dead as the worst of men,
although your death is not so apparent. Again, I have in my presence
young men who have grown to riper years than that fair damsel who died
in her childhood. You have much about you that is lovely, but you have
just begun to indulge in evil habits; you have not yet become the
desperate sinner; you have not yet become altogether noxious in the
eyes of other men; you are but beginning to sin, you are like the young
man carried out on his bier; you have not yet become the confirmed
drunkard; you have not yet begun to curse and blaspheme God; you are
still accepted in good society; you are not yet cast out; but you are
dead, thoroughly dead, just as dead as the third and worst case. But I
dare say I have some characters that are illustrations of that case
too. There is Lazarus in his tomb, rotten and putrid; and so there are
some men not more dead than others, but their death has become more
apparent, their character has become abominable, their deeds cry out
against them, they are put out of decent society, the stone is rolled
to the mouth of their tomb, men feel that they cannot hold acquaintance
with them, for they have so utterly abandoned every sense of right,
that we say, "Put them out of sight, we cannot endure them!" And yet
these putrid ones may live; these last are not more dead than the
maiden upon her bed, though the death has more fully revealed itself in
their corruption. Jesus Christ must quicken the one as well as the
other, and bring them all to know and love his name.
1. Now, then, I am about to enter into the minutiae of the difference
of these three cases. I will take the case of the young maiden. I have
her here to-day; I have many illustrations of her present before me; at
least, I trust so. Now, will you allow me to point out all the
differences? Here is the young maiden; look upon her; you can bear the
sight; she is dead, but oh! beauty lingereth there; she is fair and
lovely, though the life hath departed from her. In the young man's case
there is no beauty; the worm hath begun to eat him; his honor hath
departed. In the third case, there is absolute rottenness. But here
there is beauty still upon her cheek. Is she not amiable? Is she not
lovely? Would not all love her? Is she not to be admired, even to be
imitated? Is she not fairest of the fair? Ay, that she is; but God the
Spirit has not yet looked upon her; she has not yet bent her knee to
Jesus, and cried for mercy; she has everything, except true religion.
Alas! for her; alas! that so fair a character should be a dead one.
Alas! my sister; alas! that thou, the benevolent, the kind one, should
yet be, after all, dead in thy trespasses and sins. As Jesus wept over
that young man who had kept all the commandments, and yet one thing he
lacked, so weep I over thee this morning. Alas! thou fair one, lovely
in thy character, and amiable in thy carriage, why shouldst thou lie
dead? For dead thou art, unless thou hast faith in Christ. Thine
excellence, thy virtue, and thy goodness, shall avail thee nought; thou
art dead, and dead thou must be, unless he make thee live.
Note, too, that in the case of this maiden, whom we have introduced to
you, the daughter of Jairus, she is yet caressed; she has only been
dead a moment or two, and the mother still presses her cheek with
kisses. Oh! can she be dead? Do not the tears rain on her, as if they
would sow the seeds of life in that dead earth again?–earth that looks
fertile enough to bring forth life with but one living tear? Ay, but
those salt tears are tears of barrenness. She liveth not; but she is
still caressed. Not so the young man; he is put on the bier; no man
will touch him any more, or else he will be utterly defiled. And as for
Lazarus, he is shut up with a stone. But this young maiden is still
caressed; so it is with many of you; you are loved even by the living
in Sion; God's own people love you; the minister has often prayed for
you; you are admitted into the assemblies of the saints, you sit with
them as God's people, you hear as they hear, and you sing as they sing.
Alas! for you; alas! for you, that you should still be dead! Oh! it
grieves me to the heart, to think that some of you are all that heart
could wish, except that one thing; yet lacking that which is the only
thing that can deliver you. You are caressed by us, received by the
living in Sion into their company and acquaintance, approved of and
accepted; alas! that you should yet be without life! Oh! in your case,
if you are saved, you will have to join with even the worst in saying,
"I have been quickened by divine grace, or else I had never lived."
And now will you look at this maiden again? Note, she has no grave
clothes on her yet; she is dressed in her own raiment; just as she
retired to her bed a little sick, so lieth she there; not yet have the
napkin and the shroud been wrapped about her; she still weareth the
habiliments of sleep; she is not yet given up to death. Not so the
young man yonder–he is in his grave clothes; not so Lazarus–he is
bound hand and foot. But this young maiden hath no grave clothes upon
her. So with the young person we wish to speak of this morning; she has
as yet no evil habits, she hath not yet reached that point; the young
man yonder has begun to have evil habits; and yon grey-headed sinner is
bound hand and foot by them; but as yet she appeareth just like the
living, she acteth just like the Christian; her habits are fair,
goodly, and comely; there seemeth to be little ill about her. Alas!
alas! that thou shouldst be dead, even in thy fairest raiment. Alas!
thou who hast set the chaplet of benevolence on thy brow, thou who dost
gird thyself with the white robes of outward purity, if thou art not
born again, thou art dead still. Thy beauty shall fade away like a
moth; and in the day of judgment thou wilt be severed from the
righteous, unless God shall make thee live. Oh! I could weep over those
young ones who seem at present to have been delivered from forming any
habits which could lead them astray, but who are yet unquickened and
unsaved. Oh! would to God, young man and young woman, you might in
early years be quickened by the Spirit.
And will you notice, yet once more, that this young maiden's death was
a death confined to her chamber. Not so with the young man; he was
carried to the gate of the city, and much people saw him. Not so
Lazarus; the Jews came to weep at his tomb. But this young woman's
death is in her chamber. Ay, so it is with the young woman or the young
man I mean to describe now. His sin is as yet a secret thing, kept to
himself: as yet there has been no breaking forth of iniquity, but only
the conception of it in the heart; just the embryo of lust, not as yet
broken out into act. The young man has not yet drained the intoxicating
cup, although he has had some whisperings of the sweetness of it; he
has not yet run into the ways of wickedness, though he has had
temptations thrust upon him; as yet he has kept his sin in his chamber,
and most of it has been unseen. Alas! my brother, alas! my sister, that
thou who in thine outward carriage art so good, should yet have sins in
the chamber of thine heart, and death in the secresy of thy being,
which is as true a death as that of the grossest sinner, though not so
thoroughly manifested. Would to God that thou couldst say, "And he hath
quickened me, for with all my loveliness, and all my excellence, I was
by nature dead in trespasses and sins." Come, let me just press this
matter home. I have some in my congregation that I look upon with fear.
Oh! my dear friends, my much loved friends, how many there are among
you, I repeat, that are all that the heart could wish, except that one
thing–that you love not my Master. Oh! ye young men who come up to the
house of God, and who are outwardly so good; alas! for you, that you
should lack the root of the matter. Oh! ye daughters of Sion, who are
ever at the house of prayer, oh! that you should yet be without grace
in your heart! Take heed, I beseech you, ye fairest, youngest, most
upright, and most honest; when the dead are separated from the living,
unless ye be regenerated, ye must go with the dead; though ye be never
so fair and goodly, ye must be cast away, unless you live.
2. Thus, I have done with the first case; now we will go to the young
man, who stands second. He is not more dead than the other, but he is
further gone. Come, now, and stop the bier; you cannot look upon him!
Why, the cheek is sunken–there is a hollowness there; not as in the
case of the maiden, whose cheek was still round and ruddy. And the
eye–oh! what a blackness is there! Look on him; you can see that the
gnawings of the worm will soon burst forth; corruption hath begun its
work. So it is with some young men I have here. They are not what they
were in their childhood, when their habits were proper and correct; but
mayhap they have just been enticed into the house of the strange woman;
they have just been tempted to go astray from the path of rectitude;
their corruption is just breaking forth; they disdain now to sit at
their mother's apron-strings; they think it foul scorn to keep to the
rules that bind the moral! They! they are free, they say, and they will
be free; they will live a jolly and a happy life; and so they run on in
boisterous yet wicked merriment, and betray the marks of death about
them. They have gone further than the maiden; she was still fair and
comely; but here there is something that is the afterwork of death. The
maiden was caressed, but the young man is untouched; he lieth on the
bier, and though men bear him on their shoulders, yet there is a
shrinking from him; he is dead, and it is known that he is dead. Young
man, you have got as far as that; you know that good men shrink from
you. It was but yesterday that your mother's tears fell fast and thick
as she warned your younger brother to avoid your sin; your very sister,
when she kissed you but this morning, prayed to God that you might get
good in this house of prayer; but you know that of late she has been
ashamed of you; your conversation has become so profane and wicked,
that even she could scarce endure it. There are houses in which you
were once welcome; where you once bowed your knee with them at the
family prayer, and your name was mentioned too; but now you do not
choose to go there, for when you go, you are treated with reserve. The
good man of the house feels that he could not let his son go with you,
for you would contaminate him; he does not sit down now side by side
with you, as he used to do, and talk about the best things; he lets you
sit in the room as a matter of mere courtesy; he stands far away from
you, as it were; he feels that you have not a spirit congenial with his
own. You are a little shunned; you are not quite avoided; you are still
received amongst the people of God, yet there is a coldness that
manifests that they understand that you are not a living one.
And note, too, that this young man, though carried out to his grave,
was not like the maiden; she was in the garments of life, but he was
wrapped in the cerements of death. So many of you have begun to form
habits that are evil; you know that already the screw of the devil is
tightening on your finger. Once it was a screw you could slip off or
on; you said you were master of your pleasures–now your pleasures are
master of you. Your habits are not now commendable, you know they are
not; you stand convicted while I speak to you this morning; you know
your ways are evil. Ah! young man, thou hast not yet gone so far as the
open profligate and desperately profane, take heed, thou art dead! thou
art dead! and unless the Spirit quicken thee, thou shalt be cast into
the valley of Gehenna, to be the food of that worm which never dieth,
but eateth souls throughout eternity. And ah! young man, I weep, I weep
over thee; thou art not yet so far gone, that they have rolled the
stone against thee; thou art not yet become obnoxious; thou art not yet
the staggering drunkard, nor yet the blasphemous infidel; thou hast
much that is ill about thee, but thou hast not gone all the lengths
yet. Take heed; thou wilt go further still; there is no stopping in
sin. When the worm is there, you cannot put your finger on it, and say,
"Stop; eat no more." No, it will go on, to your utter ruin. May God
save you now, ere you shall come to that consummation for which hell so
sighs, and which heaven can alone avert.
One more remark concerning this young man. The maiden's death was in
her chamber; the young man's death was in the city gates. In the first
case I described, the sin was secret. But, young man, your sin is not.
You have gone so far that your habits are openly wicked; you have dared
to sin in the face of God's sun. You are not as some others–seemingly
good; but you go out and openly say, "I am no hypocrite; I dare to do
wrong. I do not profess to be righteous; I know I am a scapegrace
rascal. I have gone astray, and I am not ashamed to sin in the street."
Ah! young man, young man! Thy father, perhaps, is saying now, "Would
God that I had died for him–would God that I had seen him buried in
his grave, ere he should have gone to such a length in wickedness!
Would God that when I first saw him, and mine eye was gladdened with my
son, I had seen him the next minute smitten with disease and death! Oh,
would to God that his infant spirit had been called to heaven, that he
might not have lived to bring in this way my grey hairs in sorrow to
the grave!" Your sport in the city gates is misery in your father's
house; your open merriment before the world brings agony into a
mother's heart. Oh, I beseech you, stay. Oh, Lord Jesus! touch the bier
this morning! Stop some young man in his evil habits, and say unto him,
"Arise!" Then will he join with us in confessing that those who are
alive have been quickened by Jesus, through the Spirit, though they
were dead in trespasses and sins.
3. Now we come to the third and last case–LAZARUS DEAD AND BURIED. Ah!
dear friends, I cannot take you to see Lazarus in his grave. Stand, oh
stand away from him. Whither shall we flee to avoid the noxious odour
of that reeking corpse? Ah, whither shall we flee? There is no beauty
there; we dare not look upon it. There is not even the gloss of life
left. Oh, hideous spectacle! I must not attempt to describe it; words
would fail me, and you would be too much shocked. Nor dare I tell the
character of some men present here. I should be ashamed to tell the
things which some of you have done. This cheek might mantle with a
blush to tell the deeds of darkness which some of the ungodly of this
world habitually practise. Ah, the last stage of death, the last stage
of corruption, oh, how hideous; but the last stage of sin, hideous far
more! Some writers seem to have an aptitude for puddling in this mud,
and digging up this miry clay; I confess that I have none. I cannot
describe to you the lusts and vices of a fullgrown sinner. I cannot
tell you what are the debaucheries, the degrading lusts, the devilish,
the bestial sins into which wicked men will run, when spiritual death
has had its perfect work in them, and sin has manifested itself in all
its fearful wickedness. I may have some here. They are not Christians.
They are not, like the young maiden, still fondled, nor even, like the
young man, still kept in the funeral procession: no, they have gone so
far that decent people avoid them. Their very wife, when they go into
the house, rushes upstairs to be out of the way. They are scorned. Such
an one is the harlot, from whom one's head is turned in the very
street. Such an one is the openly profligate, to whom we give wide
quarters, lest we touch him. He is a man that is far gone. The stone is
rolled before him. No one calls him respectable. He dwelleth, perhaps,
in some back slum of a dirty lane; he knoweth not where to go. Even as
he stands in this place, he feels that if his next-door neighbour knew
his guilt he would give him a wide berth, and stand far away from him;
for he has come to the last stage; he has no marks of life; he is
utterly rotten. And mark; as in the case of the maiden the sin was in
the chamber, secret; in the next case it was in the open streets,
public; but in this case it is secret again. It is in the tomb. For you
will mark that men, when they are only half gone in wickedness, do it
openly; but when they are fully gone their lust becomes so degrading
that they are obliged to do it in secret. They are put into the grave,
in order that all may be hidden. Their lust is one which can only be
perpetrated at midnight; a deed which can only be done when shrouded by
the astonished curtains of darkness. Have I any such here? I cannot
tell that I have many; but still I have some. Ah! in being constantly
visited by penitents I have sometimes blushed for this city of London.
There are merchants whose names stand high and fair. Shall I tell it
here? I know it on the best authority, and the truest, too. There are
some who have houses large and tall, who on the exchange are reputable
and honorable, and everyone admits them and receives them into their
society; but ah! there are some of the merchants of London who practise
lusts that are abominable. I have in my church and congregation–and I
dare to say what men dare to do–I have in my congregation women whose
ruin and destruction have been wrought by some of the most respected
men in respectable society. Few would venture on so bold a statement as
that; but if you boldly do the thing, I must speak of it. It is not for
God's ambassador to wash his mouth beforehand; let him boldly reprove,
as men do boldly sin. Ah! there are some that are a stench in the
nostrils of the Almighty; some whose character is hideous beyond all
hideousness. They have to be covered up in the tomb of secresy; for men
would scout them from society, and hiss them from existence, if they
knew all. And yet–and now comes a blessed interposition–yet this last
case may be saved as well as the first, and as easily too. The rotten
Lazarus may come out of his tomb, as well as the slumbering maiden from
her bed. The last–the most corrupt, the most desperately abominable,
may yet be quickened; and he may join in exclaiming, "And I have been
quickened, though I was dead in trespasses and sins." I trust you will
understand what I wish to convey–that the death is the same in all
cases; but the manifestations of it is different; and that the life
must come from God, and from God alone.
II. And now I will go on to another point–THE QUICKENING. These three
persons were all quickened, and they were all quickened by the same
being–that is by Jesus. But they were all quickened in a different
manner. Note, first, the young maiden on her bed. When she was brought
to life, it is said, "Jesus took her by the hand and said, maiden,
arise." It was a still small voice. Her heart received its pulse again,
and she lived. It was the gentle touching of the hand–no open
demonstration–and the soft voice was heard–"arise." Now, usually when
God converts young people in the first stage of sin, before they have
formed evil habits, he does it in a gentle manner; not by the terrors
of the law, the tempest, fire and smoke, but he makes them like Lydia,
"whose heart the Lord opened" that she received the word. On such, "it
droppeth like the gentle dew from heaven upon the place beneath." With
hardened sinners grace cometh down in showers that rattle on them; but
in young converts it often cometh gently. There is just the sweet
breathing of the spirit. They perhaps scarcely think it is a true
conversion; but true it is, if they are brought to life.
Now note the next case. Christ did not do the same thing with the young
man that he did with the daughter of Jairus. No; the first thing he did
was, he put his hand, not on him, mark you, but on the bier; "and they
that bare it stood still." and after that, without touching the young
man, he said in a louder voice, "Young man, I say unto thee, arise!"
Note the difference: the young maiden's new life was given to her
secretly. The young man's was given more publicly. It was done in the
very street of the city. The maiden's life was given gently by a touch;
but in the young man's case it must be done, not by the touching of
him, but by the touching of the bier. Christ takes away from the young
man his means of pleasure. He commands his companions, who by bad
example are bearing him on his bier to his grave, to stop, and then
there is a partial reformation for awhile, and after that there comes
the strong out-spoken voice–"Young man, I say unto thee, arise!"
But now comes the worst case; and will you please at your leisure at
home to notice what preparations Christ made for the last case of
Lazarus? When he raised the maiden, he walked up into the chamber,
smiling, and said, "She is not dead, but sleepeth." When he raised the
young man, he said to the mother, "Weep not." Not so when he came to
the last case; there was something more terrible about that: it was, a
man in his grave corrupting. It was on that occasion you read, "Jesus
wept;" and after he had wept it is said that "he groaned in his
spirit;" and then he said, "Take away the stone;" and then there came
the prayer, "I know that thou hearest me always." And then, will you
notice, there came, what is not expressed so fully in either of the
other cases. It is written, "Jesus cried with a loud voice, Lazarus,
come forth!" It is not written that he cried with the loud voice to
either of the others. He spake to them; it was his word that saved all
of them; but in the case of Lazarus, he cried to him in a loud voice.
Now, I have, perhaps, some of the last characters here–the worst of
the worst. Ah! sinner; may the Lord quicken thee! But it is a work that
makes the Saviour weep. I think when he comes to call some of you from
your death in sin who have gone to the utmost extremity of guilt, he
comes weeping and sighing for you. There is a stone there to be rolled
away–your bad and evil habits; and when that stone is taken away, a
still small voice will not do for you; it must be the loud crashing
voice, like the voice of the Lord, which breaketh the cedars of
Lebanon–"Lazarus, come forth!" John Bunyan was one of those rotten
ones. What strong means were used in his case! Terrible dreams, fearful
convulsions, awful shakings to and fro–all had to be employed to make
him live. And yet some of you think, when God is terrifying you by the
thunders of Sinai, that really he does not love you. It is not so; you
were so dead that it needed a loud voice to arrest your ears.
III. This is an interested subject: I wish I could dilate upon it, but
my voice fails me; and therefore, permit me to go to the third point
very briefly. THE AFTER-EXPERIENCE OF THESE THREE PEOPLE WAS
DIFFERENT–at least, you gather it from the commands of Christ. As soon
as the maiden was alive, Christ said, "Give her meat;" as soon as the
young man was alive "he delivered him to his mother;" as soon as
Lazarus was alive, he said, "Loose him, and let him go." I think there
is something in this. When young people are converted who have not yet
acquired evil habits; when they are saved before they become obnoxious
in the eyes of the world, the command is, "Give them meat." Young
people want instruction; they want building up in the faith; they
generally lack knowledge; they have not the deep experience of the
older man; they do not know so much about sin, nor even so much about
salvation as the older man that has been a guilty sinner; they need to
be fed. So that our business as ministers when the young lambs are
brought in, is to remember the injunction, "Feed my lambs;" take care
of them; give them plenty of meat. Young people, search after an
instructive minister; seek after instructive books; search the
Scriptures, and seek to be instructed: that is your principal business.
"Give her meat."
The next case was a different one. He gave the young man up to his
mother. Ah! that is just what he will do with you young man, if he
makes you live. As sure as ever you are converted, he will give you up
to your mother again. You were with her when you first as a babe sat on
her knee; and that is where you will have to go again. Oh, yes; grace
knits together again the ties which sin has loosed. Let a young man
become abandoned; he casts off the tender influence of a sister and the
kind associations of a mother: but if he is converted, one of the first
things he will do will be to find the mother out, and the sister out,
and he will find a charm in their society that he never knew before.
You that have gone into sin, let this be your business, if God has
saved you. Seek good company. Just as Christ delivered the young man to
his mother, do you seek after your mother, the church. Endeavour as
much as possible to be found in the company of the righteous; for, as
you were carried before to your grave by bad companions, you need to be
led to heaven by good men.
And then comes the case of Lazarus. "Loose him, and let him go." I do
not know how it is that the young man never was loosed. I have been
looking through every book I have about the manners and customs of the
East, and have not been able to get a clue to the difference between
the young man and Lazarus. The young man, as soon as Christ spoke to
him, "sat up and began to speak;" but Lazarus, in his grave-clothes,
lying in the niche of the tomb, could do no more than just shuffle
himself out from the hole that was cut in the wall, and then stand
leaning against it. He could not speak; he was bound about in a napkin.
Why was it not so with the young man? I am inclined to think that the
difference lay in the difference of their wealth. The young man was the
son of a widow. Very likely he was only wrapped up in a few common
things, and not so tightly bound about as Lazarus. Lazarus was of a
rich family; very likely they wrapped him up with more care. Whether it
was so or not, I do not know. What I want to hint at is this: when a
man is far gone into sin, Christ does this for him–he breaks off his
evil habits. Very likely the old sinner's experience will not be a
feeding experience. It will not be the experience of walking with the
saints. It will be as much as he can do to pull off his grave-clothes,
to get rid of his old habits; perhaps to his death he will have to be
rending off bit after bit of the cerements in which he has been
wrapped. There is his drunkenness; oh, what a fight will he have with
that! There is his lust; what a combat he will have with that, for many
a month! There is his habit of swearing; how often will an oath come
into his mouth, and he will have as hard work as he can to thrust it
down again! There is his pleasure-seeking: he has given it up; but how
often will his companions be after him, to get him to go with them. His
life will be ever afterwards a loosing and letting go; for he will need
it till he cometh up to be with God for ever and ever.
And now, dear friends, I must close by asking you this question–have
you been quickened? And I must warn you that, good, or bad, or
indifferent, if you have never been quickened you are dead in sins, and
must be cast away at the last. I must bid you, however, who have gone
the furthest into sin, not to despair; Christ can quicken you as well
as the best. Oh, that he would quicken you, and lead you to believe!
Oh, that he now would cry to some, "Lazarus, come forth!" and make some
harlot virtuous, some drunkard sober. Oh! that he would bless the word,
especially to the young and amiable and lovely, by making them now the
heirs of God and the children of Christ!
And now but one thing I have to say to those who are quickened; and
then adieu this morning, and may God bless you! My dear friends, you
who are quickened, let me advise you to take care of the devil; he will
be sure to be after you. Keep your mind always employed, and so you
will escape him. Oh, be aware of his devices; seek to "keep the heart
with all diligence, for out of it are the issues of life." The Lord
bless you, for Jesus' sake.